The Monster in the Closet

The scream jolted him awake. It wasn’t the sharp cry of a nightmare but the panicked, desperate shriek of his son calling for him.

He stumbled down the hall, heart pounding, and threw open the bedroom door. His boy sat upright in bed, eyes wide, trembling, and pointing a shaking finger toward the closet.

“Daddy! There’s a monster in there!”

The father’s first instinct was comfort. He crossed the room, scooped his son into his arms, and pressed him close. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “There’s no such thing as monsters.”

The closet door stood ajar, its darkness thick and absolute. To prove the point, he walked toward it. His son buried his face in his chest, refusing to look.

“See?” he said softly, leaning into the shadows. “Nothing’s in there.”

But the boy only shook his head harder, tiny fists clutching his father’s shirt.

With a sigh, the father backed away. “Alright, buddy. You can sleep with Mommy and Daddy tonight.”

His son’s grip loosened slightly at that promise, and together they left the room.

When the father entered his bedroom, his wife stirred from half-sleep. He gently laid their son on the bed beside her.

Then, leaning close to her ear, his voice dropped to a whisper that made her blood run cold.

“Call the police,” he said. “There is something in the closet.”