The Boy in My Closet | k.th

02. The Girl

The Ghost

It was a Sunday when she moved in.

The ghost knew that because of the calendar she brought inside.

He could see it from the closet.

The year was 20xx.

Though, the numbers didn't mean much to him. As much as he tried to remember, he couldn't recall how long he had been there.

He did wonder how long she would stay until she found out and left.

Because for every single person who came here, each one left when they found out that someone had died in their bedroom.

The ghost would stay silent in the only place he could go; the small closet. He wouldn't bother them even if he had the power to, but they were always frightened anyways.

Some would say that they felt weird sleeping up on the second floor where someone died, or that the closet itself had a bad output each time they entered.

The girl who moved in on that Sunday was somehow different than the other occupants.

She was often gone because of school and work, he soon found out.

And when she was home, she almost always stayed up in her bedroom.

Unlike the others, she left the closet open.

Somehow, he didn't feel bored anymore.

It was because every time she left, he had something to wait for. He wondered when she would come back home.

Wondered if she would work on her homework when she came back.

Or maybe if she would watch a show.

Just listening to the sounds on her computer or phone was enough to interest him, but there were times when she would sit at an angle on her mattress that gave him a view of the illuminated screen.

How long had it been since he watched a movie, the ghost would wonder.

One day, she was looking around on her computer. He couldn't see the screen fully, but he could see it was information about the apartment they were in.

The side of her face was illuminated and perfectly in his view.

When her brows creased, he was worried she might've found out about him, and when she turned her head to look in the closet, he wanted to scream "please don't be afraid!

"... Please don't leave me."

Suddenly she got up, eyes still locked on the opened space he stood invisibly in.

He could now see the screen of her computer.

A news article was opened. The title read: Death in Apartment 106.

He thought she might close the door on him, frightened by the discovery.

Instead, she looked... sad.

"I'm so sorry," she said while touching the door frame, standing half in and half out.

And she stayed.

She kept the door open and stayed in her bedroom without a second thought to the open space with every day that passed.

A month had passed, but it felt longer than all the other years he spent in that closet.

It was a Sunday when she came home that fifth week of her in the apartment.

He heard the door open and assumed that she was making dinner when he heard running water coming from downstairs.

He waited patiently for her to come back upstairs like the other days.

Then he heard a small yelp, followed by a hushed curse word.

Footsteps resounded quickly upstairs, and he saw her with a tissue wrapped around one of her fingers.

"Are you okay?" He wanted to ask.

She walked into the bathroom across the room, opening some cupboards with a frustrated sigh.

Still holding the tissue, she began to walk towards the closet he stood in.

Nervously, he fell back into some of the clothes she had hung up on the bars.

Though he knew she couldn't see him, he still felt weird each time she was in the same room as him.

And though his motion did nothing to the clothes that he blended into like air, he still couldn't see through them and to her.

There was some ruffling, another sigh, and then the articles of clothing he stood within began to move.

They moved apart on either side of him, and he was left with her standing right in front of him.

He could feel himself turning red because it almost looked as though...

She was looking right back at him.