In the Dark

Liam woke in the middle of the night.

Something was moving in the corner of his room—where the nightlight didn’t reach.

At first, he thought it was just clothes on a chair.

Then it breathed.

Two pale eyes blinked open in the darkness.

He ducked under the covers, heart hammering, whispering, *It’s not real. It’s not real.*

When he looked again, the corner was empty.

Relief washed over him—

until he noticed the closet door was open.

From the dark inside, a whisper crawled out.

“Liiiaaam…”

He froze. The sound was thin and dry, like paper dragged across stone. The nightlight flickered once, throwing his shadow huge across the wall, then steadied.

Liam’s throat tightened. “Dad?” he tried, but his voice cracked halfway. No answer. Only that slow, rasping breath coming from behind the closet door.

He wanted to run—to bolt down the hall to his parents’ room—but the air felt thick, pressing him down. The whisper came again, closer this time, from just behind the doorframe.

“Come… see me…”

The door creaked as if something brushed against it from inside. Liam’s skin crawled. He could *see* the thin line of blackness between the door and the frame widen.

He grabbed the baseball bat from beside his bed, clutching it so tight his knuckles hurt. The nightlight’s faint glow painted everything in gold and shadow.

“One… two… three,” he whispered to himself, trying to be brave, and swung the bat toward the door.

It hit nothing but air. The door swung open.

Silence.

The closet was empty.

His clothes hung still, shoes lined up neatly. The darkness inside looked ordinary now—harmless.

He exhaled shakily, letting the bat drop to his side. “See? Nothing. Just my imagination.”

Then something cold brushed the back of his neck.

Liam spun, swinging wildly. The bat thudded against the wall, sending a framed poster crashing to the floor. The whisper came again, now right beside his ear.

“Don’t look away.”

He turned toward the nightlight. It flickered once more, then died completely, plunging the room into perfect black.

He couldn’t even see his hands. He could only *feel*—the chill in the air, the faint vibration of breath near his cheek.

“Wh-what do you want?” he whispered.

The thing in the dark didn’t answer. It only breathed, slow and ragged, and then—lightly, almost curious—ran a fingertip down his arm. He yelped and stumbled backward until his knees hit the bed.

That’s when he heard another sound: the slow creak of his bedroom door opening.

A sliver of hallway light spilled in. “Liam?” his mother’s voice. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

The darkness behind him shifted. He felt it lean close, so close its breath tickled his ear.

“Don’t tell her,” it hissed. “She won’t believe you.”

Liam’s mother stepped inside, flicking on the ceiling light. The room blazed bright—and everything was normal. The nightlight glowed steady again. The closet door hung open, harmless.

“Sweetheart, were you having a nightmare?” she asked.

He nodded mutely, eyes darting to the corner. Nothing moved there now. Just the chair, his hoodie slumped over it.

She kissed his forehead. “Try to sleep, okay?”

When she left, the door clicked shut.

For a long time, Liam just sat there, staring at the nightlight. Eventually, his eyelids grew heavy. The house was quiet again.

Then—

*Creak.*

The closet door.

Liam’s eyes snapped open.

From inside, the whisper came once more, soft and playful this time, almost laughing:

“You looked away.”

Now it’s to late to go back. It’s gone amd now I’m scared to go back to sleep. Liam is no better safe anymore.