The Man in the Closet

I stepped out of the shower exactly ten minutes later, clean, fresh, and ready to start my day. I donned my trusty horn-rimmed glasses and returned to the closet, having finally decided on a brown suit. As I raised my arm to reach for my suit, one cold and bony hand laid itself on my shoulder.

I jumped, a cry of surprise escaping my lips. This was certainly unexpected! I kept all my doors locked at night, and no one had the key except for my neighbor who occasionally house-sat for me while I was away on business. Was it his hand on my shoulder? Was there some sort of emergency? Could a chubby man like him have such a bony hand? This seemed very odd.

My thoughts raced through my head at a fraction of a second as I spun around to face the intruder, knocking the hand off my shoulder. I found myself locking gazes with the empty shadowed sockets of a skeleton. I shrieked. Was this a practical joke? Well, I wasn't amused.

"What's the matter? Did I scare you?" it asked me, its jawbone permanently stuck in a ghastly leer. I didn't know how it could possibly be speaking to me, seeing as how it didn't have a tongue or even a larynx. I supposed it was a dream brought on by rancid coleslaw, and decided to humor the skeleton.

"Yes, you gave me quite a fright! Who are you and what are you doing in my bedroom?"

"Don't you recognize me?" it mocked. "Or aren't you used to seeing me outside your closet?"

"What?" I asked, confused. Then it dawned on me. "Oh. I get it. You're the skeleton in my closet. That's pretty corny. Couldn't you and the coleslaw have come up with a better cliché to base a dream on?"

It laughed. "Oh, this is no dream."

"Oh, no? Well, if it's not a dream, then how did you get out of the closet?"

"You left the door open longer than usual. A little too long. It takes these old bones some time to get going, you know."

I could have kicked myself! This is why I have a routine for my mornings, I thought. The one time I deviate from my routine and look at what happens. Then I remembered that it was the cleaner's fault for not having my suit ready. If it weren't for that indolent slacker, none of this would have been happening! Then I remembered that it was only a dream. I decide to interpret it as warning from my subconscious that I had better stick to my routines and stay organized, otherwise there could be drastic consequences. Yes, that made sense.

"So, why did you decide to come out of the closet?" I asked the skeleton, playing along with the dream.

"It's no fun in there," it replied. "I saw you out here every day going through all your silly routines, wasting a lot of good opportunities. You go to work all day, then you come home and complain about it. Oh, man, I thought, there's a guy that doesn't count his blessings. He's in the prime of his life, he could be out having a good time but instead he spends his life working and complaining about working. I mean, he doesn't even have a skeleton to bother him, the way a lot of people do. That was when I decided to break for it first chance I got. Thanks a lot, kiddo."

I was indignant! This skeleton thought it not only had the right to come out of the closet where it belonged, but also to judge my lifestyle. That was going a bit too far!

"I don't care how much you think I'm wasting my life!" I shouted at it with all the authority I could muster. "I am successful and secure, and I will not have you running around trying to ruin it for me!" I grabbed the skeleton by its shoulder blades. "You're going back into that closet and you're going to stay there!"

It kicked me in the shin. I realized now that, though it had no muscle mass whatsoever, it clearly had the advantage over me due to its complete absence of a nervous system.

"Oww!" I shrieked, grabbing my leg and hopping on the other foot. The skeleton stood there laughing infuriatingly at me for a few moments before grabbing my brown suit and tossing it onto the bed. It then proceeded to shove me into the closet and slam the door.

"Hey!" I yelled. "Let me out! You let me out of here this instant!"

It laughed again. Through the slots in the door, I watched it dress itself in my suit, chuckling to itself all the while. It put on my socks and my shoes and picked up my briefcase. I heard its footsteps as it went down my stairs and the ping! sound as it made toast with my toaster. Within fifteen minutes, it was out my door and peeling away in my car.

I banged on the walls of the closet, shouting for help as loud as I possibly could before my voice gave out. Then I was suddenly struck by my own idiocy. Had I forgotten this was all a dream? What had I been thinking -- that I had just been locked in my own closet by a walking, talking skeleton? I must be mad! All I had to do was lay down and go back to sleep, and I would surely wake up back in my own bed, to the comforting sound of my alarm going off at precisely 7:00 AM. I curled up in a ball, my bath towel still wrapped around me, and forced myself to sleep.

I woke up, however, not in my own bed, but curled up on the floor of my closet wearing a bath towel. And it was not to the sound of my alarm, but to the unmistakable voice of the skeleton yelling sardonically to me, "Honey, I'm home!" Following that was a high-pitched feminine giggle that I recognized instantly.

My secretary!

Something had gone terribly wrong.

It's been two months of living in the closet, two months of being fed and watered through a slot in the door that the skeleton carved out, two long months of the humiliation of watching that bag of bones usurp and destroy my life. It maxed out my credit cards, lost my job, totaled my car, and even spent a night in jail for public drunkenness. (How a skeleton gets drunk is beyond me.) I still sometimes yell for help, although I figure that if anyone was going to come to my aid, he or she would have done it already. Besides, judging from the number of parties the skeleton gets invited to, I'm willing to bet that no one even remembers me, and even if they do, they would choose the skeleton's company over mine any day.

A notice came in the mail today that my house is going to be torn down to build condos. I was excited at first when I heard the news and began to try to think of a plan to survive the demolition and be free once again. When I thought about it logically, though, I realized that I have nowhere to go, no money, no job ... nothing left of the life that was once so secure. The best I can hope now is for the wrecking ball to finish me quickly.

I think the skeleton is planning on leaving and finding a new place to call home, one where it won't have any men in its closet to worry about.



©2000 Elizabeth Hebert


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