The Bottom of the Sea

Part 8: The Closet Thing

I slept in the living room for the next few nights.

I tried to wear myself out through the days so I could sleep at night. The nausea left as soon as it had come, and I felt better. Taking Missy's advice, I found a charming trail bike, teal in colour, under the front porch that was mine for the borrowing. I took it to the local bike shop, had it tuned up. I'd pack my camera and explore my new village, visiting farmer's markets, hitting up new walking trails and eating my packed lunch watching the ospreys swoop and dive for fish in the swampy marshes just off the downtown strip.

Each day, I'd take a long, hot soak in the clawfoot tub when I got home and got into my favourite pyjamas. One early evening, I couldn't keep my eyes open for any more Downton Abbey, so I made my way upstairs to the bedroom. I got into bed and sighed, waiting for sleep to crash over me like a wave. And then I felt someone there.

I sat up, dragging myself out of the sleepy stupor I was in, turned on all of the lights and woke myself completely up. I checked under and around the beds, in both closets and out the window. Satisfied, I turned off the lights again and tucked myself under the covers, but I still felt strange. I shifted to the middle of the bed, then hugged the opposite edge until I nearly pitched myself onto the floor.

No one was there of course, but I felt crowded. I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the covers over my head, but I still sensed somebody close to me, like they were leaning over the bed, into my space. I felt the same prickle of goosebumps creep across my arms and neck that I felt when I was staring up at my room that day, as I tried to get comfortable.

Dammit, Missy. I was fine on my own until she put that nonsense into my head about the house. Then I felt it.

My back was to the wall when I felt the icy stroke of fingers on the back of my neck. I shouted and leapt out of bed, turning on every light while shivers raced up and down my spine.

If I live to be 100, I will never forget the feel of those fingers, dry as paper on my skin and so cold they burned.

Grabbing my pillow, I went downstairs and turned on the TV. The antique couch was pretty to look at, but hard as a rock. I got a terrible sleep on it, waking early in the morning cramped and drained. After that, I could not compel myself up the stairs to sleep in the bedroom.

I was mad at myself and what I had become. I was strong once, independent and fun loving. I was a shattered wreck of who I once was, a jittery ball of nerves.

And then, that thing happened with the closet.

At the top of the stairs, there was the bathroom on the left, the two bedrooms straight ahead and to the right a small landing with a closet and little breakfast nook with a table and stools. A large window let in lots of summer sunshine, and I started feeling comfortable enough to keep it open in the mornings for a bit. The window was likely what caused the closet thing. It must have been.

I started noticing the closet door kept popping open throughout the day. I was forever closing it, but I did so automatically, barely noticing. I was so distracted with counting down the days to the new job and obsessively checking Facebook for clues Shane was on to me, that I didn't really notice how much it was happening at first. After the third time I closed the door one morning, I started paying attention. I shut it, pulled on the handle to make sure it was closed and went downstairs to do some laundry. I returned an hour later, and there it was, slightly open again.

Puzzled, I set the laundry on the bed and opened the door up wider, snapping on the overhead light which was little more than a bare bulb activated by a long chain. I walked into it and looked around; there was nothing unusual about it, just an ordinary closet lined with shelves on both sides and packed with cleaning supplies and extra bedding. I closed it again, this time with a firm slam and got back to putting away my laundry. In about five minutes, I heard the door pop open again.

The latch must have been faulty; I'd let Missy know and maybe she could have someone check it out. In the meantime, I decided to leave it open. I didn't have time to figure it out; that day I was busy. I felt good and so I used my rare burst of energy to clean the kitchen and bathrooms, add to my digital portfolio from a memory stick of my work I'd brought from Calgary, and bake cupcakes for Simon.

Missy called earlier in the day to remind me about his birthday party, but I wouldn't have forgotten. I felt a connection with the little guy, even though I barely knew him. Maybe it was the awful dream I had that made me want to protect him. It wasn't just that he was so darned cute, there was something quiet and serious behind his eyes that made me want to look out for him, even in the short time I was in the little town. It was strange; I wasn't usually a kid person. I didn't dislike kids, but I was never one to go crazy over them, either.

The cupcakes were double chocolate with a fudgy buttercream frosting. I couldn't cook worth a damn, but I was good at baking. I found the certainty of it relaxing. If you followed the recipe exactly, things would turn out alright. I wished life was like that.

I arranged them all in a giant plastic container when they were cooled and snapped the lid on. It was a good day, there was a break in the humidity and so it was warm outside but not sweltering like it had been. My stomach had calmed, and I was able to keep down my breakfast of oatmeal and sliced peaches, and a light lunch of toast and tea.

I felt good puttering around in my own space, making it clean and homey. I even looked forward to the birthday party. Social events weren't my thing at the best of times, but I'd make an exception for the little guy. And I had to admit, I looked forward to chatting with Missy again. She was easy to talk to and good company.

The day was getting away from me; before I knew it, the party was in minutes. I had been listening to a Vivaldi concerto while I baked, I snapped off the radio and wiped my hands on the kitchen towel slung across my shoulder and brushed the hair out of my eyes, glancing in the mirror over the sink. My eyes were starting to lose their haunted look, and my face looked like it was filling out a bit. Shane was fond of saying that I was "five-foot-fuck-all, and a hundred pounds soaking wet." I was actually five-foot-two and a half and a hundred and ten, thank you very much.

With all my stomach problems since I'd arrived in the town, I wondered if Shane was closer to the real number. Curious, I climbed the stairs to see if there was a scale in the bathroom. I got to the landing at the top of the stairs, when it happened.

I glanced at the door that was slightly ajar, as I'd left it. For some reason I found myself staring at it, as if mesmerized. Then it slammed shut so fast, I nearly jumped out of my skin — as if someone pulled on it from the inside.

The familiar prickle of gooseflesh rose up on my skin. I walked to the closet and wrenched it open quickly, before I lost my nerve. If anyone was in there, best to get the confrontation over with. I snapped on the light and looked around, but there was no one.

I stood and stared for a good five minutes, willing it to happen again. All the while I was telling myself I hadn't seen what I'd seen. But I kept replaying the moment in my mind, hearing the slam. I glanced at the window to see if a draft had caught it, but I had closed it hours before.

Anxious to be out of the house, I quickly changed my clothes, ran a brush through my hair and ran downstairs. I collected the cupcakes and Simon's gift for the party, looking forward to the noise and chaos of a kid-filled social event. I slipped my shoes on faster than usual. I was just about out the front door when I heard it — the faint but unmistakable sound of the closet door slamming shut again.

On the porch, I was hit with the shudders. I still felt those fingers on the back of my neck.

I couldn't ignore it anymore. There was only one logical answer to the strange events going on, and it was obvious. I was losing my goddamned mind.