The Monster in My Closet

A monster seeks to make good on an old deal.

“But, Mom, there are monsters in here.”

“That’s enough, Timmy,” Timmy’s mother answered him sternly. “There’s no such thing as monsters. Now goodnight.”

Timmy’s mother flipped the light switch by the door. The room was cast into darkness save a small column of light coming from the hall through the half open doorway. There would have been more light had Timmy’s mother not been standing there; her body was blocking the majority of the sweet life affirming glow of the overhead lamps in the hall. “Just go to sleep and I’ll make pancakes in the morning, okay?”

“With chocolate chips?” Timmy asked, expectantly.

“Yes, Timmy,” his mother conceded, “with chocolate chips. Now sleep.”

Easier said than done, Timmy thought as his mother shut the door to his room, leaving him in darkness. It was a full moon on a cloudless night and the glow from the moon was lighting his bedroom just enough for Timmy to make out shapes around the room. Timmy couldn’t quite decide if it was better to see a vague outline of something or not see it at all. Each had its pros and cons, but mostly cons existed on that twisted list. Semi-darkness could be just as, if not more, fearsome and forbidding than pitch black gloom.

Timmy scanned the room and identified everything he could just to be sure nothing suspicious was lurking where he didn’t expect it. On his nightstand was a box of tissues and his glasses sat next to a lamp shaped like a baseball bat. To the left of his bed was the dresser his grandfather had made with his bare hands. Atop the dresser was an array of action figures in various frozen positions, each fighting an invisible foe. Timmy’s toy box was next to the dresser,  a small electric keyboard sat on top of it with sheet music piled on top of that. Lining the walls were posters of courageous space rangers and Timmy’s favorite sports heroes. On any normal day, the characters in the posters looked down on him with what Timmy always felt was a sort of protective gaze. Now, in the darkness, each one of them glared at him with an expression of hatred and impending doom.

“Your mother’s right, Timmy,” a voice said in the darkness. It was deep and grating, and it made the hair on the back of Timmy’s neck stand on end. What was more terrifying was that it was a voice Timmy recognized, although he’d never seen the body it belonged to, nor did he want to. “You really should get some sleep.”

“You know I can’t sleep when I know you’re watching me, Grimhook,” Timmy hissed, addressing the closet which was open a few inches.

The disembodied voice clucked what Timmy could only assume was its tongue. “Watching makes it sound so…creepy. Call it savoring.” The voice thickened on the last word, and Timmy couldn’t help but imagine the creature smiling as if it were looking at a Thanksgiving dinner. His skin crawled at the thought.

“I’m really not afraid of you, you know,” Timmy said as nonchalantly as possible. He managed to present a fairly brave exterior even though his insides were screaming out the fear that was ravaging his mind.

Grimhook laughed slowly and deeply. With each laugh a small puff of steam shot out of the crack in the closet door. Timmy had just learned about what creates steam in school. He knew when a gust of hot air meets cold air, it suddenly becomes visible to the human eye. The trouble was, it wasn’t particularly cold in Timmy’s room, and it left him to wonder just how hot the breath coming from the closet actually was.

“Oh, you’re afraid of me, Timmy,” Grimhook said good-humoredly. “Would you like to know how I know that, young man?”

“I’d like you to leave me alone,” Timmy answered nervously. He was trying to act brave but whatever was in his closet could see right through his façade as if it were a window.

“I can tell you’re afraid, Timmy,” the voice pressed on, ignoring Timmy’s request, “because I feed on fear. It fills me up, makes me stronger, and I haven’t felt so sated and powerful in years.”

Timmy groaned involuntarily. “Why don’t you just eat me and get it over with?”

There was a brief pause as if Grimhook was contemplating what Timmy had said. “Maybe I will, Timmy. Maybe I’ll do just that.” The closet door started to ease open gently, and Timmy could feel a blinding fear crawling up his spine and scrambling his thoughts. His mind was screaming at him to jump out of bed and run to his parents room. At the very least, scream for his mother or father. His mind just wanted him to do something to stop him from being eaten. His body had other thoughts. It was betraying Timmy when he needed it most. In a few seconds time, Timmy would be dinner for some unthinkable creature and it would be all his body’s fault.

