What's in Your Closet?
I’m not really sure why this thought entered my mind today. But since it did I figured I would write about it. See I am a little frightened of closets. Yes…..you read that correctly…..closets.
I can trace this fear back to my childhood when my older sister told me about a dream she had about ghosts coming out of the closet and how she was scared of them. I guess I decided I should be scared of them too. So over the years I carefully nurtured my fear and as an adult I now have to make sure the closet is empty of boogey monsters, ghosts and crazed lunatics killers before closing the door and retiring to bed.
You would think that my strange relationship with my closet would end there. Unfortunately, it doesn’t.
My husband knows about this weird tic of mine and will sometimes make fun, but has gotten used to the fact that he must close the closet door or he will incur my wrath. Knowing this, he tried to save me from myself, but I just had to keep pressing for information. Let me explain….
When we moved into an apartment back in ’99 we weren’t really happy with the small one bedroom, but it was really all we could afford. It had one large closet in the bedroom and that was pretty much it for storage space. I piled as much clothing in that closet as humanly possible and wasn’t really surprised when the entire thing collapsed. Unfortunately, it did it while I was sleeping and sounded like an explosion. It scared the shit out of me.
The apartment manager had the closet fixed and of course it collapsed not once, but twice more before they fixed it properly. I joked with my husband (then boyfriend) that the closet was haunted. He just kind of gave a half-hearted smile and didn’t comment. This should have been a red flag, but I didn’t notice. I just thought he was cutting me a break by not picking on me.
At that time my husband/boyfriend was a police officer. He had mentioned to me that when we decided to move we would be able to break the lease, he already had it all worked out. I asked him what he meant but he refused to comment. I pushed a little and finally gave up.
After several weeks of him making comments time to time about us getting out of our lease I hounded him incessantly to tell me what he meant.
So there you have it. My suspicions confirmed. My closet was possessed. We moved the next week.
I can trace this fear back to my childhood when my older sister told me about a dream she had about ghosts coming out of the closet and how she was scared of them. I guess I decided I should be scared of them too. So over the years I carefully nurtured my fear and as an adult I now have to make sure the closet is empty of boogey monsters, ghosts and crazed lunatics killers before closing the door and retiring to bed.
You would think that my strange relationship with my closet would end there. Unfortunately, it doesn’t.
My husband knows about this weird tic of mine and will sometimes make fun, but has gotten used to the fact that he must close the closet door or he will incur my wrath. Knowing this, he tried to save me from myself, but I just had to keep pressing for information. Let me explain….
When we moved into an apartment back in ’99 we weren’t really happy with the small one bedroom, but it was really all we could afford. It had one large closet in the bedroom and that was pretty much it for storage space. I piled as much clothing in that closet as humanly possible and wasn’t really surprised when the entire thing collapsed. Unfortunately, it did it while I was sleeping and sounded like an explosion. It scared the shit out of me.
The apartment manager had the closet fixed and of course it collapsed not once, but twice more before they fixed it properly. I joked with my husband (then boyfriend) that the closet was haunted. He just kind of gave a half-hearted smile and didn’t comment. This should have been a red flag, but I didn’t notice. I just thought he was cutting me a break by not picking on me.
At that time my husband/boyfriend was a police officer. He had mentioned to me that when we decided to move we would be able to break the lease, he already had it all worked out. I asked him what he meant but he refused to comment. I pushed a little and finally gave up.
After several weeks of him making comments time to time about us getting out of our lease I hounded him incessantly to tell me what he meant.
Boyfriend: You really want to know?
Me: Yes, just tell me.
Boyfriend: You don’t really want to know. You won’t like it.
Me: How do you know what I’ll like or want to know? Just tell me, dammit.
Boyfriend: Trust me. I KNOW you won’t like this.
Me: Listen, I’m going to bug you until you tell me.
Boyfriend: Fine. I looked up our address at the station to see if anything ever happened here. Apparently the woman who lived here before us took a gun and blew her brains out while sitting in the closet in our bedroom.
Me: Um….I really didn’t want to know that. Why’d you tell me?
So there you have it. My suspicions confirmed. My closet was possessed. We moved the next week.
posted by Sherri at 9:01 AM
1 Comments:
Worst story ever. I can relate tho, my apartment building is a converted tuberculosis hospital. People went there to die.
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