So I was thinking of starting this back up. I stopped because I thought I was going to do Nanowrimo.
There was a light shining from under the door. Shirley was sure that the light in the closet wasn't that bright and was pretty sure that she had turned the light off before going to sleep. But, here she was, at two in the morning, staring across the room at her closet door.
Shirley quietly pulled the covers from her legs and swung them around on to the floor. Her toes touched the hard wood for an instant before she pulled them back up. She lowered them down again, searching the floor at the edge of her bed for her slippers. Shirley crossed the room quickly with her arms crossed snuggly across her chest, protecting her from the night chill, and flipped the light switch. Nothing.
Curiosity battled fear and won. Shirley grasped the cold brass knob and twisted it quietly and slowly. She paused with the knob turned before yanking the door open. Light flooded into the room, blinding Shirley. She stumbled back a few steps, folding one of her slippers under. She fell backwards as she heard a young girl's voice in a whisper that sounded digitized say "help me!" As she continued falling her head struck the bed frame.
Shirley woke up with a headache. There was a little bit of blood, but her vitamin k had done its job and clotted her up quickly. She was still going to have a nasty lump on the back of her head for a few days. She sat up pressing around the lump trying to gage how much damage she had done to herself. She decided that she would live and started to get up. That is when she noticed the closet door open.
There was no light coming out of the door like she remembered the night before. She could see all the way to the back of the closet. It was empty. Not just empty of the light but of all here clothes and shoes as well. Slowly, she got up and walked towards the closet. It really was empty. Maybe she was really robbed and her subconscious mind made up the light scenario just to protect her. Shirley was just about to call the cops when she looked at the back of the closet door. Smudged on the back of the door was a handprint.
The handprint was black and smeared. It looked as though the fingers traced their way down from about the middle of the door to about eighteen inches off of the ground, were they pressed into a full hand print.
Shirley backed away from the handprint and grabbed the phone off of the receiver. The little jingle rang through her head, "For urgency without emergency dial: 862, 8600, 862, 8600 don't dial 911 when the dangers done, dial 86, 286 oh, oh." She dialed the forever ingrained number. Shirley explained the situation to the dispatcher and then again to the officers that showed up on her door. Nothing else in the house was missing, only the stuff in her closet. The looked at her like she was crazy but wrote down what she said anyway. That is all they did. They wrote down the information and told Shirley to call if she found anything else gone or saw anything suspicious.
The paper was laying in the driveway and Shirley went out and grabbed it. She checked the classifieds for dogs. She found a lady selling a 3 year old trained German Sheppard. She called and was scheduled to pick him up that afternoon. She grabbed the phonebook and called a security company and schedule an alarm instillation for 4pm.
After lunch, Shirley went and picked up the German Sheppard. The little old lady was selling it for a hundred bucks and its name was Sarge. It belonged to her late husband and she didn't feel that she was able to care for it. It also reminded her of her husband and would cause the poor lady to cry for hours when the dog would sit by the door waiting for the husband to come walking in at around five thirty. Shirley gave the little old lady her money and promised to take care of Sarge. She felt safer already.
Shirley stopped by the pet store to pick up some food and supplies, and by the time she got home it was three thirty. Sarge had been well trained a listened well to all the normal commands. She hoped that he would be able to respond to sic'em as well. Shirley was startled when Sarge started barking at the door at five after four. She was pleasantly surprised to find out that it was because the alarm installation people were on her porch. The dog settled down easily when she said that it was ok.
That evening, Shirley bonded with the dog. She played with him and took him for a nice walk. She was having so much fun playing with the dog, she wondered why she hadn't got one before. That thought brought the reason she had got one back into her head like a train through a railroad crossing, complete with horns and blinking lights. Shirley instantly became more subdued. She sat down to read a little before bed and Sarge curled up at her feet.
Twenty minutes later Shirley caught herself dozing, book closed. She hated that. Now she was going to have to find her place, but she decided to save that for tomorrow night. She was tired; it had been a long day. Shirley got off the couch, turned the living room light out, and called Sarge after her. She bought a dog bed (really just a large pillow) and put it on the floor at the foot of her bed. She walked Sarge over to it and told him to lie and he did. She then changed into her PJs and climbed into bed, eyes on the closet door. Suddenly the whole bed shook and something was on her legs. Shirley let out a scream before realizing that Sarge had jumped into bed with her. She laughed a little and allowed herself to relax and sleep.
