Closet Doors

That Morning

I woke up this morning and the closet doors were open. Gaping. Two white doors and a dark abyss, arms wide open, although it didn’t seem all that welcoming. It was almost unnatural how far back those closet doors stretched, hinges weren’t engineered to fold nearly 180 degrees. I have large, shutterless windows that face east, allowing the sun to illuminate my entire room every morning. The light seemed to reach everywhere, except within the closet. I never noticed how much depth it had, like the pupil of an eye, or a cool, dark lake on a night with a cloudy moon.

That’s strange, I thought, I always close those closet doors before I go to bed should a monster or pedophile try to get out. I was always a superstitious person, and it was a subconscious action to fortify my bedroom every night, complete with a short prayer despite my non religious tendencies. "Well, whatever I guess. I probably just forgot," I tried to convince myself. I got out of bed and got ready for work.

That Night

All day I couldn’t help but let my mind drift to those closet doors and the dewy darkness within them. My imagination prone to images of lurking creatures and vile witches, seeing the closet as a portal rather than a receptacle for my modest clothing. When I returned home from work I stayed out of my bedroom, busying myself with tasks like vacuuming and eye brow plucking, anything not required to be in the same room as those gapping closet doors. After a shower and a face powder, it was time for bed, once again. I was mindful to shut those closet doors, to shut them tight. They clicked profoundly. After a tiring days worth of mulling over the cause of those closet doors opening the previous night, my eyes grew itchy with fatigue, and I fell asleep soundly...

Later That Night

...Until 3 AM, I was wide awake, again. Muddled and fuddled, my hand searched for the lamp next to my bed, and I flick on the lights. My eyes adjust, but not quick enough. The doors, I was so sure to shut, were open. Gaping. After a pause and an internal self pep talk, I procured the courage to step into the cool air of the night, walk barefoot across my cold wooden floor, and shut those closet doors. Just as quickly as I close them, they open again, all on their own.

My body goes into a paralyzed shock as my mind becomes flustered with non-comprehension. Snapping out of my frozen surprise, I jump back under my sheets, covers pulled just below my searching eyes, looking for any plausible explanation. These eyes of mine search for the next four hours, until my alarm goes off. Ding, ding, ding, ding. I blink over dry pupils, still gazing at those ridiculous closet doors.

The Morning After That Night

I arrive at work, head down, drooping in dopiness and discomfiture. “Someone had a long night,” Randy retorts as I walk past his desk. Of course Randy has to say something. I can see the eyes follow as I walk down cubicle lane, mine at the very end of the road. Not only do I have giant bags under my eyes, but I’m also wearing my giant Tweety bird onesie pajamas. I was too scared to grab a fresh outfit from my freakish closet, and my only options were arriving at work naked or in my sleep ware. To top it all off, I didn’t even realize that the hatchback bottom on the onesie was hanging open, exposing my matching Tweety bird undies! Randy will never let me live this one down, and neither will those closet doors.