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THE ONE IN THE CLOSET

THE ONE IN THE CLOSET

That night came as cliché as they come. The typical thunderstorm awoke, rain gaining power with each mile I came closer to home. The routine trip to the grocery store was a lonely one. My wife Sarah refused to accompany me on my trip, she had been drinking her wine as water recently.

Things were cold at our home since I lost my job. Bills were forming their own nest in the front of my mind.  The rain kept testing my windshield wipers. The view of the road became obscured as an apparition. I was good at driving in inclement weather but this was a match for my vision.

I finally arrived home ready to hear the nagging and groans of me taking so long at the store. I walked up to the door of my humble one-story abode, fumbling my keys while trying to balance the grocery bags I strategically grabbed all at once.

I triumphantly opened the door without spilling a single bag. I slipped in quietly hoping Sarah would be asleep. The living room light was still on. The television was blasting at full volume with the news. Local anchor man, John Chase, filled the void of the room with his voice.

 Sarah was nowhere to be found.  I checked the rooms and all were empty. There was no sign of any break-ins or sorts, nothing was moved. Calling her phone came with no avail, it was off. I became very worried and starting calling out her name, the house wasn’t very big so she would have to hear me. Had she left me for someone else? I Pondered. 

Believing that she would return in the morning and we could sort things out, I decided to shower then go to bed. I took a very short shower that night. Creaking, and what I thought to be footsteps sporadically sounded outside the bathroom door.

Subtle enough for me to convince myself nothing was there but not ignore. I dried myself off, got dressed, and then laid alone in bed.  I didn’t sleep a second that night, and I’d like to add I was completely sober. The footsteps continued. I would run to my bedroom door and sling it open to try and catch whatever was lurking my hallway, each time nothing was there.

After this occurred three or so times I started to ignore it. That was until I heard Sarah talking in the closet. She was whispering to someone. I thought I had come home to her and a lover. Looking back now I know that would make no sense, she knew it wouldn’t take me more than half an hour at the store.

I creaked open the closet door to find Sarah frantically tearing apart our clothing. She kept repeating “Don’t let him see” under her breath. She caught a peripheral glance at me and wrapped her arms up with the torn clothing.

She looked up at me with an innocent smile. I asked her to remove the clothing wrapped around her arms, she would just keep staring at me. When I reached down and removed the clothing I cringed in disbelief. She had carved in her arms countless times she was losing a lot of blood.

I attempted to get her out of the closet, she just kept staring at me with the same innocent look. I tried to talk to her, I kept saying that everything would be okay, that we could get her help. She just kept staring, with each minute that look got more haunting.

After fifteen minutes of trying the real horror began. Sarah screamed and crawled out from the closet knocking me over. She ran out into the kitchen, I followed after her.  She stood crouched over in the kitchen with the largest knife we had in our possession.

Sarah slashed at me slicing my arms up while I tried to pin her down and subdue her. During the struggle the kitchen knife impaled her in the ribs. She laid still so I called 911 as fast as I could. Now all I care about is whether my wife is going to live, that is all I have to tell.

A tape recorder stops playing, the detective on the case looks sternly at Sarah’s husband and says:

“Your wife is fine we interviewed her before we talked to you, the strange thing is she told the same exact story except you were the one in the closet.”

STORY CREDIT: KYLE M.


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