The Closet

By Cole Douglas Hennessy

Down below the stars’ delicate glow,

In a spot so barren, bored, and banal,

Sat my lodge; from where I watch the wind blow

Stood a closet on the opposite side wall.

Once the air felt frosty, tacit, and stale,

An estranged affair was shot through my ear–

An insipid timbre like sinking hale–

On the darkest, deepest, deadliest year.

Only slightly nettled by the soft sound,

I assumed a nightly zephyr of fall

Had rescinded leaves from their lonely ground,

Throwing crunchy leaves against the lithe wall.

But again, attempting halcyon rest,

I was badgered by another premier–

Of a tepid tapping taunting the rest–

On the darkest, deepest, deadliest year.

Shortly I knew what was slightly askew,

But soon I wished I knew nothing in all.

That direction I would not misconstrue–

For it was behind the closet’s still wall.

Now transfixed with fear, the thoughts were unsaid

When it now became increasingly clear

That the tapping was a tread then misread

On the darkest, deepest, deadliest year.

Praying that if I continued serene,

Not a moment of this odious gall

Would prevent the soul from altering green;

And the zenith of sleep would soon befall.

But abruptly I was jolted awake

By a sudden spirant strangely austere;

Making my intestines ruffle and ache

On the darkest, deepest, deadliest year.

Frozen firmly by a fear nonpareil,

I ignored the queer, vociferous call.

Yet it sounded like a deafening knell,

Shouting loud behind the closet’s still wall.

Then a second spirant came, and a third,

Bearing steady rhythm creepily clear.

Baleful breathing vented brisk and unblurred

On the darkest, deepest, deadliest year.

Imitating each inhale in distress,

Trying to obtain a pacified fall,

I inhaled and then exhaled in regress.

But a rising riot ruined it all.

An exploding laughter rang in uproar,

Harshly emanating eerily clear.

I contorted my head toward the still door

On the darkest, deepest, deadliest year.

Never once before a menacing voice

Had echoed so loud it juddered the hall.

Vicious rain from out left no other choice

But to focus on the closet’s still wall.

Showered by opaque and inky pitch black,

That abnormal closet stood soft and mere.

Someone’s fingers clutched the closet’s slim crack

On the darkest, deepest, deadliest year.

At first I believed the fingers were trace,

But then they soon halted me in a thrall.

Cracked ajar, the closet door leaked a face

With a jaw like a ventriloquist doll.

Slamming shut, the closet covered the man–

Not the terror’s frightful towering tier

That arrested me and drained the cyan

On the darkest, deepest, deadliest year.

For the last time, I attended the rain

Only for the man to utter a wrawl

So enraged, it now would not seem insane

To deduce he had been gashed with a spall.

But the shrieks continued, blaring and whole,

Shifted their direction to engineer

An appeal to split the body and soul

On the darkest, deepest, deadliest year.

Punches on the door soon followed in loose

Crashes that succeeded lightning in fall.

So he wanted to get out and vamoose

Now, from back behind the closet’s stirred wall.

Every strike upon the door soon declared

That if he escaped and I remained here,

Death would reign and I would doubtful be spared

On the darkest, deepest, deadliest year.

Moving like a statue breaking its shell,

I began to question myself and stall.

Yet, a forceful passion started to swell,

Stopping only near the closet’s stirred wall.

Placing my unsteady palm with the knob,

Laughter popped from that dim dungeon of fear–

Daunting, taxing, trying laughs of a mob–

On the darkest, deepest, deadliest year.

Thunder crashed upon the outside exposed

Glaring eyes from nightmares full with appall.

Bolts then jolted me and just then proposed

Action I do now! Efface it in all!

But a flash of pastel charged the null space

With a blinding glare from heaven’s frontier.

Thus, the monsters ran from that lonely place

On the darkest, deepest, deadliest year.

By Cole Douglas Hennessy