The Closet

Seymore, looking in his closet for his shotgun, accidentally let the door slam closed behind him.

He wheeled. Panicked. Beat on the door and screamed. No one answered, because he lived alone.

Seymore hated tight places. He couldn't even stand tight clothes. A wristwatch drove him wild. And now here he was, in a small closet, in the dark. He beat on the door and yelled some more, but still nothing changed.

He sat in a corner of the closet, the clothes draping about him like a ghost.

Beneath the crack in the door he saw day change to night and back again. He grew hungry. He threw himself at the door. No good. Solid oak and thick.

He sat down and cried.

Four days went by.

He found the shotgun he had been looking for.

It was loaded. He put it under his chin and fired.

Neighbors, hearing the shot, came looking for him.

They found him in the closet.

Too bad he hadn't tried the knob.

It wasn't locked.

2003 Joe R. Lansdale.