THE INHABITANT

Wed, 06 May 2020 21:16:31 GMT

Artwork by Carmen DeVeau
Text Copyright © 2020 by Flint Maxwell

The boy stared across his bedroom at the closet door.

Tonight, the third since he’d discovered the monster, would be different. He would not hide beneath the blanket, not shake or cry, and not keep himself awake until the sun rose.

Tonight, the boy would be brave.

He turned his head and looked at the empty bed next to his. It had belonged to his sister Stephanie, but she had passed when the boy was two. He didn’t remember her. The only images he could bring to mind were duplicates of the ones his mother kept displayed on the mantel and on the refrigerator.

They would've shared this room had she never died.

And they would’ve been brave together.

But she wasn’t here, and he was on his own.

***

The boy now turned his attention to the lock on the closet door.

Will it hold? Please hold, please—

Dad installed the deadbolt yesterday, after the monster tormented the boy for the first time the night before last. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

The initial sighting was only of malicious eyes peering out from beneath the closet door. The boy screamed, and shortly after, his father burst into the room, worry making him look older.

“What’s the matter, champ?”

“There’s—there’s something in the closet.”

Dad frowned, then slightly chuckled to himself. “There’s nothing in the closet.”

“Yes, there is. It looked at me from the crack under the door! Its eyes were red and all slitted like a cat’s!”

Dad sighed. Slumping, he went through the motions of opening the closet—against the boy’s protests—and pawing through hanging shirts and coats. He moved shoeboxes and a basket packed with socks and a storage bin full of old baby toys that once belonged to the boy’s sister but now lay on the closet floor forgotten. Dad had even stood on his tiptoes and ran a hand along the length of the dusty top shelf.

With a big smile on his face, he said, “See? No monsters, buddy. I promise you that.”

Dad leaned down to kiss the boy on the forehead. He smelled of dust and the old wood of the shelves. But beneath those was another smell, one both alien and familiar. It was a sick smell he first noticed when the red eyes appeared that night. If Dad noticed, however, he made no mention of it.

He said, “I love ya, buddy, now get some rest, okay?”

Hesitantly, the boy nodded, and his father left.

Lights out, door cracked, heavy footsteps retreating down the hallway.

Alone.

Alone in the dark.

The boy lay in bed, looking at the shadowy poster of Batman on the far wall. “Please protect me,” he whispered.

Then he closed his eyes, and he slept…but it wasn’t over. The monster was not yet done with him.

The closet door creaked opened.

The boy’s eyes widened, but he wouldn’t move them away from the ceiling. He wouldn’t look.

Couldn’t look.

He heard, however.

Something was coming towards him, dragging its wet body across the floorboards. Nails gouging into the wood. A mouth inhaling raspy breaths and blowing out that smell, that sick smell.

The boy’s bladder let go, and he closed his eyes as he yanked the covers over his head, screaming.

His mother rushed in this time, Dad was probably fed up with monster duty. Mom always said he was the most impatient man she’d ever met.

The boy heard a click by the door, and the room flooded with brilliant, safe white light.

The monster was gone.

***

The following day, his parents argued quietly in the kitchen. The boy listened from the stairs, his face framed by two of the railing’s spindles.

“Ben, for crying out loud, he wet the bed! He hasn’t done that in years. You don’t think—”

“It’s only his mind playing tricks on him. Jesus, relax a minute, would ya? If we coddle the boy, he’ll never toughen up.”

“Ben,” Mom said threateningly, “you have to do something. I won’t go through this again.”

“Goddamn it. Fine. I’ll head to Home Depot right now. That make you happy?”

It was after this that Dad had installed the deadbolt, mostly because Mom had put her foot down. The only thing that seemed to scare him was Mom.

Once he was done, Dad did what all fathers do: he patted the fruits of his labor and said, “That baby’s solid. No monster’s gonna be able to get out of there, I guarantee it.” To prove his point, he climbed inside and motioned to Mom. “Lock me in real quick.” An uneasy smile crossed Mom’s face, but she obeyed.

A few seconds later the doorknob rattled and the wood buckled as Dad thrashed about in the darkness.

“Let him out!” the boy screamed. “Mom, let him out!”

She did, and when the door opened, the boy expected not his father, but some dripping reptilian thing instead.

Dad, however, was all smiles—and all Dad.

“Didn’t budge, did it, champ?”

The boy shook his head.

Mom said, “See, honey? You have nothing to worry about.”

Well, they were right…for a little while, at least.

See, the boy suspected that the monster was not of this world, and things not of this world didn’t obey this world’s laws.

