Every house has a certain closet.

You know the one – you have one yourself.

The closet that opens on its own.

The light bulb in this closet never works, even when you put in a new bulb. As soon as you flip the switch, the bulb blows.

Every time.

This is the closet that you hear noises coming from. Something always seems to be falling in there.

It’s the closet that freaks your pets out. Maybe your dog sits and barks at it. Or your cat’s hair stands on end as she creeps past it, back arched.

This is the closet you don’t like to open when you’re home alone. It feels extra warm inside this closet – almost full of energy.

You would never – under any circumstances – sleep with this closet open. You don’t like to sleep facing this closet, but the idea of turning your back to it is equally undesirable.

Tom next door has one of these closets in his hallway. He’s positive he has heard laughter come from his closet, but he’s too embarrassed to tell anyone.

Your aunt Susan has one of these closets in her guest room, but she won’t open it anymore. Not since she heard something slithering in there.

Your mailman’s closet is in his bedroom. On three separate occasions, he has woken up to see the door cracked and a dark shape standing in the opening watching him.

Everyone has a closet.

But back to yours.

Oh, yours.

Your closet is worse than anyone’s. Because I’m in your closet. I’ve watched you, listened to you, reached for you, and come within inches of touching your hair.

I feel like it’s way past time for us to finally meet.

So I’ll see you tonight.