They were at it again. Two deranged maniacs screaming words of ridicule. Each sentence past them and hit me, harder and harder every time until the emotional scar had cut deep into my heart. The pain had already engulfed whatever sorry life I was living, and left me numb, emotionless. I watched from the comfort of the stairs, my fingers wrapped around the railings, as if at any second I could fall into perpetual darkness. Maybe that would be better… for all of us.

I didn’t want to go to bed, because he was always there. Always. He was death, and fear, and pain, sorrow, and hate, and even when I left he would still smile mockingly from behind dying eyes at the back of my mind. Just two years, two years and I could leave. Leave the chaos, the panic, the madness, all the things that had come to fall over my family.

My mother stalked out the room, glancing at me as I sat huddled on the steps. She stopped, then came towards me.

“Bed! Now!” Her voice was blunt, hints of hatred seeping into her words.

“But I don’t want to go to bed! The man with no eyes is waiting for me in the closet! He’s there Mum he’s really there!” Though my desperation was clear she still saw it as a cretinous childish fear.

“Oh for goodness sake Amelia you are 16! When will you stop blathering on about this NONSENSE!” I didn’t answer her, my eyes falling instead upon the close to empty bottle in her hands…

“AMELIA I SWEAR IF YOU DON’T GO TO BED NOW I WILL DRAG YOU UP THERE MYSELF!” Still I stayed; a single tear rolled into the corner of my mouth.

A burning sensation hit my cheek, stinging and throbbing. I held my hand against my face; the scar cut deeper. I stared at her, dumbfound. She raised her hand again, making me flinch. I crawled backwards towards the top of the stairs, betrayal continuously digging into my heart. My room was just across the hall. I just had to reach my room. Something brushed against me shoulder.

“Deary, why you aren’t in your beddy byes? Surely a girl of your age needs… rest?” My father chuckled to himself. He wasn’t look at my face.

“And that’s what I’m about to do, rest.” He raised a hand to my cheek, then stumbled, knocking into me.

“Oops, got a little tipsy theeeere. Come here baby, give me a hug,” his voice slurred, and his breath smelt… funny. I backed away.

“Oh come oooooon. Not afraid of your own father are you? I’m as harmless as, well as a farther! I’m a great Dad, so come here and give Daddy a hug like you did when you were just a teensy baby!” My back was pushed against the wall. He fell forward, and pulled me towards him.

“Seeeeeeee? Harmless!” He said, wrapping his arms around my back. His hands moved down; I pushed him away.

“What was that for, I was just hugging you!” I stared at my feet, toes digging into the splintered wood.

He came towards me again, and kissed me on the cheek. His lips lingered, then pulled away.

“Good night kiss for a good night girl. Off you go now! I’ll be waitiiiiing!” He smiled at me, then pushed me through my bedroom door.

He’s in the closet.

I looked up, my fathers shadow fell through the crack beneath the door, distorting to form a twisted devil that hung above me, it’s gaze mocking my fear, it’s fingers digging into my shoulders.

He’s in the closet. He’s in the closet.

From downstairs, I could hear my mothers gentle sobs as she opened another bottle, making my brain feel disorientated, making my head feel light.

He’s in the closet. He’s in the closet. He’s in the closet.

I could hear the distant shouting in my memories coming to reality, making my thoughts toxic, making my brain numb.

HE’S IN THE CLOSET!

The screaming, the fighting, the hitting and touching, the overwhelming feelings of fear, pain, sorrow, and hate, it was too MUCH! My head was nestled in my hands, my vulnerable body rocking back and fourth, I screamed!

HE’S IN THE CLOSET! HE’S IN THE CLOSET! HE’S IN THE CLOSET!

Silence. I was sat in an asylum of black, lost in my mind. The isolation was comforting, but I knew he would come back to the closet.