Miss Olivia
07-05-2006, 01:58 PM
Dawn was almost asleep when she saw the face in the closet.
There was no suggestion of a body, no shadow of a torso or leg.
Just the face, smiling from the closet. Unblinking. Unmoving.
Watching her.
Adrenaline slammed through her body like a low voltage shock, her heart knocking in her chest, trying to punch its way through her ribcage and run for cover, but she was paralyzed, unmoving. Staring at the face. The skin was as pale as a night mushroom, the eyes did not glow but somehow GLISTENED from what little light there was from the streetlight outside the window. Their color was the red of clotted blood, no whites, no pupils, almost membranous. There was a suggestion of ears, and a nose, but the worst shock was the mouth. It was gaping, enormous and jagged, taking up the entire lower portion of the face and stuffed with silvery teeth that looked almost metallic in the dim reflection of the light. It did not move, or breathe, or give any sign of life. It simply STARED, and transfixed as she was by its gaze, she could do nothing but stare back. Her body was acting on its own, trying to gasp in little sips of air to scream but it was useless. There seemed to be no oxygen in the stale bedroom air, tiny colored dots began to swim in front of her eyes but they would not, could not waver from that hideous sight in the closet. She was still staring into those clotted eyes when conciousness left her and she fell into darkness.
The next waking moment brought both sunlight and a gutteral scream simultaneously, and Jeromy leapt from his side of the bed almost pissing himself at the sight of his wife clutching her face so hard she drew blood with her nails and crying hysterically. "Holy shit! What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled, and it broke through the fit and she sat up in the bed sobbing, to tell him about the awful dream she had. "Jesus, woman" he said. "You almost made me piss myself. I'm sorry you had such an awful dream, but maybe you should stop watching all those damn horror movies. Obviously you're taking it a little too seriously."
Dawn felt terrible about the whole situation, it seemed pretty silly in broad daylight, and of course there was nothing in the closet this morning. As the day wore on, she put the dream in the back of her mind and carried on with life as usual. Still, as night approached she became more apprehensive and made a point of not only closing the closet door, but piling the dirty clothes from the hamper in front of it. Jeromy laughed at her and said "Well, if it keeps a repeat of this morning from happening I can deal with a little mess, no problem." They went to bed at midnight, made love and went to sleep, and she hardly thought of the closet at all.
Until around three o'clock in the morning.
She woke up to the sound of deep breathing. Jeromy snored like a lumberjack, and she didn't know why that would wake her, until she realized the sound was coming from the wrong side of the bed. She had turned in her sleep and had her back to the closet, and tonight there was no paralysis, she spun over and the face was THERE, right THERE, extended to within six inches of her on a long neck that stretched for at least five feet back into the black nothing of the closet. She pushed back straight into Jeromy's chest and the face withdrew into the closet with a sudden shocking speed, melting into the shadow in the back. Jeromy awoke when he hit the floor on the other side of the bed with Dawn on top of him, screaming. He stood up and switched on the light, seeing all at once the open closet, the tumbled clothes and his terrified wife. He took her to the hospital.
The doctors said she was delusional and shot her full of Thorazine, then took her to the third floor of the hospital which was used specifically for mentally disturbed people. Jeromy was tired and heartsore that he had to commit his wife, who he loved dearly for all that she was a little high-strung. He went home and fell into a deep sleep.
The hospital called around two the next morning.
Dawn had completely disappeared. There was screaming and the sounds of a struggle in her room, but when the nurse ran, puffing, into the room, she was gone. The nurse had called hospital security and they searched the entire floor to no avail. Dawn was gone.
When Jeromy came to the hospital to get her things, the floor was quiet. He gathered her clothes, her toothbrush, the stuffed cat he had brought her to keep her company. Then he simply stood and looked at the dent in her pillow where her head had been. He suddenly became aware of a strange scratching noise. What the hell is that, he thought, rats? In a hospital? He followed the noise and ended up outside the small cabinet that passed for a closet. It seemed to be coming from the back wall, and he hunkered down to listen closer.
That's when he saw the hair.
Dawn's hair, protruding through the wall as if it had been put there when the wall was built. He screamed for the nurse, and security came back. A hole was knocked in the wall, but her body was not there. Only that small chunk of hair, attached to a piece of scalp, that the nurse said could have been anyone's. Only Jeromy knew it was not just anybodys, he had been looking at that hair for the past five years, it was Dawn's. They told him to go home, the police would take care of testing it to see whose DNA it belonged to. He couldn't go back to his house now.
Not with his wife's ghost in the bed next to him and the closet in the corner. He went to a cheap motel, and paid the clerk for a week. He was so tired and heartsore, and all he wanted was rest.
He brought in his overnight bag and set it on the obnoxiously colored bedspread, and then he laid next to it and cried for a while. Then he noticed the closet in the room. There was no door, only a curtain hanging over the entry.
Jeromy laid on the bed and watched the closet.
