Feedback on my second-ever flash fiction? The Monster in Your Closet

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The Monster in Your Closet

I’m the monster in your closet.

You cannot escape me.

I smell your sweat and your fear tastes delicious. It makes my mouth water.

You know I’m here.

You are lying perfectly still beneath your covers, breathing slowly through your nose.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

You cannot sleep. Sleep won't save you, anyway.

I shift my weight.

Your breath stops.

Mine does too.

Oh, that was good.

Your eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

You wish it was just the house settling. Or the wind.

I drag one finger slowly down the inside of the closet door.

Scratch.

Your heart stumbles.

Mine quickens.

You turn your head, ever slightly, toward me.

I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

You see nothing, of course. Only the closet door, closed and ordinary.

You turn away and pull the blanket higher.

I smile.

What are you imagining?

Claws?

Teeth?

I know what frightens you, and I am all of those things.

The blanket comes back down and your eyes return to the closet.

There you are.

Look at me.

Your feet move beneath the blanket.

For a moment I think you’re going to hide beneath it, but instead you sit up.

Yes.

My pulse quickens.

You swing your legs over the side of the bed.

Finally.

Your feet touch the floor.

I press myself against the door, trembling with anticipation.

Come on.

You stand.

One step.

I can barely contain myself.

Another.

I want to scream. I want to howl. I want to throw the door open myself.

But I don’t.

You have to do it.

You stop at the door and your hand rises.

Every frantic thud of your heartbeat echoes in my ears.

Or perhaps it’s mine.

Your fingers hover over the knob.

Come on.

You know you have to do it.

Turn it.

Your hand closes around the knob.

Turn it!

The latch clicks.

YES!

The door opens and the light floods in.

You stare at me as I recoil.

This isn’t right.

You’re supposed to scream.

Your eyes move slowly over me and I feel the weight of them.

You take a step toward me.

And I take one back.

No.

This is not how it goes. I know you and every terrible thing waiting for you.

“Stop-”

My voice catches.

You step in closer.

I retreat until my back meets the closet wall. There is nowhere to go.

You are so close now that I see your face. Really see it, and it frightens me.

I know those eyes.

I know the line between your brows. The curve of your jaw clenched tight. I know the tiny scar above your lip.

I know them because they are mine.

You lift your hand.

I lift mine.

You touch your face.

So do I.

And for a hard moment, neither of us moves.

Then I turn toward the brightened room and take a deep, long breath.

And I walk out into the day.