☕️ Alice’s Mad Tea Party Presents:
🫖 Alice Spills the Tea: The Closet Monster
Oh, darlings, I know there have been times when you woke up in the middle of the night for seemingly no reason shivering in the dark, hugging your covers a little tighter. Everyone’s been there, right? Staring at the closet door, the one thing separating you from the unknown - the thing that sends that chill up your spine, the one that makes you wonder… Is something hiding inside the closet?
Well, let me tell you, the closet? It’s not just a space for your shoes and coats. Oh no, it’s a portal. A portal to something far more... terrifying. Something that has been lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to remind you that there’s always something hiding in the dark.
It’s called The Shade of the Closet. Oh yes, it’s got its own name, and if you’re brave enough to listen, I’ll spill the tea on this nasty little creature.
The first time the Shade was noticed, it was by a small child, of course. Kids always get the bad end of the deal, don’t they? They’re the ones who see things - things that we, as grown-ups, are too wise to notice.
This child was no different. Little Amelia had just moved into a quaint little house on the edge of town. It was charming, really. A cottage with ivy crawling up the sides, the kind of place you’d read about in fairy tales. But there was one thing that didn’t quite fit - that closet.
It was an old, rickety thing, standing at the far end of the room. Its door was a little crooked, and the handle? Well, it had a nasty little habit of turning on its own. Of course, no one thought anything of it. Old house, old things, right? But little Amelia? She knew something was off the moment she stepped into that room.
Now, Amelia’s mother was busy, as mothers tend to be. She was unpacking boxes, setting up the kitchen, and making sure everything was just right. But Amelia… Amelia was staring at the closet door.
Click.
Did you hear that?
The first sound that made her blood run cold. She thought it was just the house settling. After all, old houses make lots of sounds. But when she glanced over at the closet, the door was slightly ajar.
Click.
There it was again, louder this time. A soft tapping, like fingernails against wood.
Amelia called out to her mother, but when she turned her back to the closet, that was the moment she saw it. A figure - a shadow, really - just out of her line of sight, but enough to send her heart racing. It was tall, tall enough to reach the top of the doorframe, but too still to be a human. It was like it was waiting… waiting for her to turn around.
She blinked. Gone.
Amelia shook it off. She was just tired, right? Maybe it was the new house, the new room, or maybe just her imagination playing tricks on her. But she knew, deep down, that the closet wasn’t just a closet. No, it was hiding something. Something hungry.
Now, here’s where it gets really creepy. Amelia’s mother, of course, dismissed the whole thing. Kids and their “imaginary friends,” right? But the next night, something happened. Something that even Amelia’s mother couldn’t ignore.
The scratching began.
It was subtle at first. A soft, gnawing sound, like claws running along the back of the door. Then, as the days wore on, it grew louder. Louder, and more insistent, like something was trying to get out. Trying to escape.
One night, Amelia’s mother - tired of hearing the scratching - went to investigate. She grabbed a flashlight, opened the closet door, and looked inside. But there was nothing there. Nothing but the dark, a few boxes, and the usual clutter.
But, the moment she turned to leave, she heard it.
A voice.
Soft, whispering.
“Let me out…”
Amelia’s mother, terrified now, slammed the door shut. She wasn’t ready to deal with this. But the scratching? The voice? They didn’t stop. In fact, the monster inside the closet was growing stronger, hungrier. And soon, it wasn’t just the scratching that filled the air. It was the scent - the scent of something rotting. Like the earth itself was dying.
It was then that Amelia’s mother, in a fit of desperation, turned to someone who had a reputation for handling the unknown: the witches of Westbrook. They were known for dealing with all things creepy, dark, and wrong in the world.
When the witch arrived, she took one look at the closet and knew.
The Shade had been feeding on the fear of the family that lived there before for years. It had been there, waiting in the shadows for the perfect moment to slip out and claim a soul.
The closet? It wasn’t a closet at all. It was a portal - gateway to another world, one where monsters like the Shade dwelled. And this Shade? It fed on fear.
So, what happened to the Shade?
Well, let’s just say the witches didn’t banish it so much as they relocated it. You see, creatures like the Shade aren’t bound by time or space the way mortals are. A little fire and a few ancient incantations might close the closet for now, but that portal? That hunger? It never really fades. It just moves... seeking out the next flicker of fear.
Because that’s the secret no one wants to admit: the Shade survives on fear. It feeds on it, thrives in it. Your terror is its supper, your dread is dessert. And the longer you ignore that creeping sense that something’s watching you from the shadows... the stronger it becomes.
And the Shade? It’s not alone.
There are others, darling. Whole legions of them, slinking through the veil between worlds. And the closet? That’s just one of the many doors they use to cross over. Under your bed, behind the mirror, the attic you refuse to open—they’re all gateways. Every night, as the world grows quiet and your heart starts to race, they listen. They smell the fear. And when it's ripe enough?
They reach through.
So the next time you wake up at 3:03 a.m., cold sweat clinging to your skin, and your closet door is just a little more open than you left it... don’t just pull the covers tighter.
Remember this: You’re not just afraid of the dark. You’re afraid of what’s hiding inside it.
Whisper this: “I know you’re there. But I’m not afraid.”
Because once you are?
Well, then it’s already too late.
