Overall, I can’t complain about my situation; life is pretty good. Well, other than the thing in my closet. It’s not like it ever hurts me or anything, it’s just… there. I know it’s there, and it knows I’m here. There’s not really anything I can do about it, because I can’t stay outside the house after dark. Maybe if I went far enough, I would find someplace else, but I don’t think it’s worth the risk; things seem to be okay as they are right now. I have food, water, shelter; what more could I need? Although, I’ve definitely thought about trying to get rid of the thing in my closet; I just don’t know what it is. I don’t know what would happen if I opened the door. I’ve been here for years now, maybe decades. I don’t really know; it’s so easy to lose track of time these days. But I was very lucky to find this old house. A lot of people weren’t so lucky. The day I almost passed this place by, I was reminded of that by a dead man in the plains outside the house. I’m sorry if that’s a little grim, but on the bright side, it’s not so bad being here alone. I learned to garden. Even though the soil is pretty dry and loose, I can usually get enough plants to grow here that I can eat. It’s kind of therapeutic, just being out in the garden. It’s like a little oasis in the wasteland. Still, I never really feel relaxed because of that… thing. I could swear I’ve seen it looking at me through the curtains of my bedroom window once or twice over the years, but I’m always busy with my crops so I don’t realize it until it’s disappeared again. I really try my best not to think about it. I mean, it hasn’t hurt me, it doesn’t steal food or anything, I’ve never really seen it for sure, I’ve never heard it, it’s never done any actual harm. But I like to think about what life would be like if it wasn’t around anymore. Things would be so much better. Though I suppose in a way, it’s my only company. I’m just not sure I want it to be here. Maybe if I knew it was gone, I wouldn’t feel so paranoid all the time.
...
The house doesn’t quite feel right, because every once in a while, I notice little things that aren’t how I left them. Sometimes a door I left open is closed, or a book I left on the table is on the chair. It makes me think that it does leave the closet sometimes, like when I’m asleep or out in the garden. I think it likes to roam around the house looking at things. Maybe if I knew what exactly it was, I would know how to deal with it; there’s just so much uncertainty. I mean, what if I opened the door and it was another person? Maybe we could be friends and keep each other company. But what if it’s not a person? I’ve seen an old axe in the garden shed. Maybe someday I’ll muster up the courage to open the closet door and see what’s in there, but probably not any time soon. The part that really bothers me is the dreams; a lot of times I dream about it. I know they’re not real, but it always feels so vivid. I’m lying in bed in the darkness, I can’t help but watch the closet, and I hear the door moving. Sometimes the door even opens up, but nothing ever comes out; I just see blackness inside the closet. Even though I’ve never seen it leave the closet, when I’m having those dreams and looking inside, it feels like it’ll just rush out at me. But when that feeling gets stronger and stronger until I’m on the verge of a panic attack, I always wake up to the sun shining through my window, the door is closed, and everything is fine. But I know it’s in there.
...
I’m pretty sure it’s been in the closet ever since I first found this place, but I don’t know why. I knew something was in there, because the first, and last time, I tried to open the door, something on the other side pulled it shut; it was much stronger than me. I tried to leave in that moment, but I didn’t get far before I knew I’d have to turn back. Ever since then, I’ve been living with it, seeing signs of it, knowing it’s there watching and listening.
...
I’m really trying to make the best of my life, trying to be grateful for what I have; I spend a lot of time reading old books and gardening. I like to make food when I can. I’ve even started trying to learn how to dance, but I’m a little nervous. Before all this, I got self-conscious when I danced because I was never any good at it. When I was little, I’d dance in my room by myself a lot, because no one was there to see me, and I wouldn’t get embarrassed. You would think now that I’m all alone, I would be able to dance without getting nervous, but I can’t; I still feel eyes on me.
...
I decided to move the bed downstairs into the living room; I thought it might help with the dreams, but it didn’t really. It actually seems like I have the dream more often now, and I’m noticing other things too. I’ve always heard the house making noises. It’s old; it moves in the breeze sometimes. Especially on particularly windy days, or stormy nights. Stepping on warped floorboards makes a squeaking sound sometimes. Almost all of the doors creak. I guess what I’m saying is, sounds are normal around here, but, since I moved my bed into the living room, I’ve been hearing them more often. Maybe it’s leaving the closet during the day now, even when I’m in the house. What’s it doing?
...
As I write this, I feel like I’m starting to lose control of my anxiety; it’s getting more active, and I find myself considering doing something about it more often. I had the dream again last night, but this time I actually saw something come out from behind the door. It was pitch black, so I could only see the outline of some kind of figure standing at the foot of my bed. It just watched me. I told myself it was a dream, and I knew it was, but I couldn’t wake up; I was just trapped there while it stared at me. I didn’t know panic could last so long. After a while, it moved closer, and I felt its weight slowly depress the mattress at my feet. That’s when I finally woke up. Today I decided to open the closet. Whatever was in there, I would confront it no matter what. So, I went outside to the garden shed to get that old axe. The nightmares and anxiety had to stop; whatever happened, and whatever I found in the closet, I was going through with it. I opened the doors to the shed… and the axe wasn’t there. I looked everywhere around the house, and I couldn’t find any trace of it, so I think there’s really only one place it could be. I guess the thing in my closet wants to stay here with me, as much as I don’t want it to. I’m not going to try to open the door again, I think it’s best to leave it undisturbed.