Chapter 3:

Closet

Whispering: Echoes


     A long cry from my high school days, I now wake up every morning inside of a typical mansion wedged on the outskirts of my home prefecture, Kyoto. Now, don’t be confused by the term mansion, as it’s nothing more than what we call your average apartment here in Japan. Anyways, every day is the same for me. I wake up, go to the bathroom, have some breakfast, and wash my face and brush my teeth. After that, what I do next is dependent on whether or not I have work. Because I’m a freelance writer, I primarily work from home. However, I do leave the house to meet with editors, and stop by a café, or just to get some fresh air. Now, before I continue any further, I should give you a bit of a description as to what my apartment looks like. It’s basically made up of two rooms stacked one in front of the other. The first room, as you walk in through the front door, is the living room/kitchen area. On my left-hand side, after stepping out of the genkan; or doorway, is where the kitchen is. On the right-hand side is where the living room is. Equipped with a couch, low table, and television set. It’s all connected in to one space, and the best way to picture it, would be as a big box. Looking straight ahead, you’ll see the entrance to the bathroom, and beside it, closer by the living room area, is the entrance to the second room I mentioned earlier. That’s where I sleep at night. Now there’s only one thing left to mention before we move on. The one thing about my apartment that’s particularly unique is that there are absolutely no doors. Not even for the bathroom. That may sound a bit crazy, but it’s true; however, it wasn’t always like this. Sitting down at the edge of my bed, leaned over towards my desk while writing this story. I’m looking dead into my open closet right across from me, thinking back to how things got this way.

     I moved into this apartment about a half a year ago, I think. It was right before my 25th birthday. I had just moved out of my parents’ home in Kobe, eager to explore the world on my own. When I first got the keys to my new apartment, I was more excited than you could imagine. The apartment itself wasn’t new, but it had been refurbished quite a few times, and sparkled like a brand-new car the first day I walked in. I remember fitting my key into the lock and twisting the door handle, imagining myself swinging the door open as if I was about to step into a new world. It just all felt amazing to me.

     Within a few weeks, I had begun to fill the place with some furniture. Like my bed, desk, kitchen table, and so on. The apartment felt cozier by the second. But it didn’t take long before things got, well. . . strange.

     It was some time around dawn. I’d been living here for around two months already. I could hear voices whispering by my closet door. At first, I didn’t think much of it. Assuming it was the neighbors. But there was something odd about the sound. It felt ominous. I knew that it was someone talking, but not a single word could be heard clearly. As if it was a mumble. It almost felt like someone was calling for help. What made matters worse was the fact that the voice felt. . . close. Almost like someone was breathing down my neck and whispering it into my ear. It bugged me so much throughout that entire night that just the thought of looking into my closet door made me quince. I slammed the door shut and pushed a box of still unpacked luggage in front of it. Somehow, that made me feel a bit better.

     I woke up the next morning to the sound of creaking in my ear. Dragging my weighted self-upright, I looked over to what could only be described as an odd discovery. My closet door was wide open in front of me. It was definitely closed the night before. That was for certain. Nothing made sense at the time, and my heart was pacing out of control. Staring straight ahead, the room felt like it was stretching further and further away from me. I got up out of my seat and crept over towards the closet. Reluctant, I stepped over and peered inside the narrow space. Nothing seemed out of the norm. I couldn’t understand how my closet was left open, when I was absolutely sure that I’d closed it last night. Even my box of belongings had been pushed aside. I stepped backwards, pulling my head out from inside the closet, when I suddenly heard a huge crash beside me. I sprawled backwards, frightened by the sound. I put as much distance between me and that closet as possible. Out of breath, I looked down at a pile of shattered glass across my bedroom floor. A glass frame with an old polaroid of my mother and I had somehow come tumbling off the nearby shelf. I never believed in things such as bad omens, but at that moment, I had a bad feeling brewing in my gut. I was terrified.

