The Closet

My fiancé promised that when we got married, we would have a house and my family could live with us. It didn’t matter that my family only consisted of my brother and my mother, the father having long ago exited the picture.

And he held true to his promise. We purchased a quaint brownstone in New York that was three stories. My mother had the whole third floor to herself; my brother opted to stay in his own place. He was at the house every other day though, so it was like he lived with us just the same.

My husband was away a lot, and we had the place all to ourselves. I usually left my mother to her own devices on the third floor as I know she valued her privacy. I visited her often enough.

“You got new furniture!” I exclaimed one day having climbed three flights of stairs.

“You like it?” she asked doubtfully. “I wasn’t really sure about the leather…”

It was black, brown décor, very contemporary. It was stylish. It was new. But most of all, it looked like it cost a fortune.

“When did it get here?” I inquired, fingering a familiar green vase.

“It came yesterday while you were at work. They put all of the old furniture in the closet by the door”.

There was a short hallway entering her domain that had two doors on the right side. They were both closets. My brother and I wondered why whoever designed the place would put two closets on the same wall side by side. What, one for coats, one for shoes? Both closets were walk-in closets but the second closet, the one closer to her living space had another door on the far wall inside it. It looked like it led to a crawlspace or something. The three of us didn’t dare open it to find out.

My mother gushed about a new beau that was rich and trying to impress her by buying her things… she said she’d told him it wasn’t necessary but he wouldn’t hear of it. He even asked her to move in with him.

“He doesn’t understand why I live here. He thinks I need my own place.”

“You have your own place.” We smiled together.

After a couple of weeks of being in the house, my mom began to act strange. My husband had just taken a month long trip so I was with my mom almost everyday.

“It smells funny in here.” She wouldn’t say what it smelled like. Just that it smelled funny. And even though I couldn’t smell anything, she was distressed just the same.

“Do you smell that?” she asked my brother one day, while were sitting around watching TV and cracking jokes.

He sniffed at the air. “What am I smelling for” he said in between deep sniffs, “I don’t smell nothin’.”

“Same thing I told her”, hinting at my mother’s unfounded paranoia.

“No, seriously, it smells like…” her voiced trailed off.

“What does it smell like, mom?”

“I asked her that already, too, bro”.

My mom pursed her lips, and refused to talk about it anymore.

Another week went by and mom began to complain of more than just a smell. She started to hear noises. She started to hear noises from the closet.

“What kind of noises are you hearing?” I could see that she was very distraught and I was trying my best to comfort her.

“Shuffling noises. In the closet. Like someone’s in there. And sometimes… a grunting noise. It started a little at first… like I was imagining it… then, the sounds became more frequent. Louder too.”

“Which closet is it coming from?” I glanced to my right to look down the hallway at the closet doors.

“The one with the furniture in it.”

“Well let’s look inside…it’s probably just the furniture settling-”

“No!” she shouted vehemently, “Don’t open that closet door!”

She wouldn’t let me look in that closet and I told her that the sooner we look in the closet, the sooner we’ll solve the mystery. She still refused.

Three days later, my brother was visiting and I filled him in on the noises situation before while we went up those three flights of stairs.

“So you been hearing noises”, he asked my mother, a concerned expression on his face.

She looked a mess. I didn’t want to leave her the night before but she insisted that’d she’d be fine. I told her to call me if she needed me, because I would be right downstairs and I would come as soon as she’d call.

Her hair was disheveled and she looked as if she didn’t sleep a wink. Her eyes were red and watery, and her face was splotchy.

“It’s my father,” she breathed outward.

“What?” my brother and I both cried out in unison. “What are you talking about?”

Her voice was guttural. “I know it’s him. That smell, I can’t leave here because I would have to walk past that door. I hear him coughing… and grunting… and I can smell him… he smells like menthol… and death. He smells like rotting flesh…and defecation. He smells like a hospital… the smell is worse when he coughs… and last night? He said my name.”

My brother and I were very perplexed, speechless even. We looked at each other with shocked expressions. I made my mother some tea to try to calm her nerves and my brother kept patting her on the back to make her feel better.

“Mom, we have to look into the closet. If someone is in there, we have to call the police! You said someone was coughing? Oh hell no, mom…” I was already making my way to the closet.

“Don’t open that fucking closet door!” she screamed.

My brother was her voice of reason. “She’s right, Mom. We gotta look in the closet. If somebody in there, we gotta call the police.” He left out the fact that it was absolutely ludicrous that it might be her father.

I put my hand on the knob while my mother and brother looked on in anticipation. I turned the knob and cracked the door open. Just a little and… what was that? Was there… movement?

Just then, there was a loud noise downstairs. My heart nearly jumped out of my body, and I could tell it was the same for my brother and my mother. My brother jumped up and told us to wait upstairs while he went to go check it out.

I continued to open the closet door. I really couldn’t see inside, as there was no light, but from what I could see was furniture. It was all thrown haphazardly into the closet.

“It was just the cat knocking shit over!” my brother yelled upstairs.

My mother started to sob. “I can’t take this anymore,” she started heaving. “I think I’m going to be sick”-

“Mom, come on mom… I don’t see anything in the closet, but I could take some of the stuff out. But we’ll take you to the hospital so the doctor can have a look at you…let’s get you dressed”, just then, a low sound erupted from the closet, and the door to my mom’s “apartment” shut suddenly.

The furniture began to shift and move as if someone was trying to get out.

“no you don’t no you don’t no you no don’t no you don’t no you don’t no you don’t no you don’t no you don’t no you no you don’t no you don’t take my daughter anywhere!!!!” There followed a series of grunts and coughs and a strong smell of menthol and rot filled the room making me nauseous. My mother began to scream and I shut the closet door as quickly as I could. I grabbed my mom’s arm and pulled her toward the door. She didn’t protest. My brother was just reaching the landing wondering what the hell was going on.

“Just go, go, go!!!” He began to run back down the stairs and I pushed my mother in front of me so that my brother could pull her along. I glanced back toward the door before descending the stairs and what I saw horrified me. An old decrepit black man emerged from the closet, shuffling and coughing. He had on blue boxer briefs with a black elastic band and that was it. He was covered in filth and the briefs were soiled. His teeth were rotting out of is mouth and when he opened it, a foul smelling odor permeated the stair well. I ran as fast as I could, trying to help my mother along.

When we got to the bottom floor, we didn’t run out side. We didn’t have enough time. The smell was very strong and he was close by. We locked ourselves into the master bedroom on the first floor. It had two doors. I ran to the second door to lock it just then I heard a low sound. It was heavy breathing. He was calling my mother’s name.

“Come lie with daddy… come lie with daddy baby…I’ll always be your daddy no matter what…”

My brother was cursing and yelling out all kinds of what I’ma-do-to-you’s and my mom was trying the phone. I locked the door and stepped back as the smell began to fill the room, and I could see the lock turning slowly, ever so slowly…