The Closet Light

November 5, 2014

by Arielle

3 min read

Story Premise 3 min read (580 words)

"I was six, maybe seven, the summer we moved into the old farmhouse on Poplar Lane. My brother and I shared a room at the top of the stairs, a narrow, low-ceilinged space with a single window that faced the overgrown orchard. The wallpaper was a faded pattern of roses and vines, peeling at the […]"

I was six, maybe seven, the summer we moved into the old farmhouse on Poplar Lane. My brother and I shared a room at the top of the stairs, a narrow, low-ceilinged space with a single window that faced the overgrown orchard. The wallpaper was a faded pattern of roses and vines, peeling at the corners, and the closet door never quite shut, always creaking open an inch or two in the night. I remember the light switch was just out of reach from my bed, so I had to stand on tiptoe, fingers stretching, to flick it off before diving under the covers.

That particular night, I woke to a sound I couldn’t place. The room was dark, the moon hidden behind clouds, and the air was thick and still. I lay on my back, my heart thumping, when I heard my name—my full name, ‘JESSE,’ drawn out in a low, raspy whisper, like someone was trying to speak through a mouthful of dust. ‘JJJeeessseee.’ The voice came from the direction of the closet. I froze, my breath caught, my eyes fixed on that sliver of darkness between the door and the frame. I wanted to call for my brother, but my throat was tight, and my limbs felt heavy as stone.

Then I felt it. A sharp tug on my pillow, yanking it from under my head with a force that made my skull crack against the wooden headboard. I gasped, the pain shooting through my neck, and I was suddenly staring at the ceiling, my head now resting flat on the mattress. The pillow was gone. I heard it hit the floor with a soft thud, and then the voice again, closer now, right beside my ear: ‘JJJeeessseee.’

I squeezed my eyes shut, praying it would stop, but I felt a cold breath on my cheek, and something rough, like old burlap, brushed against my face. I jerked away, rolling off the bed and hitting the floor with a hard jolt. In the dim light, I saw my pillow lying near the closet, and the closet door was wide open. Inside, there was nothing but a few hangers, but I could have sworn I saw a dark shape, a taller, leaner silhouette, shifting just beyond the threshold. My brother stirred in the other bed, mumbling, but he didn’t wake.

I scrambled to my feet and flicked the light switch, flooding the room with harsh yellow light. The closet was empty, the pillow on the floor. My brother’s face was buried in his pillow, and I just stood there, trembling. I didn’t sleep that night. I sat against the headboard, knees to my chest, watching the closet door, which had drifted shut again.

The next morning, I told my mother, but she just smiled and said it was a dream. But I knew better. That night, I placed a chair in front of the closet door, and I tied a string from my pillow to my wrist. I slept on top of the covers, fully dressed. And the voice came again, fainter, but it was there—’JJJeeessseee.’ In the morning, the string was untied, and the pillow was on the floor. The chair was pushed aside. I never slept in that room alone again. I would crawl into my brother’s bed, and he would grumble, but I didn’t care. I knew something was in that closet, waiting for the moment I was alone.

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