A Forgotten Memory

Credited to LonelyRaven.

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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 it.

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.

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.

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; 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 to come.

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.

I woke up to the sound of a knob turning. 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 stood still, shaking slightly and whimpering. I could hear footsteps in my room, walking towards me. I turned and looked slowly at my room.

There stood a creature. A humanoid creature. 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.

It opened its mouth and gaped at me. Black, thick ooze gushed out like blood, and it uttered a small, barely audible groan. 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. It took small, short steps, but I couldn't move. My legs were frozen, as if I had brick shoes. 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. 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.

It stopped, and looked at me. It snarled, and white fangs as long as bananas shot out, gleaming in the moonlight. With that, it crouched and leaped on top of my bed with the agility of a cat. 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.

I whimpered, and the adrenalin was causing me to black out. The creature screaned again, and bounded off my bed. 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. I was coursing with fear, and my breath was shaky as I whimpered slightly. I screamed for my parents, and they came rushing in.

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.

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 it. Several years 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.

The creature was never coming out of my closet.

It was going back in.