The Closet

Andrew pulled his blanket over to cover his head. The scratching sound began to sound even louder this time. He knew this room was cheap, that this is the only room he could afford, but what he did not know was the scratching that came from the closet. The scratching that comes to visit him every night. The closet was fine when he checked it before moving, but upon his very first night in his room, the closet started making that loud noise, the very night he placed his belongings.

“Gods, make it stop,” Andrew prayed under his voice, but every time he tries to pray, the scratching only becomes louder, like it was taunting him. Andrew forced himself to sleep that night. He tried to drown the scratching sounds with his memories, his goals in life, and all his plans for a better future.

The next day, Andrew went to work, his eyes heavy from obvious lack of sleep.

“Let me guess, you heard another round of scratching from the closet on your new apartment again, right?” His co-worker jokingly asked.

Andrew was wise enough to not answer that. He simply continued to work his way over the patties that he needed to broil for all the burgers that their customers ordered. However, he also knew that there is nothing normal with those scratching sounds from his closet. He considered calling on the help of a supernatural expert, perhaps a person who know about séance or anyone who knows how to banish evil spirits. However, he knew that was silly. Magic, occult, and spiritism were things he promised never to deal with.

That night, Andrew made a resolve to simply ignore the scratching sounds, should they ever come. After he arrived home, he simply washed up and went to bed. Not thirty minutes later, the scratching began. Even louder than before.

The closet was located just beside his open window. He can see the moon from his bed. A gentle breeze came in from the window, and the smell of it gave Andrew a chill to his spine. It smelled like rotting meat. Andrew shivered. He closed his eyes and covered with himself with his blanket.

“Oh, my God, please help me.”

The scratching became even louder. It sounded like someone or something was trying to get out of the closet. The thought of it made Andrew weak to his guts.

He got up from his bed and grabbed the iron poker he placed under his bed, and turned the lights on. He read somewhere that ghosts—if this were a ghost—are vulnerable to iron. Slowly, he approached the closet, gripping the poker tight, and making sure it would not fall off his hand. He made a mental note that if it were a zombie, he needs to hit it on the head. But a zombie on his closet is quite unlikely. How would it get there? Even the premise that there’s a ghost inside his closet sounded absurd.

He fondled his pockets where he placed the keys. He decided awhile back to lock this closet, for safety measures. His hands were shaking, and that made getting the keys out of his pocket fairy difficult. The scratching became even louder. His heart was racing. His thoughts were filled with sordid images of rotten corpse getting out of the closet and strangling him to death. He shook that thought off his mind and encouraged himself.

He steadied his shaking hands, firmly grasping the poker, and unlocked the closet. Slowly, he opened the closet.

“What the—” Andrew screamed, jumping up and running toward his bed as a stream of cat-sized rats came rushing out the closet. There were too many of them. Andrew kept screaming, hitting the rats with his poker, a thing he knew he would surely regret—both screaming and hitting the rats, actually.

When the rats cleared from the closet, Andrew decided to make his way, moving closer to the closet. He noticed that there was a large hole on the wall of the closet where the rats might have come from. He laughed to himself as he felt stupid of the whole situation.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Inside the closet was the large sealed black plastic bag he placed. The bag was torn, obviously by the rats. Andrew sighed once again, this time, out of frustration. Andrew could see clearly how the rats have destroyed the thing he was trying to keep until he figured out where to permanently hide it.

“Damn those rats,” he muttered, “and stupid of me to not think of it.” He shook his head as he stared at the rotting body of the previous owner of the apartment. Now, he needs to either get a new plastic bag or dispose of it entirely.


This is my first NaNoWriMO project. Prompt submitted by Rick: 333, Closet.


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