EDITOR’S NOTE: This is a work of fiction, written by a contributor to The Parthenon. This does not reflect The Parthenon’s views. 

2:08 a.m. It was pitch black outside, creepy and silent. There wasn’t a moment that I didn’t feel paranoid; my room was more of a cave than it was a safe place. I liked my room in its solitude, in the day, of course.

The night, however, was a scary movie that has the audience on edge. I am always on edge. My eyes wander the room, from corner to corner, checking the chair across the room making sure no monster or demon was sitting in it. Just my pile of clothes, that oddly takes shape of something sinister, with horns maybe?

I asked myself why this was my nightly routine, what was it that made my room so terrifying, and when did I start being so terrified of it? And then a creak of a door makes itself known, slow but eerie, crawling in my ears. I remember, my closet. It’s always my closet.

My eyes were squeezed so tightly shut my head started to ache, but the creak continued, as if my closet were swaying ever so slowly but consistently. My body stiffened like a rock, so tense in fear of what would be staring back at my fearful stature. I suppose I could take a peek, a tiny peek with one eye just barely open. Then maybe I could grow some courage to move. Just…one eye.

With one look, there it was, everything that my anticipation had built up, everything that kept me frozen in fear. My closet door wide open, a dark void of nothingness across from me. I analyzed the door, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did. With relief, I could move and wandered over to shut my closet door.

Going back to my bed should have been the easy part, if there wasn’t someone laying in it in my absence.

Jena Cordle can be contacted at [email protected].