The Closet

She couldn’t sleep with the closet door open, not even a crack. It had been this way since she was a little girl. As a child, she was so afraid at night, trying to fall asleep, that she imagined things, evil things, were in her room. Her parents would leave the closet cracked open with the light on to reassure her.

But the light gave little comfort. It felt to her something sinister was lurking inside of the closet, even with the bright line of light streaming out from the cracked door. She would keep her eyes on the opening, watching.

One night, she thought she saw a shadow flicker past the door and block the light. It was just for an instant, and she thought maybe she’d imagined it.

She kept staring, and it happened again. But the most horrible thing of all, she thought she saw a hand, a horrible, terrible clawed hand gripping the side of the door.

She screamed, bringing her father rushing into her room. After the perfunctory check of the closet, under the bed, and in the corners, he announced the room monster-free, kissed her forehead, and told her to go back to sleep.

This time, she had him shut the closet door all the way, and every night thereafter, she slept with it firmly closed.

She did this without thinking much about it for the rest of her life. At a friend's house for a sleepover, she would always make sure the closet door was tightly shut before falling to sleep. When she grew up, went away to college, and lived in a dorm room, she never fell asleep with a closet door, even a crack open. In her first apartment as an adult, again, the last thing she did before going to sleep was to check to make certain the closet door was firmly shut.

******

And now, she was married. She was in bed one night when her husband crawled in and sidled up next to her, putting his arm around her as she scooted next to him. As she relaxed, enjoying the feel of him close to her, she glanced over at the closet door.

It wasn’t closed completely but was open just a crack. Her husband must have neglected to firmly shut it before he came into bed.

She started to get up to close the door, but her husband stopped her, wrapping his arm more tightly around her and muttering, “Where are you going?” Don’t get up.”

“You've left closet the door open. I'm going to shut it," she said.

“Leave it,” he said, “What difference does it make?”

So she confided in him a lifetime of her fears. She told him the story of when she was small and thought something was waiting in the closet to get her. She even told him she thought she had seen it once. And as she talked, she realized how silly it all sounded. How much like a child she must seem to him, she thought.

He smiled good-naturedly when she finished talking and kissed her on the top of her head. “Sweetheart,” he said, “you know you are being irrational. Don’t you? There is nothing out to get you in the closet.”

She agreed, of course.

“Just lie here with me. Nothing is coming out of the closet. If it did,” he smiled and kissed her again, “I would save you.”

Of course, he was right. She was being silly. She settled down next to him, deciding to leave the door partly open.

Yet, she still felt uneasy looking at the closet so she rolled over to face the wall instead. She relaxed into her husband’s warm body. He fell asleep almost immediately and began a gentle snore.

She took one last peek back at the closet, the door sitting slightly ajar. I’m being irrational, she thought to herself. After all, I’m a married woman now. I'm a grown-up. It's silly to be scared of closet monsters.

At these thoughts, she drifted into a peaceful sleep.

And that is why she did not hear the door as it began to creak open, just a little bit wider. Nor did she see the ancient, clawed hand gripping the door, opening it further to reveal what was inside. What had been waiting a lifetime for the chance to come out.