The Little Boy in the Closet

September 6, 2025

by Carissa

2 min read

Story Premise 2 min read (300 words)

"When I was around 14, one night I was getting ready to sleep. My bed was near the wall, and from my spot, I could see the closet, which had no door—only a curtain—and the hallway. My parents were awake in their room, and my brother was asleep on the living room couch. After using […]"

When I was around 14, one night I was getting ready to sleep. My bed was near the wall, and from my spot, I could see the closet, which had no door—only a curtain—and the hallway. My parents were awake in their room, and my brother was asleep on the living room couch.

After using the bathroom, I lay down, facing the wall. Then I turned to the other side—and froze. Standing right outside my closet was a little boy, about six or seven years old. He wore old-fashioned clothes, like in movies from long ago. I screamed for my parents, but the first time, he didn’t move, and they didn’t hear me. The second time, the boy jumped behind the curtain, and I saw it move.

When my parents came in, I was crying with fear. They checked the closet, but no one was there. I tried to explain that I had just been in the bathroom minutes before, so I couldn’t have fallen asleep and dreamed it.

That week, I slept with my mom. Later, one of my aunts came over, sprinkled holy water in my room, and prayed. She said she felt the boy’s presence too. Some people believe it could have been the spirit of a brother I never met—he passed away as a baby, ten years before I was born. His birthday was coming, and maybe he wanted us to remember him. We visited his grave, and after that, nothing strange happened in the house.

Even now, we still live there. My old room is now my younger brother’s, and he sometimes sleeps in the living room because he feels uneasy. I think that night, the boy came back to remind us he was loved and missed.

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