“You know better than to step over the threshold, Grimhook,” another voice cut through the room. It was as deep as Grimhook’s, but in a different way. There was power and comfort in this new voice that made Timmy breathe a sigh of relief. “At least not just yet.”

Grimhook hissed and the door stopped before it was fully open. “So nice of you to join us, Isaac.”

If Timmy had had more control over his body he would have agreed with Grimhook out loud. As it was, he silently admonished Isaac in his head.

“I do apologize for my tardiness,” Isaac pleaded to the room. “There was a bit of a traffic jam by the Well of Souls.”

Grimhook chuckled. More steam hissed from the closet. “You really should plan ahead for these things. It is a busy time of year, you know?”

“Silence, you cur,” Isaac spat.

Before the argument could get out of control, Timmy silenced them. Something had suddenly registered in his brain. “Wait a second. What do you mean he can’t cross the threshold just yet?”

“Ah,” Isaac stuttered, but recovered quickly. “Nothing to fret over, Timmy. Just get some sleep.”

Grimhook spat a single guttural laugh. “Oh, just tell him, you twit. He should know at some point, and there isn’t much time left for him to do so.”

There was a moment of silence at that. Timmy could practically see what he imagined Isaac looked like contemplating just the right words. Finally, Isaac spoke.

“I know you’ve come to think of me as your saving grace, Timmy,” the voice said softly, “but, unfortunately, that’s not quite the case here. I’m here to keep Grimhook from entering your room, but only until a certain time and date. After that, he’s free to come and go as he pleases, although I’m sure just the once will be satisfactory enough.”

“That it will,” Grimhook agreed hungrily.

“I don’t understand,” Timmy said. He could feel the tears beginning to well in his eyes. He did think of Isaac as a sort of guardian angel keeping the demon at bay, not just someone passing through and lending a hand until it was time to move on.

“Well, this may be hard to hear,” Isaac continued, “but when your father was in college, he agreed to sell his first born son to Satan for tickets to a Dave Matthews concert. While he may not have realized what he was doing, it was a verbal contract, and the Devil always makes good on things like that. Grimhook was the demon assigned to your case, and I am the angel assigned to make sure he does not violate the contract by fulfilling it one second earlier than he’s allowed.”

“And when is he allowed?” Timmy asked, even though he didn’t want to know the answer.

“9:15,” Isaac and Grimhook answered in unison.

Timmy looked at the clock. It was currently twelve minutes after nine. “Why haven’t you come sooner? I’m almost twelve.”

“Well, God and Satan sat down one day and put forth terms that allowed Satan to claim any verbal contract such as the one your father made without the opposite parties consent so long as the victim was allowed to live no longer than fifteen years from the day the contract was made. God felt as if it would teach a lesson to humans to watch what they say. You were born three years after that concert, and in three minutes, the full fifteen years will be up. I really am rather sorry about this. You’re a rather exceptional young man.”

Timmy was now freely sobbing, his eyes pressed against his knees.

“Yes,” Grimhook hissed. “Cry, boy. It fuels my hunger.”

“Oh, shut up,” Isaac chided the demon.

The next three minutes passed in relative silence with only Timmy’s sobs and Grimhook’s smacking lips breaking the noiselessness.

“Goodbye, Timmy,” Isaac said as the clock changed to 9:15. The closet door opened to reveal a monstrosity so truly terrifying Timmy’s mind could barely comprehend what he was seeing. The two identifying characteristics of the creature that Timmy registered were the eyes covering the demons body all trained on him, and the mouth full of razor sharp yellow teeth dripping with drool. Timmy lost consciousness as soon as the demon set foot across the threshold. His parents would spend years searching for their son, but no one ever saw little Timmy Miller ever again.

Reviews

[BruceDog]

Really enjoyed this - great, creepy idea for a story.