Daily Post Challenges, Story Time, Thoughts of the Day

Closeted Fear

In response to the Daily Post’s prompt “Closet”

When I was a kid I was afraid of my closet. The same way I was afraid to go to sleep with my door closed or the hallway light off.

In fact, when it came to sleeping, there were a lot of things I was afraid of.

I remember once in elementary school, we were having a Read-In. You know, one of those Midwest things where kids brought their sleeping bags to school and we would basically spend the entire day inside them while the teacher read us stories.

One of the stories that our teacher read to us was about a young girl whose bedroom window faced the cemetery outside. As I recall, as the girl slept, a demon or a ghost of some kind climbed in through her window. I don’t remember how the story ended exactly but I remember being terrified. So much so, that I still remember the story some 15 years later. (This also gave me a fear of cemeteries for a while)

So I was afraid of my windows. I would refuse to have my bed near the window for fear of something coming in through it to get me. I was afraid of my closet and would make sure that it was closed before I climbed into bed. I was afraid of sleeping with my door closed or with the hallway light off. It made me feel better to know that my parents were up and that they were the source of the soft noises as I feel asleep. I wanted to be able to see them going about their evenings. Knowing that with them there, I was safe.

Now, I can’t sleep with my door open. I have to have all the lights off, including the hallway or kitchen light to even entertain the idea of sleep. The closet can be open. In fact, it’s always open. I don’t even think I’ve shut it once.

I still have a slight issue with the window though. However, being on the 5th floor of my apartment building, it doesn’t seem to matter as much. But when I go back home to visit my parents, I sometimes think about unsavory possibilities that lurk outside the window of our ranch style home.

When I was a kid, I was afraid of a lot of things. Things that would seep into my dreams or prevent sleep altogether. I’d like to say that I’m no longer afraid. But I guess I’m just afraid of different things now. But maybe that’s okay.

Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light. I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

Story Time

Bushy-Tailed

This little fictional snippet is straight out of Story Time

You stupid bitch

That’s the last text I see, from yet another unknown number, before the tears start dripping into my hair and start to leave stains on the pink and yellow pillow case my, now throbbing, head sits upon. Although that text was one of the more tame ones I’ve received in the last 4 hours, it still digs deeper into my already festering wound. I turn my head towards my closet door and notice, for the first time, a small mark indenting the wood. I know for a fact that this mark was not there the day before. I’d get up and examine it but that would mean leaving the safety of these sheets. The only haven is right here. Under the covers with music blasting in my ears threatening to puncture my ear drums, adding another injury to my already aching mind. Out of habit I reach for my phone again without thinking of the consequences. However, my hand doesn’t feel hard plastic, only the smooth cover of the book sitting on my bed side table. I lift my head gingerly and have a half-assed look around the room. Something flashes out of the corner of my eye and I see a fragment of my purple phone case laying defeated near the head board. I sit up fully, putting a hand to my head to steady the pain, and see an explosion of plastic all over the floor. The phone is destroyed. On the bright side, I won’t be hearing from anyone else tonight.

I lay back down and place my hands over my face. My cheeks are damp but my eyes are dry, albeit, mostly likely still blood shot. If I had known what was going to happen today I never would have gotten up this morning. But that’s the beauty of this world, isn’t it? We have no idea what’s going to happen to us. It could be completely horrifying and yet we somehow end up walking right into it. There was no way out of this one. No way in hell. I should have seen it coming. But, like everything else in my life, I’m always blindsided. Blindsided and shoved aside when it happens. I’ll bet he gave all of those social climbers my number. Have someone else do the dirty work for him. He is, after all, a spineless prick and always has been. He never does anything for himself. Everything is handed to him and he gladly puts his hand out. Forget doing things for others. Forget the fact that people have feelings. Why should he think of any of that when he’s too busy sitting on his high horse? He didn’t even get on the horse by himself. He was hoisted up and taught how to ride. And ride he did. All over anyone in his path, hooves stomping and mouth braying.

Just thinking of him makes me want to punch something. My fist is ahead of my brain as my fingers clench together tightly. I notice dark marks on my knuckles and realize where the dent in the closet door came from. As I lay there an idea comes to mind. An awful idea, that waxes and wanes inside my head, turning this scowl on my tired face into a wicked smile.

After I’m through with him, he will wish he had a spine to keep his over-inflated ego afloat.