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When I was a young child, around the age of five, I got my own room. It was the smallest one, only about the size of a kitchen, but it suited my needs and I was happy with it. It had a bed, and my very own dresser with a TV.
My parents saw that I was responsible enough for it. I never really was afraid of the dark. Thunderstorms at night never bothered me much. I took care of all my belongings, and I was a polite kid. So, I was granted my own mini living space.
The thing that was most strange about the room was the closet. It hadn't been used in years; not since my sister moved out. It was a very large, narrow walk-in closet, and used to be lined with shirts, pants, shoes, and other things when my sister Janice lived in the room.
What made the closet different from the rest of the room was that instead of being painted a colorful shade of red like the rest of the walls, the door was a dull white. It really stood out. Like a sore thumb, you could say.
I didn't have nearly enough clothes to use up all the space. As a result, there was always a darkened corner of the closet at the very back where I didn't keep clothes. There were probably cobwebs and dozens of rats back there.
For some strange reason, I didn't like looking at the corner. Whenever I accidentally caught a glimpse of it, the suspense in the room rocketed, and I had to look away with a shiver. This happened on multiple occasions, but I never really told anyone. If I told my parents, they'd think I was just a scared little kid, and take away my room.
For two years afterwards, I just avoided it. It became a routine to just not look there. Besides, most times the door was closed and locked, so there was usually not a corner to look at. Out of sight, out of mind.
Or, so I thought.
You see, I've always thought I heard noises whenever I closed the door. Like, as soon as I would walk out I would hear footsteps bounding towards me from the back. I'd turn around, slam the door shut, and lock it. I never told my parents; again, they'd think I wasn't responsible enough and take away my room. And I really liked my room.That's when, at the age of seven, an event occured that will remain in my mind for many years, possibly forever. I've decided not to take it to my grave. I really need to tell someone.
Only recently did these events come back to my mind. I've tried my best to forget, but what is seen cannot be unseen.
I was sleeping in my room. I had done all my night-time routines. I'd brushed my teeth, washed my face, went to the bathroom, did fifty or so push-ups or sit-ups, and set my alarm. I was now asleep in my bed, ready to start school the next morning.
I woke up to the sound of a knob turning. At first I thought it was morning, and it was just my mom coming to wake me up. After thinking for a second, I realized that the sound was from the opposite side of the room. But it wasn't just that. The lock on the door clicked, and the door creaked open. My half-asleep mind took a few seconds to register what the sound meant. I yawned a bit, then my eyes shot open and I froze.
Someone unlocked the closet.
From the other side of the door.
Impossible. There was no other lock. I made sure the door was locked every night. It was pat of my routine. I distinctly remembered closing it, and even testing to make sure. There wasn't a lock on the other side. There just wasn't. I lay still, shaking slightly and whimpering. Suddenly the opening door stopped. and it was silent. I could hear footsteps in my room, walking towards me. I dared not turn around. For a brief moment of peace I really thought it was just my mom.
Then they stopped halfway across the room. Silence reigned, and for an uncomfortable moment I thought I had simply been imagining it. The only sound was my heart thumping in my chest. As it slowed, I turned around and looked around my room.
Standing in the middle of the room, exactly where the footsteps had stopped, There stood a creature. A humanoid beast, definitely not of this world, or of any world. It had black, sunken eyes and pale, wrinkled skin. Sharp claws the size of butcher blades dragged along the wooden floor with a soft scratching sound. Its limbs were abnormally skinny, and they bent and contorted in odd shapes. Teeth gleamed like daggers, stained with a black ooze that dripped out like slobber.
It opened its mouth and gaped at me. Black, thick ooze gushed out like blood, and it uttered a small, barely audible groan.
It was uncomfortable to look at. My blood went ice cold, and it hurt my veins. The color drained from my face, and my eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.
It pointed a gnarled finger at me, and began to walk towards the bed.
By now, my mouth was hanging open, and my voice was gone. My stomach lurched when it began walking towards me, and my heart began to pump furiously again. It took small, short steps, but I couldn't move. My legs were frozen, and I couldn't avert my eyes from the horrible sight before me. The black liquid began making puddles on the ground as it walked, the ooze dripping down its gnarled skin. It began growling, and by the time my legs could move, it was at my bedside.
I backed up, and reached for my lamp. It stopped, and stepped back. Those black, horrid eyes gleamed at me, the silhouette of its claws forming a fist. It put its head up and screamed.
Its voice was cracked, and warped, and not very pleasant to listen to. If you've ever heard a song played backwards, then you know what the voice sounded like. It was a voice that came straight from Hell.
I cringed and covered my ears. I reached again for the lamp.
It stopped, and looked at me. It snarled, and white fangs as long as bananas shot out, gleaming in the moonlight. They had definitely grown from their previous size. With that, it crouched and leaped on top of my bed with the agility of a cat.
The claws on its feet dug into the bedsheet and tore the mattress, sending a flurry of feathers into the air. The creature reached a clawed hand up and swiped my face, tearing the skin like paper. I screamed. Blood rushed out from my wounded face and spilled onto the sheet, staining it deep velvet.
I whimpered, and the adrenalin was causing me to black out. The creature screamed again, and bounded off my bed. As my eyes began to close, I saw it look around. It heard something, and jumped forward with incredible speed. The beast crashed through the window, sending shards of glass rocketing into the air with a high-pitched shattering. I lost consciousness, and all went black.
I awoke several hours later. The sheets were stained dark velvet, and the black liquid still remained in small puddles on the ground. From the look of it, I hadn't been out for very long. I was coursing with fear, and my breath was shaky as I whimpered slightly. I screamed for my parents, and they came rushing in.
I explained with shaky words what had happened, and they comforted me and told me it was all a dream. They looked at each other nervously.
"Honey, it's okay. Just a nightmare. That's all."
"I'll go get you some warm milk, son," my father agreed, heading out.
I looked at them, and shook my head. "NO!"
They looked back. I squirmed out of my mother's arms. "There was something in my room! It was real. It slashed my face! See?"
I turned my face and presented my wounded cheek to them. "You see? We need to get out! Call the police!"
"Just go back to bed, hon. We promise you it was really nothing."
"No! You don't underst-"
"Just go to bed."
My father presented me with a cup full of warm milk. "Goodnight, son."
With that, they walked out and were gone.
The next morning, I walked into the bathroom and looked at my cheek. There was nothing. Not a scratch. I looked at my bedsheets, and they were completely clean. I really had no choice but to brush it off as a nightmare.
They never did believe me about the events of that night. They sent me to several child psychologists, but they simply described it as a night terror.
As for the black ooze, I never heard about it again. On several occasions, I asked my parents about it, but they just looked at me and said nothing. As soon as possible, they'd change the subject.
Believe me, all I've ever wanted was to forget about it. I moved back into a room with my brother, and suffered nightmares for many years because of the events of February 8th, 1987.
Several months later, the house was foreclosed for reasons my parents never told me. My parents packed us up quick, and within a week we were in a new house.
I only recently remembered this. I've decided to write to you guys about this because I've realized something that took me years to make sense of. And I really wish I hadn't.
Whatever that thing had been wasn't coming out of the closet.
It was going back in.
Credited to LonelyRaven