I sit in my bed,
my sheets pulled up to my nose.
My eyes are wide,
my hands shaking.
Breath is shallow,
sweat beads on my forehead.
I stare at my closet,
my terror growing.
It does not speak,
it does not show.
But I can hear it in there.
It scratches at the door every night.
It wants to come out.
It wants to play.
My heart nearly stops as I hear the door creak.
My closet door opens slowly.
I'm to petrified to cry out as it appears.
It's so.... so.....
Oh my God.
It's coming closer.
Oh... no, wait, no!
All I see is beady red eyes.
And a white fanged smile.
I blinked;
the hallucination disappeared.
My dying thought so clear.
I hate closets.