Ben lay tucked under his rocket-ship blanket, the faint glow of his nightlight casting a soft orange hue across his bedroom.
His shelves overflowed with toy dinosaurs, and books stacked in a messy tower next to his bed. Yet none of those things troubled him tonight.
His gaze was fixed on the closet door.
It was open with just a crack, enough for darkness to spill out.
“Dad?” Ben called, voice barely above a whisper.
Footsteps approached, and his father popped his head in. “What is it, champ?”
“The closet… I thought I saw something,” Ben mumbled.
Dad chuckled, crossing the room and pulling the door wide open. “See? Just clothes.”
But Ben’s eyes lingered on the floor, where two small indentations pressed into the carpet, like footprints.
“You good now?” Dad asked.
Ben nodded, though his stomach twisted.
Lights out. Door closed. He lay in the quiet room, heart pounding.
His eyes drifted shut until he felt it.
Breathing. Slow. Steady. Not his.
He dared a glance. The closet door creaked. A shape shifted inside. Ben squeezed his eyes shut, pulling the blanket over his head.
"Please let it be morning."
It’s Getting Closer
By breakfast, Ben tried to laugh it off. Maybe it was just his imagination. Monsters weren’t real.
But that night, lying in bed, the closet door stood slightly wider than before.
He grabbed his flashlight with shaking hands.
“Mom?” His voice trembled.
His mother entered with a warm smile. “Nightmares again?”
“There’s something in my closet,” Ben insisted.
She checked but it was empty. Just a pile of clothes and his old soccer ball.
“Nothing there, honey,” she said, tucking him in. “Monsters aren’t real.”
But as the door clicked shut, he glanced back. The indentations on the carpet were deeper. And closer.
That night, the breathing returned. Only now, it wasn’t slow.
It was rasping. Like someone struggling for air.
Ben covered his ears in horror, tears pricking his eyes.
The air grew colder, his breath fogging up in the warmth of his blanket.
His lamp flickered on—then off. A low scraping sound echoed from the closet.
He clenched his blanket tighter.
Then—
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Three soft knocks against the wooden bed frame.
Ben bit back a scream.
When morning came, the carpet footprints ended inches from his mattress.
Nobody Believes Ben
At school, Ben confided in his best friend, Emma.
“It’s moving closer every night,” he whispered.
Emma frowned. “Like... a ghost?”
“I don’t know! But it’s real.”
Emma nodded slowly. “Maybe set up your phone? Record it.”
That night, Ben propped his phone on the dresser, camera aimed at the closet.
“Gotcha,” he muttered, trying to be brave.
Sleep was restless, shadows danced behind his eyelids, and strange noises filled the air.
Morning came.
He grabbed his phone, hands trembling and hit play.
For the first few minutes, it was nothing. Just him shifting under the blanket.
Then, the closet door creaked wider.
Something dark, hunched, emerged. Too blurred to see clearly, but unmistakably real.
It crawled on all fours, stopping beside his bed.
And then, the thing looked at the camera.
Straight at him.
Ben dropped the phone, heart thundering. His parents didn’t believe him. “A trick of the light,” Dad said.
“Stop scaring yourself.”
But Ben knew.
Tonight, it would reach the bed.
Under the Covers Isn’t Safe
He piled toys at the closet entrance, dinosaurs, books, anything to block it.
Night fell.
Moonlight glinted off the plastic dinosaurs.
And then—one by one—they toppled over.
Ben’s breath hitched.
The scraping returned.
Then breathing—closer, heavier.
He dove under the blanket, heart racing. But this time, it didn’t stop.
The blanket lifted. A cold hand brushed his foot. Eyes squeezed shut, he kicked wildly, sobbing.
“M-make it stop!”
He bolted for the door, but it slammed shut on its own.
Trapped.
The monster’s voice rasped in a low guttural sound.
“You let me out.”
The Final Night
Exhausted, Ben decided to stay awake. He armed himself with a flashlight and a baseball bat.
It was midnight, 1 AM and his eyes were dropping.
Suddenly the closet door swung open. All the way.
From the darkness, a figure stepped out. Tall, gangly, limbs too long. Skin stretched tight over bones. Eyes hollow.
Ben raised the bat. “Stay back!”
The monster smiled a crooked, unnatural grin.
“You brought me closer. Night after night.”
Ben’s knees buckled. “Wh-what do you want?”
“To be seen.”
It lunged.
The next morning sunlight warmed the room but Ben was missing.
Only an empty bed.
And on the floor drag marks; leading into the closet.
His parents found the door stuck. Forced it open. Empty.
Except for a single drawing on the wall: A stick figure.
Standing next to a taller figure, with hollow eyes.
It had taken Ben, he was GONE.
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