Judy smiled too. “You are the best, Sasha! Let’s be friends for always!”
“A pretty name, Sasha,” the Sphinx said. “I cannot wait to begin researching with you!”
“Do I have to go through the riddle stage, or can we just do them for fun?” I asked, standing up.
“I think, given the circumstances, we can skip the riddling stage,” she replied with a smile.
“Girls!” Judy’s mother’s voice floated up the winding stairs. “Do you want a snack or anything?”
Judy and I looked at each other. “Sure!” we both replied.
Before we left the room, I asked the Sphinx, “You’re sure Judy’s mom won’t see you even though you’re not in the closet anymore?”
She nodded. “I believe so.”
Judy opened the bedroom door. “Coming, Mom!”
The three of us went down the stairs happily: Judy’s problem was solved, the Sphinx’s problem was solved, and I now had a fascinating future in front of me and two new friends.
* * *
Susan Bianculli wears the titles “Mother” and “Wife” most proudly. Another is “Author” for The Mist Gate Crossings series, as well as several short stories in several other anthologies. Check out susanbianculli.wix.com/home for more information.
What I wanted to do on my one day off from school was play some basketball and video games. Instead, I got pulled into going to my dad’s “Take Your Kid to Work” day.
“I’m bored,” I said to my dad while I spun in his leather office chair. Dad continued to type away on his computer.
The day didn’t start boring though. When I walked up to the front of my Dad’s work building, I watched the crowds of suited men and women flooding into the building. The humming of copy machines and clicking of keyboards was different than the marathon of school. The noise was like a mini city, condensed inside a box. Everybody smiled at me, asked my name, and genuinely cared about my answer.
Then, I got locked in an office room as Dad read stacks of papers, combing through them like they had clues to a treasure. There were no X’s or dotted paths, only big numbers and confusing words like “defaulted loans” and “bankruptcy.”
“I’m almost done,” Dad said as he clicked the enter button on his computer and turned around. “Just a couple more minutes, and we’ll head out for lunch. How about that?”
I nodded, excited to finally break free of this dull prison. Dare I say it—I may have actually missed going to school.
“You know what? How about you get us some water?” Dad said as he reached into his black desk drawer and pulled out two blue water bottles.
I took the bottles from him, jumped off the chair, and walked out the door. I turned left down a short gray corridor and headed for the water fountain at the end of the hall. As I walked down the hall, the ceiling light flickered.
When I got closer to the fountain, a lady in a blue jacket brushed past me, eager to fill her water bottle. She looked over her shoulder but didn’t look down at me. I looked back, but there was nothing there, only people waiting by the copy machine. I stopped behind the lady and waited patiently for her to finish.
I kept my eyes down, staring at her sleek high heel shoes. There was nothing else to look at in the hallway since the walls had no pictures on them. The slush of water silenced as the lady removed the bottle and turned around. I looked up at her, her blue eyes more scared than gentle. She flashed a short-lived smile and headed off.
I looked to the water fountain and stepped forward. The water fountain was taller than I initially thought, the push button just below my eyes. One day I hope my growth spurt will kick in, and I might catch up with the rest of the kids my age. At the top of the fountain was a small hole, activated by a round black dot. I believe it was called a sensor. I put my bottle on the floor and threw Dad's up on the base of the fountain.
I heard a click, and water began to pour into the bottle. I watched as the water slowly climbed to the top. Once it neared the top, I pulled it off. I carefully placed the bottle on the ground by my foot and repeated the process with my water bottle. As the water climbed, I wondered if there was a way to trick the water fountain with my hand or something. Once my bottle was filled, I pulled it away and held my other hand in front of the sensor. The water continued to pour, as if I never moved the bottle. I knew if Dad saw me he would be furious for wasting water, but I’d been curious to see if it worked.
I removed my hand from the sensor, and the water promptly stopped. I adjusted the water bottle in my hand and leaned down to pick up Dad’s. My hand fluttered in the air, unable to find the top. I looked down and realized why. There was no water bottle.