Things were normal for several weeks. Shirley settled into a routine with Sarge in the house. Although she believed her imagination had run away with her, she was glad that it lead her to buying the beautiful German Sheppard. She loved taking him for walks in the evening. This served the purposes of exercise and advertising that she had a big dog protecting her house.
About a month after the initial incident, Shirley awoke to that same glow slipping through the cracks of her closet door. It had awoken Sarge as well, and his ears were perked. Shirley swung her feet over the edge of the bed, forgoing the slippers and their treachery. As she did, Sarge hopped of the bed and started sniffing his way toward the closet. He made it as far as where the light reflected off of the floor before backing onto his haunches and growling so low and deep that Shirley almost didn't hear it.
"What's wrong boy," she said as she approached the dog, eyes never leaving the closet door. It was then that she felt it. The floor, where the light was hitting it, was warm. She thought she could hear whispering coming from the closet. Shirley climbed down on her knees and turned an ear to the door. Faintly from behind the door, she could hear a voice pleading, "help me!" This plea reached into Shirley's heart and took control of her body. It was almost like an out of body experience. Shirley could see herself get up off the floor and walk to the door, she could feel the warmth of the wood under her feet when she stepped into the light, and she could hear both the plea for help and Sarge's growl. Shirley didn't want to open the closet door, but her mind just wasn't getting the message through to her body. Her hand touched the knob. Warm, just like the floor. She turned it quickly with purpose and Sarge's growl was a full bark. As she opened the illuminated door, a small hand reached out and pulled her through.
The light went out. Sarge barked for several more minutes, whimpered, and then laid down on the bed. The house was quiet.
Warmth enveloped Shirley's body. The light blinded her to what was in her closet as she walked forward. It was almost as if she was under a spell. She expected to wake up at any moment. Then, as quickly as she had lost it, she gained full control of her body.
She found herself in a dark room. She could hear the little girl's voice whimpering for help clearly now. She couldn't see any thing except for spots of color in an otherwise dark and cold room. Shirley blinked a few times to jar her eyes into focus.
Slowly, she was able to make out the room. It was very small. There was just enough room for the bed and dresser. The paint on the walls were peeling and the putty on the ceiling was stained. On the floor at the end of the bed, right next to the closet, was a little girl. She was chained to the bed frame with a very thick chain that looked long enough to give her free roam of the room. The girl was still crying and had failed to notice her.
Shirley felt the need to comfort this obviously neglected and abused child. She started towards the little girl. That is when the girl noticed her. With a squeak and a start the girl pushed herself into the corner where the bed met the wall and curled up into the fetal position. Only her eyes and the patch of knotted brown curly hair were visible from behind her legs. Shirley could read the terror in those eyes.
Shirley immediately lowered herself to the girls level and softly asked her name. "It's ok, I don't want to hurt you," she said even softer. The girl made no move to respond in any way.
"Boombaboomboomboom." Someone was coming down the stares. Shirley rose back up and then looked down at the girl. It seemed impossible but the child looked even more scared than she had seconds before. Their eyes connected and Shirley felt the irresistible urge to hide. Again, it was as if her body worked independently of her mind. Her feet backed her into the closet. It was no longer full of the comforting warmth. Instead, it was cold, and coupled with the fear of the child; she was chilled to the bone. She pulled the door to and left about an inch where she could look out.
A man burst into the room. Six foot tall and overweight, he was balding and had bags under his eyes. His shoes were crushed down on the outside of his feet. The sour reek of beer mixed with sweat filled the room as the man nearly did himself.
"Why the hell aren't you sleeping." he yelled at the girl as he picked her up and tossed her on the bed. She hit the bed and was scrambling backwards before she had time to bounce twice. She curled up in the corner so tight she pushed the bed away from the wall a little. The man, Shirley knew this was her dad, walked around and kicked the bed back into place with a little laugh.
The girl was staring right at her. Shirley new that the man, her dad, would notice. Was the girl trying to giver her up? If he treated his child this way, how would he treat her? Sure enough, the father noticed his daughters stare and looked at the closet. Through gritted teeth he asked, "What are you looking at?" He started walking toward the closet.
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