After a while, the closet began watching him back.
There was no suggestion of a body, no shadow of a torso or leg.
Just the face, smiling from the closet. Unblinking. Unmoving.
Watching her.
Adrenaline slammed through her body like a low voltage shock, her heart knocking in her chest, trying to punch its way through her ribcage and run for cover, but she was paralyzed, unmoving. Staring at the face. The skin was as pale as a night mushroom, the eyes did not glow but somehow GLISTENED from what little light there was from the streetlight outside the window. Their color was the red of clotted blood, no whites, no pupils, almost membranous. There was a suggestion of ears, and a nose, but the worst shock was the mouth. It was gaping, enormous and jagged, taking up the entire lower portion of the face and stuffed with silvery teeth that looked almost metallic in the dim reflection of the light. It did not move, or breathe, or give any sign of life. It simply STARED, and transfixed as she was by its gaze, she could do nothing but stare back. Her body was acting on its own, trying to gasp in little sips of air to scream but it was useless. There seemed to be no oxygen in the stale bedroom air, tiny colored dots began to swim in front of her eyes but they would not, could not waver from that hideous sight in the closet. She was still staring into those clotted eyes when conciousness left her and she fell into darkness.
The next waking moment brought both sunlight and a gutteral scream simultaneously, and Jeromy leapt from his side of the bed almost pissing himself at the sight of his wife clutching her face so hard she drew blood with her nails and crying hysterically. "Holy shit! What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled, and it broke through the fit and she sat up in the bed sobbing, to tell him about the awful dream she had. "Jesus, woman" he said. "You almost made me piss myself. I'm sorry you had such an awful dream, but maybe you should stop watching all those damn horror movies. Obviously you're taking it a little too seriously."
Dawn felt terrible about the whole situation, it seemed pretty silly in broad daylight, and of course there was nothing in the closet this morning. As the day wore on, she put the dream in the back of her mind and carried on with life as usual. Still, as night approached she became more apprehensive and made a point of not only closing the closet door, but piling the dirty clothes from the hamper in front of it. Jeromy laughed at her and said "Well, if it keeps a repeat of this morning from happening I can deal with a little mess, no problem." They went to bed at midnight, made love and went to sleep, and she hardly thought of the closet at all.
Until around three o'clock in the morning.
She woke up to the sound of deep breathing. Jeromy snored like a lumberjack, and she didn't know why that would wake her, until she realized the sound was coming from the wrong side of the bed. She had turned in her sleep and had her back to the closet, and tonight there was no paralysis, she spun over and the face was THERE, right THERE, extended to within six inches of her on a long neck that stretched for at least five feet back into the black nothing of the closet. She pushed back straight into Jeromy's chest and the face withdrew into the closet with a sudden shocking speed, melting into the shadow in the back. Jeromy awoke when he hit the floor on the other side of the bed with Dawn on top of him, screaming. He stood up and switched on the light, seeing all at once the open closet, the tumbled clothes and his terrified wife. He took her to the hospital.
The doctors said she was delusional and shot her full of Thorazine, then took her to the third floor of the hospital which was used specifically for mentally disturbed people. Jeromy was tired and heartsore that he had to commit his wife, who he loved dearly for all that she was a little high-strung. He went home and fell into a deep sleep.
The hospital called around two the next morning.
Dawn had completely disappeared. There was screaming and the sounds of a struggle in her room, but when the nurse ran, puffing, into the room, she was gone. The nurse had called hospital security and they searched the entire floor to no avail. Dawn was gone.
When Jeromy came to the hospital to get her things, the floor was quiet. He gathered her clothes, her toothbrush, the stuffed cat he had brought her to keep her company. Then he simply stood and looked at the dent in her pillow where her head had been. He suddenly became aware of a strange scratching noise. What the hell is that, he thought, rats? In a hospital? He followed the noise and ended up outside the small cabinet that passed for a closet. It seemed to be coming from the back wall, and he hunkered down to listen closer.
That's when he saw the hair.
Dawn's hair, protruding through the wall as if it had been put there when the wall was built. He screamed for the nurse, and security came back. A hole was knocked in the wall, but her body was not there. Only that small chunk of hair, attached to a piece of scalp, that the nurse said could have been anyone's. Only Jeromy knew it was not just anybodys, he had been looking at that hair for the past five years, it was Dawn's. They told him to go home, the police would take care of testing it to see whose DNA it belonged to. He couldn't go back to his house now.
Not with his wife's ghost in the bed next to him and the closet in the corner. He went to a cheap motel, and paid the clerk for a week. He was so tired and heartsore, and all he wanted was rest.
He brought in his overnight bag and set it on the obnoxiously colored bedspread, and then he laid next to it and cried for a while. Then he noticed the closet in the room. There was no door, only a curtain hanging over the entry.
Jeromy laid on the bed and watched the closet.
After a while, the closet began watching him back.