The Wardrobe

I finally moved into my dream home today. It was a steal of a price; a fully furnished, old Victorian country manor that looks over the beautiful Yorkshire countryside. The house is in disarray and looks like it hasn't been lived in for years but nothing a good mop or a lick of paint can't fix. It's quiet here - the nearest neighbors are miles away - but I've always enjoyed my time alone, away from others. You see, I have a large purple birthmark which covers half of my face and it’s always irritated me how often people rudely stare. It'll be a longer commute to and from work now but I'm tired of the hectic city life with so much uncomfortable attention. The middle of nowhere suits me well.

I start unpacking the master bedroom. It is a large room with an ancient four poster bed and rich velvet curtains draped across a dome shaped window over-looking the lush green fields. The room is dominated by an enormous old oak wardrobe, sitting in the corner opposite the window. Standing over twelve foot high, its top almost reaches the ceiling. The proportions are odd and out of scale; as the wardrobe rises it becomes wider and leans in towards you, as if it is leering intimidatingly. Despite the beautiful craftsmanship, the wardrobe leaves me feeling unsettled. I cannot get the thought of it falling on top of me out of my head. It'll be worth a small fortune so I'll sell it eventually.

For now though, it serves a purpose. I start dusting the insides. It has a faint musty smell about it. On the bottom shelf there's an old black and white photograph in pristine condition. It’s a family portrait of a father, mother and a little girl all dressed in their nineteenth century Sunday best. The father sits in a lavish armchair between the two women. He has a stern, proud posture with a cruel squint in his eyes. The mother shows a tense, nervous expression in her stance and face. The little girl has a facial disfigurement, a cleft palate on the right side of her upper lip. Her long black hair tries to cover the right side of her face. She looks as if she is about to burst into tears and is leaning away from her father with her head facing the ground. She looks terrified and embarrassed at being photographed…poor girl. There is something written on the back of the photograph in large, angry handwriting: NEVER AGAIN.

I place the photograph to one side, and notice a small pile of rubbish on the bottom shelf of the wardrobe. I reach to sweep it up with my hands. I lightly touch the top and instantly recoil. It's sharp; I look closer and realize they're fingernail clippings! Yuck! Oddly, they look like fresh clippings. What's most disturbing is that the inside door has dozens of deep scratch marks. It must have been caused by some kind of animal - a rat trapped inside perhaps. Damn it; the damage would bring the value down considerably. I sweep the clippings away with a brush and put them in the bin. Most of my clothes fit in the wardrobe, the rest are put in a chest of drawers I kept from my old flat. I make the bed and then it’s time to get to work downstairs.

Cleaning the kitchen is the first priority. It's a real mess, but even in its grubby state there's potential, so I put my iPod on and get started. After a few hours of hard work there's signs of progress, the kitchen now has a warmth which it didn't before. The sun beams in through the window and gives the mahogany surfaces a gentle glow. Feeling pleased I reward myself with a long, hot shower.

Still smiling, I return to my bedroom to grab a towel only to see the wardrobe doors wide open and all my clothes scattered across the floor. My smile disappears. What the hell was this? Was the iPod on so loud that I didn't hear someone sneak into my house? The kitchen is right next to the front door after all. I stand still in the middle of the room just looking at the floor for several minutes, feeling my rising heartbeat comes an increasing feeling of dread with this intrusion. I shake my head. Bloody kids; neighbors must be closer than I thought. They probably used to hang out in the house as it's been abandoned for so long.

'You better get out of here or I'll tell your parents!'

My voice echoes back at me, then silence. They're probably long gone by now anyway. Maybe they saw my face and were scared away, maybe that'll keep them away from now on. I set about gathering my clothes but after a long day I can only muster the energy to pile them up next to the bed. An eerie feeling sticks with me so I decide to take a walk to clear my head. I reach into my chest of drawers for a sweater; I notice all the clothes in there are still folded neatly.

After some fresh air and a solid day of work I'm exhausted and happily greet an early night. It's the first time in my new bed and the mattress is so comfortable that I couldn't keep my eyes opened if I wanted to.

I wake with a sudden gasp, looking around the room, frantically trying to piece together my unfamiliar surroundings. Slowly it comes back to me that it's the first nights sleep in my new home. The clock reads 3:00. I take a few deep breathes. With sleepy eyes I look at the bottom of my bed and to my horror a little girl is sitting on top of my pile of clothes. She must be about ten or eleven with long jet black hair. Her back is to me and she's sharply jerking in a crying motion, but doesn't make a sound. My eyes are watering with fear and I'm shaking uncontrollably. As scared as I am I must get a grip; this little girl is clearly in distress. I clear my throat a prepare to hide the quiver I'm sure is lurking in my voice.

'Hey, is everything alright?'

At the sound of my voice she instantly stops jerking and slowly turns towards me. Her skin looks bleached, as if it hasn't seen daylight for years. I'm speechless, my hands tightly clench onto the bed sheets. A cold sweat spreads over me. She turns enough for me to see her side profile, the only color she has are the blue veins spreading like tentacles across her temples. She carries on turning till i see her whole face. She looks straight at me with two tearful eyes. I recoil in horror as I see her mouth - she has no upper lip! It’s been cut off as high as the bottom of her nose. All I see are long yellow teeth and blotchy black gums. My stomach turns and gag reflexes spasm my body. She reaches out to me with her damaged, bloody fingers tips and says,

'Daddy says we'll be safer in there. He'll fix you too.'

I jolt upright, panicking as I struggle for air. My eyes tightly shut and open to try and focus on the end of the bed. Nothing. Sleep is impossible after that disturbing dream. I glance over at the clock. It reads 2:59 ... the wardrobe door creaks.