I spun around, thinking it was behind me, but it wasn’t at my feet. I looked behind me and saw nobody in the hall. But I did find the water bottle. It was halfway down the hallway, standing defiantly in the middle. How did it get there?
I walked over to the water bottle and examined it. It looked untouched: no fingerprints, no water trail, nothing. I crouched down and looked closer. I noticed that there was some water … missing. Just under a thumb’s length was gone.
I wrapped my hands around it when I heard a small shriek. My hand shot back as I looked desperately for the sound. I looked up, but there was nobody there. I blinked a few times, and as I looked, a door farther down the hall on the other end of the building opened slightly and slammed shut.
I picked up the water bottle and walked past my Dad’s office to the other end of the building. I slipped past a few workers, walking along like usual, and stopped at the door.
The sleek yet off-center sign read: Maintenance Closet.
The wood door didn’t look any different than the others, except the outside of the handle was slightly scuffed. I grabbed the handle, pulling it down, and the door clicked open. Light peeked over my shoulder into the dark room, only making a few buckets and cleaning supplies visible inside. I slipped inside and searched for a light switch. After a few seconds, I found it and flipped it on.
I closed the door behind me and looked around. Six levels of steel shelves wrapped around the small room, each shelf full of random items. Duct tape, rags, brushes, canned food, even a stuffed giraffe. It looked more like a junk collector’s garage than a maintenance closet.
I put my water bottle on an empty corner of the closest shelf and looked at the giraffe. I lifted the giraffe off the shelf, and I heard another sound. It was a soft whimper, like a puppy, coming from the far corner of the room under the bottom shelf. My eyes raced to the corner, but I didn’t see anything. I slowly scanned the room again, but I couldn’t spot any animal in the closet.
Trembling, I put the giraffe back, and the noise stopped. I took a deep breath and made a bold decision. I walked toward the corner. With each step, my heart pounded, and I held my breath. I knelt down and listened as rapid little pants, like a winded puppy, escaped the corner. I blinked and heard light steps dart to the other corner. I saw nothing.
Then, I had an idea. I backed up from the corner and grabbed my Dad’s water bottle. I slowly took the bottle, placed it at the center of the room, and sat down.
“You can have the water,” I said, wondering if I was talking to myself. I waited a few seconds and heard nothing.
“Really, take it.” I slid the water bottle forward on the cement floor. I sat up straight and smiled, waiting for whatever it was to take it.
A few more seconds passed, and this time I didn’t hear the creature … I saw it. The little creature appeared out of nowhere and walked to the water bottle.
It was no bigger than a squirrel, but it looked more like a baby kitten. Big floppy ears and wide quarter-sized eyes sat square in its brown fur. It approached the bottle on all fours, its thick tail swaying side to side, and then stopped. The creature stared at me a moment, its eyes gleaming off the light. It placed its front stubby paws on the bottle, readjusting as it tried to grab ahold of the bottle. Its arms were short, but not for long.
In
an instant, its arms stretched around the bottle like stretchy gum. Latched around, the creature scaled the bottle as it drove its tail into the ground and slid up the bottle. Once it reached the top of the perfectly balanced bottle, the creature stuck its lizard-like tongue into the water and sucked it up. In seconds, the water was gone.
“You were just thirsty, weren’t you?”
The creature’s tongue shot back in its mouth and jumped off the bottle. The creature looked at me and gave a small squeak.
“What’s your name?” I asked even though I knew it probably couldn’t speak. The creature sat down, its tail lying flat on the ground with its front paws holding it up. It wiggled its butt on the ground, lifted up its paws, and started waving them around. I had no idea what it was doing, but I thought of a great name for the creature: Marshmallow.
After Marshmallow stopped gesturing, it pointed at me (at least it seemed that way). I looked around me, unsure what to say. I didn’t know if it could understand me. So I shrugged my shoulders.
