A tale of every night

It is something that happens every night. Just before I go to sleep. I don’t even think about it before it happens. But it happens. Every time.

 

Just a subtle glance in the closet’s direction. Oblivious. Inoffensive. Plain. And that is the end of it for the night; unless the closet door is open. In that case, I get up from the bed and close it. 

 

It does not matter if it's wintertime, the floor is freezing cold and the sole thought of leaving my bed feels like a blizzard. It does not matter if the weight of the day burdens my bones and I am so tired that I can barely move. It does not matter if I share my night with somebody or I sleep alone. If I lay in a luxurious big bed or a wretched mattress on the floor. It does not matter. 

 

If the closet door is open, I stand up and close it. Because there is nothing else to do.

 

I was thirteen years old and my friend Eduardo lent me the book. We both loved to read and used to borrow books from each other all the time. From shiny youth bestsellers to obscure classics. Adventure sagas, historic novels, fantastic stories, romantic tales. Books that brought us a joy that we wanted to share. 

 

He came to class one Autumn morning and gave the book to me. 

 

“You should read this book” - he said.

 

There wasn’t any excitement in his voice like other times. There wasn’t much in his voice, really. But I did not acknowledge it. 

 

“Carlos” - he said - “If you only read one of them, you should read the short story number six”.

 

He was barely looking at me. But I did not acknowledge it.

 

So, I took the book. I took it from his hands, put it in my backpack and brought it home. 

 

I didn't think about it in the whole day but that night I saw a glimpse of it peeking from my open bag and I took it to bed with me. I loved reading after dark, back then. It always felt like there was nobody else in the whole world, just the book and me under the warm light of my bedside table. Nothing came close to that sense of peace. It was late and I was curious. “Night Shift”, the book was called. How appropriate. 

 

The short story number six was called “The Boogeyman”. It begins at the office of a psychiatrist, Dr. Harper, where a man called Lester Billings talks to the doctor about the deaths of his children. He sounds paranoid and terrified as he describes his memories. His first two children had died mysteriously of apparently unrelated causes (diagnosed as crib death and convulsions) while being alone in their bedrooms. However, they both had been crying "Boogeyman!" before being left alone, and the closet door was slightly open when their corpses were found.

 

Billings and his wife moved to a different home after the tragedy and she got pregnant again a year later. 

 

She was happy with the new start but he felt uneasy, letting the baby sleep with them in the master bedroom. A year passed uneventfully. 

 

The second year, however, he felt a presence around the house, lingering in the closets and slithering around at night. It worsened as his wife went out of town to take care of her ill mother. It became so unbearable for Billings so in panic he moved his son to a separate bedroom in the hope that the thing haunting him will go for the weaker prey.

 

That night the child was attacked before his conflicted father could act and save him. Billings ran away in the dark and only came back home in daylight. The kid was dead. The wardrobe door wife open. The police documented it as an accident once more. 

 

Lester Billings finishes telling this story in visible fright. As he is leaving the doctor’s office, he turns around and finds the room empty.

 

The closet door slowly swings open.

 

The presence is inside disguised as the psychiatrist. There is no Doctor Harper. The Boogeyman has found for him yet again.

 

I could not sleep after I finished reading it; in my room, staring at the closet from my bed. It felt so real. I was still terrified the next morning when I asked Eduardo “Why? Why did you give it to me?”. 

 

“I just wanted someone else to share this fear” - he said - “Somebody else checking the closet door before going to sleep”.

 

And I still do it. Maybe now, you people will do it as well.