Flash Fiction - Unburdened

It helps to get things off your chest

The therapist leaned forward, tapping the pencil against his pursed lips. “Tell me more about your childhood fears, specifically the monster in your closet.”

Brad shrugged. “I’m not sure how that will help, Dr. Briggs.”

The doctor smiled with what looked like thinly veiled anger. “It may help us achieve a breakthrough in terms of what is causing your anxiety all these years later.” He twirled the pen like an orchestra conductor. “Indulge me.”

“I’m not so sure it had anything to do with trauma.” Brad peered behind the doctor, eyes fixed on the door that he assumed was a closet. “I had a normal childhood, a loving family, and all that jazz. My mom said that I came out nervous.”

A moment of silence hung in the air, becoming uncomfortable, until Briggs finally spoke. “Tell me about the monster.”

“It was the usual thing that a lot of kids have. I was scared that there was a monster living in my closet.” Brad laughed, trying to pass it off as casual instead of terrified.

“It’s not as normal as you would think, Brad. Tell me more.”

Brad sighed, the tremor is his exhalation giving away his building fear. “I would hear scratching from inside the closet, like nails on a chalkboard. My dad said that we lived in an old building, suggesting it was mice. My mom agreed, and told me that if I kept my room tidier, the mice would have nowhere to hide and make their home.”

“You didn’t believe them?”

“I guess the mouse thing seemed plausible, up until I heard whatever was in there speak.”

“What would it say”?” Briggs leaned forward, pen now hovering over his leather journal.

“Well, it started by whispering my name.”

“Then what? This is important, Brad. Then what?”

Brad tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry, his throat feeling as though it were choking him to stop the words from coming out. Eventually, he croaked, “It would tell me stories…horrible things.”

“What kinds of things?”

“About my parents dying. Not just regular deaths, but terrible, awful things like being impaled on spikes made from the spines of long dead, otherworldly creatures…like, like their skin being flayed from their bodies and used as bait for things living under my bed.”

THUMP. Something shifted in the closet behind Briggs.

“What else?” the doctor asked.

“I don’t want to…”

“What else, Brad? We are approaching a breakthrough. I can feel it.”

“It…it told me that it would be with me forever, always watching, always listening.”

“Needing to be fed?” Briggs asked, eyebrows arched.

“Yes, how did…”

The sound of scratching from inside the closet filled the room, and something inside whispered, “Bradders, I’m back.”

Briggs leaned in close, his breath, reeking of carrion, blowing warm on Brad’s face as he spoke. “Feed it.”