“I don’t know what you are saying,”
Marshmallow held its paw over its face, like it was disappointed by my lack of alien comprehension. It looked back at me and waved. I waved back, and Marshmallow shook its head in approval. Marshmallow pointed at me, then to its head, then back to me.
It was then it hit me … Marshmallow was deaf! It couldn’t understand me because it couldn’t hear. I once had a classmate who was deaf, but we hadn’t learned a lot of words in the few weeks he was at our school. The only ones I remembered were fire, water, and hello.
I signed, “Hello,” back to him. Marshmallow smiled and signed it back to me.
“That’s all I know.” I spread my arms out, pointed to myself, and quickly to my head. I hoped it understood, or we were going to be here forever.
Marshmallow signed something back, but it looked like it understood. Marshmallow looked to the empty water bottle and pushed it towards me. Marshmallow looked up at me and signed, “Water.”
“You want more,” I paused, remembering Marshmallow was deaf, and signed water back.
Marshmallow nodded and ran to the shelf. Marshmallow swiftly jumped shelf to shelf and started knocking over buckets, bottles, and other empty containers on the ground.
“You want me to fill all these with water?” I said, remembering to sign water after I said it.
Marshmallow nodded. I nodded back and pushed the pile of buckets and containers together. Marshmallow smiled and hopped in a circle. I grabbed the buckets first and carried them out to the water fountain. One by one, I put the buckets under the water fountain and filled them up. With buckets in both hands, I waddled back to the closet and placed them inside. Back and forth I went as Marshmallow followed along, occasionally jumping on my shoulder to watch the water fill the containers.
After ten minutes of filling things with water, we had over twenty different full containers. Marshmallow maneuvered through the jungle of containers and marveled at their clear design. On the big buckets, Marshmallow would climb to the top and jump in, splashing around in the water.
It was fun to watch Marshmallow smile and squeak for joy. Once it was done playing in the water, Marshmallow sucked the buckets dry, leaving only small drops of water at the bottom. I reached into the buckets and lifted Marshmallow out, even though I knew it didn’t need the help.
I placed Marshmallow on the ground, and it shook itself dry, like a dog after a shower. Marshmallow signed water back to me. I nodded, grabbed my water bottle, and left to fill it up. Once it was finished, I took it off the fountain and started back to the room.
I slowed down as a door opened in front of me. I looked up and saw Dad, his red tie hugging his shirt at his tie clip. Dad bent down and looked at the water.
“Is this for me?”
“No, it’s for a friend,” I said, trying to be as nice as possible.
Dad laughed. “Oh, okay. Well, are you ready to go to eat?”
My stomach growled at the mentioning of food. “That sounds great!”
“Great, then after lunch I will take you home. I know you don’t want to be here.”
“No, that’s okay. I like it here.”
Dad rubbed my head, “You don’t have to say that. I know this place can get boring for a kid. Plus, your aunt is in town with your mom, and they might want to see you.”
“Okay,” I said, bummed that I had to leave my friend. “Can I say goodbye to my friend first?”
Dad paused a moment and looked at his watch.
“Real quick, okay?”
I smiled as I rushed around him and headed straight for the maintenance closet. I bent down and placed the water bottle on the floor.
Marshmallow smiled and hugged the bottle. I dropped to my knees and waved for his attention.
“Hey, I have to go,” I said as I motioned to myself and at the door.
Marshmallow’s smile faded as it looked up at me.
“I had a lot of fun today!” I said, hoping my excitement would carry over to his silent world. I knew it had to be sad when people left. I didn’t want to, but Dad wouldn’t be happy if I argued about it.
Marshmallow’s eyes started to fill with tears, saddened that I had to leave. It was then I remembered another sign, friend.
I made my two pointer fingers into a hook shape and hooked them together, like two friends hugging, and then pointed at Marshmallow.
