I have a friend, in my closet. She smiles when I talk to her and giggles when I tell her name. I can’t tell her name because she’ll hurt me if I do. When I was little my parents said it was my imagination but all these years later, she never left.
She knows when I’m about to go somewhere because she tells me “I’ll see you when you come back”. I try to tell my parents but they think I’m crazy and so does my therapist but they never checked my closet. I had my first time in that room and it was perfect till I my closet door moved ever so slightly, with an eye looking right into mine. I have to let her feed on me or she’ll hurt my family.
I let her bite my leg and for this reason I never wear shorts or let anyone see my leg. I never fully see her and I never would try to go into my closet to see her. I slide my leg in the dark door and hear her slurp on my leg till she’s done. I recently found a video camera and I was going to show my parents what I was talking about.
I set up the camera facing my closet and let it run for one day, one day is all it took for my world to crash. She fed on me and kept looking at me with the closet slightly open. I stopped the recording and got my living room television hooked up to the camera so I could show my parents. I sat down my parents and told them I’ve really been living in hell then we watched the recording, we truly watched horror unfold.
The recording didn’t show the women in my closet. The recording showed me walking into my closet and biting my own leg and slurping on it. I was staring into my closet for hours and whispering things to myself. I would say “I’ll see you when you come back” every time I left the room to go somewhere.
My parents eyes were filled with fear like the fear in my eyes when I thought I saw my friend in my closet. I go to get help but I can still hear her talking to me and looking at me from my closet. I have a home nurse in my room at all times and he helps me with my friend but It’s really just me. The nurse is nice but even he can’t stop the noises sometimes, even the pills can’t stop the voice.
I look in the mirror and see my eyes change to the eye in my closet I’ve seen for years. When I wash myself sometimes my arm changes into the arm that opened my closet, a discolored arm with sharp black fingernails. I cry every night because I know I did this to myself and I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it. I need someone to stop me, to save me from… me.
