I remember a woman in my closet at my childhood home,
She normally was quiet and wouldnt go further than the edge of my walk in closet.
I didnt step inside there much, but when i did, she whispered.
She whispered about mixed up nothings that i could never make out.
And sometimes when she whispered close enough to my ears i could make out small words like "death" and "wall" and sometimes even "child", i had no idea what she was talking about, but i just ignored it. I never used to talk to mother or father about it because that used to be my sisters room, and when she used to talk of the woman in the closet, father would be angry. And sometimes he would be angry enough that he would hit her.
So i was quiet, i would never speak of her.
Near the end of my sophmore year, my sister was caught asking me about the woman in the closet and asking me if i saw her too. I was about to answer when father came in screaming about her corrupting my mind with her mental sickness. I was so scared he would hurt me that i just stood there and said nothing as he beat her then yanked her away from the room. That next morning she had disappeared. And father had sent me to a friends house for a week.
Back then i didnt think about how my closet had been redone and how it had a fresh layer of paint, and how on rainy days, it had sometimes stunk like a dead rotting animal. Father had assured me that it was just mold and that he would take care of it soon, he never did.
As time went on mother had passed and the house grew lonely.
Im a senior at college and father had passed away a few months ago. I went back about a week after him passing and i found a box in his closet. This box had pictures in it, Pictures of father and the woman in my closet. And some were of her holding a young little girl who had seemed to be a year old and a baby. I looked on the back and it read "elizebeth and clark with tammy and jamie"....
Clark was my fathers name and tammy was my sisters name. And jamie... that was my name. There was a newspaper on the sudden disappearance of elizebeth. Thats when it hit me. "Death, wall, child". The new paint job, the retched smell.
Today a group of police men are tearing away at the wall. As they pulled away at a certian spot. A wave of car fresheners came crashing down, as well as my real mother and my long lost sister... and that smell... that retched smell.....