Marshmallow rubbed its face and signed friend back to me. I stood closer, lifted Marshmallow up, and gave a light hug. I felt its arms extend and wrap around me as we shared a goodbye hug. I let him down on the ground, and we waved goodbye as I opened the door and closed it behind me.
“What are you doing in the maintenance closet?” Dad asked with his briefcase in hand.
“Just putting some stuff away.”
“Helping out the janitor. That’s nice of you,” Dad said as he motioned me along. “I think he will appreciate your help when he comes in today.”
We walked down the rows of cubicles and computers, each person clueless to the world around them. I looked back, and at the door of my Dad’s office Marshmallow waved at me.
I waved back, wishing I never said I was bored so I wouldn’t have to leave my friend.
* * *
Jonathan Lahr enjoys creating stories and making people laugh, sometimes at the same time. You can find him scavenging for obscure comic books, walking around the city, or waiting patiently in an online video game lobby. If you like comic books, movies, and odd jokes, check out his website: jjlahrbooks.com. You can also follow him on Twitter @JJLahr.
After her grandmother died, Jessaline Dorfman’s parents inherited a lot of junk. Most of it was soft or fragile, the sort of things enjoyed by old ladies, dust mites, and cats the world over.
“What are we going to do with all this stuff?” asked Mr. Dorfman.
“We can’t just throw it away,” said Mrs. Dorfman.
It had been Jessaline’s father’s mother who died. Jessa had called her Granny Dorf. Jessa herself was shy and rather plump. She had freckles on her cheeks that she wished weren’t there; her hair was more cowlick than curl. She kept to herself, and, mostly, that was how she liked it.
“Some of it is nice,” said Mrs. Dorfman, a touch hopefully, opening a cardboard box—but quickly closing it again when a moth flew out.
They picked out the things they liked—an antique lamp, the family photo albums—and held a yard sale for the rest. They sold most of the knick-knacks, many of the books, and some of the furniture. Everything that could not be sold was packed up and donated to the local thrift shop.
Except for the box.
“It’s not a box,” said Mr. Dorfman, correcting Jessaline when she asked. “It’s an old steamer trunk.”
The steamer trunk was battered, had thick rusted hinges, and was painted a shade of yellow that had likely started off marigold but was now the color of old cooking grease. They had not been able to get the snap lock up, and secretly Mr
s. Dorfman had hoped it would not sell.
“There might be something valuable in it,” she said, as they stood around the trunk on the front lawn.
Jessaline picked up one end. Almost empty, it was quite light; but something inside slid from one end to the other.
“Why don’t you have it in your room?” suggested Mr. Dorfman.
“I don’t want it,” said Jessaline.
“You can use it as a stand or an arts and crafts chest, if you get it open,” said Mrs. Dorfman.
“I. Don’t. Want it,” said Jessaline, very carefully. At nine years old she had come to learn that her parents sometimes needed things said to them more clearly.
Mrs. Dorfman thought a moment, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You can paint it any way you like, and I won’t say no.”
Jessaline agreed to this. The trunk was brought up to her room and placed in the corner, and that night after dinner she unrolled her art kit. She squirted big blobs of red and blue paint onto her palate and started covering up the dingy yellow. It took a long time, longer than she’d thought it would, and she was only half finished when her mother called that it was bedtime. So, she cleaned off her brushes, pulled on her pajamas, and went to bed dreaming of what she would paint when the background was done. A dragon, she thought, and maybe a big tree in the middle, and clouds …
She drifted off to sleep, painting the images in her mind, the paintings slowly becoming dreams. They were good dreams, and she did not hear the muted clunk or the soft, oily voice that rose from the corner of her room.
I am the Creep ... I slither while you sleep …
* * *
Jessaline woke up the next morning with a slight headache. She figured it must have been the smell of the paints. She went downstairs for breakfast, ate most of her eggs and all of her toast, and then returned to her room to get dressed. She stopped at her doorway and frowned.
The Monsters Hiding in Your Closet Page 7