User blog comment:Natalo/A Fun Writing Challenge (for anyone who wants to participate)/@comment-25383866-20150316045158/@comment-25383866-20150317124636

"Walk-In"

James was seated cross-legged in front of the closet door. In his lap, he cradled an old, sawn-off shotgun, the polished metal of the triggers and their guard glinting in the light of the single bulb that hung from the ceiling. His hands were moist, dripping like drowned things freshly dredged. They squeaked against the stained wood of the grip as he turned the gun over in his hands. His dad would've been proud of him. He'd become a man after all. The weapon had been his father's final gift to him- perhaps his only gift- before his death. James had been sixteen, and it had fallen to him to raise his younger brother after their father's passing. He worked twelve hours a day out in the mines while his little brother went to school. It didn't take long for James to start to resent his brother. Life was so easy for him; he had no obligations. He was getting an education, he was going to get out of the small mining town and make something of himself, while James would waste away in the coal-blackened landscape of West Virginia. But despite his growing discontent, he never wished for any harm to befall his little brother. He was angry, yes, but he loved the kid, and would do anything to protect him. And that was why he was here, seated in front of the closet door with the shotgun in his lap, the double barrels icy against his flesh. His brother had begun to talk about the thing in the closet about six months after their dad's death. He had ignored him, dismissing his stories as pleas for attention. Kid's stuff. There had been many nights when little Aaron had come running into James' room, crying because something had growled at him from inside the closet. He had checked each time, and each time there had been nothing there. Soon, James had begun locking his door before bed to prevent any nightly intrusions. Then, three nights ago, Aaron disappeared. James had unlocked his door one morning and gone to wake his little brother for school, and when he opened the door to the boy's room, he found it empty. The boy's slippers were missing, along with his only toy, a worn corduroy bear. The sheets were in a pile on the floor at the end of the bed, and the closet door was open. James had panicked. There was no one to help him, no one he could call. He fought the fear and assumed, quite rationally, that the kid had gotten himself up and gone to school. James closed the closet door and went to work, pushing the worry out of his mind. His foreman had chewed him out more than a few times that day. That night, he returned home, and went to check on Aaron to make sure he was in bed. The bed was made. The slippers and the bear had returned to their places by the door and on the bed, respectively. The closet door was open. And Aaron was nowhere to be seen. He closed the door. The next morning he got a posse together to look for his brother in the land surrounding their house. They searched all day, to no avail. It was agreed that they would meet again in the morning. That night, James had woken up in a panic, heart pounding, breath shakey and rapid. He had heard his brother’s voice. It was silent as he listened, and then a second later he heard his brother call again from somewhere far off. He jumped out of bed, grabbing the gun from where it was stored on a wall rack, and ran to Aaron’s room. He kicked the door open, shouting his brother’s name. The room was empty. He was about to go back to his room when he heard a soft voice cry, “James!” He gasped in surprise. The voice had come from inside the room. His eyes tracked to the closet door. It was open. He turned and ran back to his room, diving under the covers and pulling them over his head. The next morning the posse got back together again, but Aaron knew now that they would find nothing. That night when he went home, he got down the shotgun, and went to his brother’s room. He sat down cross-legged in front of it. And he waited. He contemplated what his purpose was. He was going to rescue his brother from whatever had taken him, obviously. But how was he going to do that? As he thought, the door began to slowly creak open. He heard the sound and snapped to attention, aiming the gun into the black opening. Out of the dark he heard his brother’s voice, very faintly. “James!” came the faint cry. “Aaron!” he shouted back, jumping to his feet. “I’m coming, little brother!” He paused before entering the closet, a wave of paralyzing fear breaking over him, and he held the gun tighter, finding comfort in its heft. Then he stepped into the opening. As the door swung shut behind him, he realized that there was no going back.