To whoever receives this letter, these are the final words of me, Cynthia J. Hill. They will sound like the ramblings of a mad woman, but I swear I am and have been of sound mind. It happened something like this:
Three weeks ago, I was dumped. There is no better way to put it. My boyfriend of two years dropped me like yesterday’s trash on the side of the road. I was taken completely off guard.I moved out of our shared home and found an apartment two days later. It was cheap, and I mean dirt cheap. It was technically the upstairs of some super old farm house out in the middle of nowhere, but it had a kitchen, a bedroom, and a bathroom and that’s all a person really needs,right? As I moved in with my depressingly small amount of personal items, I noticed that there was no one living in the downstairs section of the house. I was all alone.
My troubles started the following day. As I was unpacking my bedroom, I noticed the closet. Well, not the closet exactly, but what was in the back of the closet: a board had been nailed haphazardly to the back wall. I shrugged it off; a cheap apartment isn’t going to be perfect. I finished packing and lay down on my bed, exhausted after all I had been through in the past 72 hours. As I drifted off, somewhere in the twilight between sleeping and waking, I swore I could hear rustling coming from the closet. I should have just packed everything up right then,but no one seems to realize they’re in a deadly situation until it’s too late.
A few days later, as I unpacked the last of my belongings, I thought about the back of the closet. I wondered why on earth someone would just arbitrarily nail a board to a wall with no real reason. I decided to investigate just what lay beyond the board. With my trusty “recently single girl” tool kit in hand, I headed for my bedroom. I shoved everything out of the closet and set to work with my hammer, pulling all the hastily hammered in nails one by one until the board finally fell from the wall. I grabbed my flashlight, flicked it to the ‘on’ position, and shined it into the darkness. There was an entire extra room beyond my closet. It was dusty and dark and damp and I sneezed a few times, which echoed slightly and that freaked me out. I wondered why it was covered up this way, but the thought of really investigating this room gave me the creeps. Then I noticed the little box in the far left corner.
The box wasn’t anything spectacular, just an average wooden box with what looked like someone’s name carved into the top of it. I really, really wanted to know what was in it, but that meant going into the room to retrieve it. My curiosity wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass. I took three deep breaths and ran to grab it. I reached the corner, reached down for the box, felt my fingers close around it, and then it all went black.
I awoke in my bed around 9 pm, confused as to why I was in bed at 9 pm. I looked around the room; everything was back in my closet and the door was closed. I thought I had just dreamed the entire scenario, and then I saw the box on the bed right beside me, the name ‘JESSE’ etched crudely onto the lid. I shuddered and picked it up. I opened the box, once again falling into blackness.
Three days later, I came to in my bedroom. Yes, I said three days. I hadn’t realized it until I glanced at my phone and noticed the date and time stamp on a text message from a girlfriend. Then I glanced at my right arm and let out a scream, the skin on it had become gray and started to flake off. I looked at my other arm; the same. I heard rustling from the closet, then he came into the room.
He wore only black pants; no shoes, no shirt. His skin was gray and flaking like the skin on my arms and his eyes were so black they looked like sunken holes in his face. His body was so thin I thought he surely must be starving. I tried to speak, but all that came out was a little squeaking sound. His head quickly snapped in my direction and I let out another squeak. He smiled at me, his teeth decayed and rotting, lifting his arms at me. I was confused until I realized that they were becoming flesh colored; his arms were coming back to life. He pointed at me, then himself, then crawled back into the closet.
Every day since then, I’ve felt my skin begin to crawl, followed by the gray color and a tingling feeling, then the man, who I can only assume is “JESSE” comes out of the closet and the art of me that has turned gray comes back to life.
Today is my last day; I can feel it. My chest is all that’s left and I can feel the tingling now. My heart’s beginning to slow. I can hear Jesse rustling around in the closet.