     For the next two or three days, I could hear the same mumbling every time I went to sleep at night. It haunted me down to my bones. I eventually stopped sleeping in my own bedroom to avoid being near my closet. I tried to explain the situation to my mother, but her response was both of concern and dismissive at the same time. I wouldn’t say that it did much to ease my nerves. I’d wished that she’d just told me to pack up and leave. To come back home. Maybe I would have listened, and I wouldn’t be in the situation I’m in now.

     One day I finally decided to go back into my room, only to find a random piece of paper sitting in front my closet door. I cautiously picked it up to see what was on the other side. But the paper was blank. That same feeling came boiling back into my gut. What the hell was going on in this apartment, was all that I could ask myself.

     Eventually, I had enough of living in fear of my own home and decided to pack a few things and get as far from this place as I could. The decision was probably long overdue. I remember grabbing the door handle and stepping my foot out through the doorway. The sunlight was pouring into the genkan, and the closer I got to the other side of the door, the more relieved I felt. It was just like the first day I moved in, but only the opposite. I placed my two feet down on to the ground, closed my eyes, and took in a hefty gasp of fresh air. I peered my sights forward. . . and suddenly felt my heart stop. What was in front me was something so unbelievable, so nonsensical, I thought I was trapped in a nightmare. Sitting in front of me was, believe it or not, my own bed. In the same condition as I’d just left it. I looked around, scanning the inside of my room. Everything was exact. Boxes, bags, books. It was all too vivid not to be real. I was definitely in hell. Standing there dumbfounded, I felt empty. I knew what was behind me, but I was too afraid to turn back and look. Too afraid to come to terms with reality.

     Trying to reverse time, I frantically stepped backwards hoping that everything would just go away. My heel kicked back on an object behind me and caused me to stumble. Swinging my arms wildly to try and catch my balance, my hand swiped against something. It fell to the floor; and as it made contact, a similar sound reverberated through me. The sound of glass shattering. Frozen stiff, I slowly traveled my eyes downwards only to be met with my worst fears. A glass frame with a picture of me and my mother, shattered across the floor.

What is this?

     I turned around as fast as I could, trying to escape this hell hole; but when all I could see was the back wall of my closet; for the first time, I felt like dying.

     I ran through my front door over and over again. Possibly a hundred times. But every time was the same. I would pop right back up into my bedroom through my closet door. My mind was in a spiral. With no other options left, I wrote a small note, asking for help. Somebody, anybody! I slipped the note outside of my front door and waited for a whole day. I was too afraid to walk back through that door again.

     No one showed up, my cellphone no longer had any service, and I was running low on food. What am I supposed to do? Who was responsible, and why me?

     At some point, I snapped. I took a hammer in to my bedroom intent on ending this torture where it all began. I began smashing the closet door right off the hinges. I banged at it so hard, the palms of my hands were red from gripping the handle with all my strength. I was venting all my anger with every blow. But I didn’t just stop there. I continued to smash every door in the apartment until not a single door was left standing.

     Eventually I tried to leave the apartment again, but it seems as though what I’d did only worked to make things worse. Pushing open my front door for what would become the last time, I was met with nothing but darkness. A black expanse of nothingness. Staring into the end of reality, the door slowly swung itself back closed. I was motionless. I was defeated. I’ve never tried to open it again since. I sat by the door for a few days calling for help, hoping somehow, someway, someone would come by and rescue me from this horror.

     Which brings us back to where this all started. A lone girl living in a house with no doors. I can’t sleep, and the sun no longer shines through my windows. I’ve lost my sense of time and can’t even remember the last time I ate something. I’m growing weaker by the second and I fear that my life is running thin. As I sit here writing this paper; as it’s the only thing left for me to do, I wonder why this had to happen to me. Unfortunately, I doubt that I’ll live long enough to get that answer. If there even is an answer, that is.

     To be honest, I might be losing my mind, but I think I should write it down anyways. My closet is saying something to me now. I can hear it. The banging; it’s echoing throughout the entire apartment.