Ghost raccoon?

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of scratching.

Not gentle, cat-at-the-door scratching. This was frantic, claws-on-wood, horror-movie scratching.

It was coming from my closet.

I stayed perfectly still under the covers, because as every self-respecting adult knows, if you don’t move, monsters can’t see you. (Yes, I am twenty-seven years old. No, I’m not above blanket-based self-defense.)

The scratching stopped.

Then came the noise that made my skin crawl: a chittering sound, like a raccoon having an argument with a blender.

“...Nope,” I whispered, and reached for the baseball bat I keep next to my bed. (Don’t judge me. I live in an apartment building where my downstairs neighbor once tried to sell me frozen ferret meat.)

I nudged the closet door open an inch.

Two bright eyes glinted back at me in the dark.

For a split second, I thought it was an actual raccoon. Then I realized the eyes were at my height — standing, not crouched. And they weren’t the glassy black of an animal’s. They were… almost human.

The thing blinked once, then bolted. But instead of running out the door, it darted into the wall. Like, straight through the plaster. No hole, no crack — just gone.

I stared at the empty closet, bat still raised, heart pounding.

“Cool,” I muttered to myself. “Either I’m losing my mind, or I just met a ghost raccoon.”

---

By noon, I had decided on a new plan: do research, quietly panic, avoid all closets forever.

I set up camp at the public library, because Google searches like “turning into a raccoon is it contagious” felt like the kind of thing that would get me on a government watchlist.

Most of what I found was useless — conspiracy forums full of people claiming their neighbor was a lizard, or that turning into animals was part of “the deep state’s squirrel spy program.”

Then I found a thread titled: “Partial Shifts in Public — Need Help ASAP.”

The username was “TailEnder.” The post was short:

> Sometimes I change without meaning to. Tail, teeth, eyes, hands. Never full shift. Always worse when I’m hungry. Anyone else?

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I typed:

> Yes. Me. Yesterday I grew a tail in an interview. Also maybe saw a raccoon ghost in my closet.

I hit send before I could talk myself out of it.

Five minutes later, a reply came:

> Not a ghost. Don’t open your closet again.

I stared at the screen.

Another message followed:

> If it’s in your walls, you don’t have much time.

---

Diary Entry #3

Dear Diary,

I hate the library now.

Today’s takeaways:

1. Ghost raccoon? Not a ghost.

2. Apparently there’s something in my walls.

3. My “condition” is a thing other people have.

Also: I’m starting to smell things I shouldn’t be able to smell. Like the librarian’s tuna sandwich. From three aisles away. While she was still unwrapping it.

If I go missing, check my closet. Or burn it. Actually, just burn the whole building.

— Me