And later that night, with the newly installed deadbolt on the door, the closet’s hinges stayed silent because the door never opened, and he heard no heavy, slimy creature dragging its body across the floor because the monster never did.

Because it had… changed .

A sloshing sound woke him from sleep. Curiosity took control of his legs, and pretty soon, he found himself out of bed, standing, squinting against the darkness. It only took a few steps before his bare feet touched something gooey. He stopped, looked down, and saw what appeared to be a pool of sludge. Slowly, his eyes traced its path, and when he realized where it was leading him, his throat closed up.

The puddle…it had originated from the closet.

He located the bedroom door and the bit of light from a small table lamp in the hallway beyond. It suddenly seemed miles and miles away. No way he’d ever make it, not before a cold hand with sharp nails closed around his ankle.

Unable to scream or escape, the boy bolted back to the bed instead, nearly slipping on the clammy black substance coating the bottom of his left foot.

As his shaking hands scrambled for the covers, something began rising in the corners of his vision. It was the puddle taking shape.

Growing…hardening… becoming the monster.

The boy slammed himself backward into the mattress and hid beneath the safety of the blankets.

But, despite his five years, he knew this was only a temporary solace. He couldn’t possibly expect to sleep with a blanket over his head for the rest of his life, could he? The heroes he loved—Batman, Superman, the Green Lantern, Spider-Man—they stood up against evil, and he knew his sister, if she was still here, would have too.

Tomorrow night, he told himself. I’ll be brave tomorrow .

***

And on this third night, the boy still hadn’t moved from the foot of his bed. His feet were firmly planted on the floor, and his hands gripped the railing so tight his knuckles looked like tiny moons through his flesh.

He had no idea what he was doing or how he would defeat the monster, but he knew he would try.

If it wanted to growl at him, the boy would growl back louder. If it wanted to rake its claws down his skin, the boy would use his own nails to cut it deeper. And if the monster wanted to eat him, well, the boy would have his own fork and knife ready before the monster could even unhinge its jaw.

So he waited…and waited…and waited. His eyelids grew heavier, his body slumped, and he began to think perhaps he had beaten the monster just by this show of bravery.

Until the closet door started to rattle. The hinges squealed.

The boy’s eyes shot open, and he watched as a claw as sharp as any blade slipped through the crack, curled around the deadbolt, and turned the lock. It settled into place with a loud click.

Slowly, the knob turned…

Before he could stop himself, the boy let loose a wheezy gasp of air, barely a scream at all.

He was not brave. He had failed.

As he climbed back into bed and under the blanket, he told himself, Tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow. I promise.

Beyond the covers, the shadow of a humped and grotesque figure grew taller.

The monster, it was coming closer…and closer…closer than it had ever been before. Shuffling…dragging its heavy, slimy limbs.

T omorrow-tomorrow tomorrow-tomorrow…I’ll be brave tomorrow—

But then the sweetest sound the boy ever heard reached his ears.

It was his father’s voice.

“Buddy?”

The boy turned his head. “Dad?”

“You all right? What’s all that commotion?”

“The monster’s back, Dad! The monster’s back!”

A pause.

“Daddy? Turn on the light! Please turn on the light!”

A longer pause.

His father’s hesitant footsteps rapped against the floor as he entered the room.

“Turn on the light! PLEASE!”

His father cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and exhaled shakily. “I…can’t.”

These words were like a blade of ice through the boy’s small heart.

That sick stench was stronger now. The bed springs groaned and the mattress sank as the thing crawled toward him.

Still, all wasn’t lost yet.

There was one last option, and this option had never failed him before.

“Mom! Mom! MOOOOM!” the boy shrieked. “HELP ME!”

Seconds later, her footfalls thundered down the hall and she entered the room.

“No, don’t! ” Dad snapped.

Mom was crying.

“Mommy? What’s happening, Mommy?” the boy pleaded as the weight of the monster shifted the mattress again.

Closer.

Mom gave no answer, but to Dad, she whispered, “Ben…you said…you said it would go away. You said Stephanie was gonna be the last—”

“I know,” Dad said. “I thought so too… But I was—I was wrong, sweetheart.”

“No… please . Please don’t let it take another.”

His mother’s sobs were loud. So was their struggle as Dad overpowered Mom and dragged her out of the room.

But beneath these sounds, like the sick smell, was another.

A soft growling, just inches from the boy’s ear.

“I’m sorry, champ,” Dad whispered.

His parents' footsteps faded.

And then the door closed.

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THE INHABITANT