I hate basements. I think any sane person does. When my family and I moved to Harford County and I saw the layout of the house, I thought 'finally! I get to have an actual room!'. That thought was soon crushed however when my parents took the master bedroom and the kids took the other two bedrooms upstairs and I was once again delegated the basement. Looking back it was fair because my brothers and sister were very young but it annoyed me to no end then especially because the basement was hardly what you could call private.
Younger siblings being as they are will always find any way into an older sibling's room. My room connected to the laundry room by means of an unfinished wall where one could squeeze through. I would always turn around from writing or doing whatever I was doing in my room just in time to see a little head peeking from around the corner of the wall.
Then there was the storage room. My room had a huge walk in closet with slated doors that would fold open or closed. The only thing bad about this is that I couldn't lock them. There was a storage room across from my room and a little hall way that led from that room into my closet. Why anyone would want to construct a house like this is beyond me. I finally got smart and started to bind my door with a thick rubber band, but that was short lived. My younger siblings would try and come into my room via the storage room and find they couldn't open the doors of the now dark closet. They were young and would freak out so much it wouldn't occur to them to go back the way they came or they would get too scared to do so and would start to cry and yell for my mom. My mom would either take off the band and let them out through my room or call to them from the storage room and they would get the courage to go back. Then she would tell them I was being rude and ignorant and didn't like them.
I hated that room. I hated that closet. I would wake up and find the previously closed doors open. I would rush upstairs to my mom and ask her why she kept letting my siblings come into my room only for her to brush me off and cover up for them, claiming that they went right to school and didn't try to come into my precious room.
Waking up to that would always creep me out even though I knew that it was only my brothers and sister doing it. It even gave me nightmares and I would wake up and look through the dark to make sure that the door was indeed still closed.
One night however gave me reason to believe that it might not all be to blame on the kids. I went to sleep rather early because I had school the next day. I had a dream that I was laying down on my bed and my closet door began to open. Out of it came two monsters. They were cold and clammy and had green stringy matter that clung to them. They had no real features and where their eyes were was nothing but darkness. They picked me up screaming and fighting and lifted me high above their heads. They carried me out of my house and down my street towards the center of my neighborhood. Where there was usually a playground there was now a vast lake with a long pier leading off of it.
In all dreams there are certain truths. Certain rules. You don't know how you know them, you just do and it's usually a split second before the dream rule will be enacted. In this dream I knew I couldn't swim. I knew that if I were to be thrown off the pier and into the lake, I would drown and die. I fought harder and screamed louder but my cries were met by deep laughter. Then I got an idea and started to scream for myself to wake up.
When I woke up I felt myself fall onto the bed. And when I looked in the darkness towards my closet, the door was open.