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Kalanna Rai wrote: |
Inspired by True Events
He pulled the sheets up to his chin again, squeezing his eyes shut as if, by doing that he could block the sounds that came from his wardrobe. Scritch, scratch, clitter, bang. Repeating endlessly through out the night. Slowly, as he's done a million times, he grabbed the maglight from beside his bed and slowly managed to get out of bed, his legs jello, his knees knocking like castinets. He inched across the floor, a millimeter a minute, screwing up his courage with each infant step he took. Why him why? He'd done this a hundred times, night after night, for the past three weeks. Each time he would cross the floor with trepidation, slowly managed to reach out and, after a few false starts, grip the wardrobe knob, and then after a full five minutes of mental preparation and prayers, he'd open the door. Tonight was no different. He made it across the room, reciting his mantra of 'I'm not going to die, I'm not going to die.' and opened the door. And as with every other night before...the noises stopped. He flicked on the flashlight, now that it was of no use to him as a weapon, and shone it in every corner. Nothing but clothes, dirty and clean, hung up and tumbled in a pile on the wardrobe floor. Quick as lightning he shut the light off and rushed back to his bed, throwing the covers over his head and shaking like there was no tomorrow. In his eight year old brain a million monsters were imagined and discarded, a million more took their place. His parents were no help, none at all. After the first few times of looking in the wardrobe for 'imaginary' monsters, they'd begun to tell him he was too old for such nonsense and to go back to bed. But every time he managed to settle back down, managed to banished the terrifying monsters in his imagination by calling up his favorite superheroes to defend him, the noises would come again...Scritch, scratch, skitter, bang. And he'd sit bolt upright and clutch the flashlight to his chest. He'd been resolved from the start that he wouldn't use a nightlight. Nightlights were for babies and he wasn't a baby...he was just afraid. But now, as the noises came again and again, as the shadows around the wardrobe turned it from a heavy bit of wood into some hideous monster with many clawed arms of shadow and teeth like a million razors, he finally realized it was either turn on the nightlight...or wet the bed from terror. The nightlight seemed like a much nicer option then. With two quick hops, after all it was in the other direction, he flicked the switch and the room was filled with a soft glow. The boy snuggled down in his bed, put away his flashlight, and closed his eyes. He was just on the verge of sleep when he was awakened by a terrific noise. BANG! BANG! BANG! It was coming from the wardrobe. Something was hitting the door hard enough for the whole massive thing to shake. BANG! BANG! BANG! There it went again. The boy screamed and fled for the safety of his parents’ bed. Thunder cracked, lightning flashed, and demon winds howled outside as the storm of the century seemed to break. They boy's parents, thinking he'd slammed the wardrobe himself, sent him back to bed. So there he huddled, the glow of both nightlight and flashlight seeming feeble and weak, the imaginary company of his childhood hero's doing nothing to help his besieged mind. Suddenly, as a particularly violent crack of thunder broke overhead, the nightlight went out. He jumped, and the flashlight beam wavered. BANG! BANG! BANG! Went the thing in the wardrobe. Suddenly, as his flashlight finally sputtered its last moment, the wardrobe doors were flung wide open and something moved from within it's depths. A strange hissing and wailing noise accompanied it as it crossed the floor with cobra swiftness and wrapped the boy in its stinking, filthy folds. The flashlight fell to the floor, useless, as the boy was dragged back into the depths of the wardrobe, the doors slamming shut just as his fingertips, nails digging into the wood of the floor, vanished. The next morning his parents searched for him frantically, looking everywhere for their darling little boy. They even called the police when they couldn't find him but nothing turned up. The little boy was never seen again and the only clue as to where he went was found in the wardrobe. When they opened it gouged into the back with a metal coathanger wrapped in smelly undergarments, was this chilling message. Next time wash us! |
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