When Henry heard the whispers from the closet, he didn’t close his eyes as usual. Instead, he sat up, kicking the blankets off his bed as he reached for his bat. For too many nights, the darkness had kept him awake at night. For too many nights, it whispered for him to be a bad boy and to make Mommy cry. And so, just as he was going to bed tonight, he had set up his weaponry.
Henry’s grip on the bat tightened as he approached the door, his footsteps causing the floor to squeak. From the closet, more whispers. Louder, beckoning him. He felt drawn to the closet, addicted to it. His unavoidable adventure started when he stepped out of bed and that closet was his Mines of Moria.
He stopped in front of the door. The whispers were almost deafening. They made his head hurt, his eyes hurt. His body shivered. His arms ached. It felt like a rope was pulling his arm forward. He took hold of the door knob and twisted it slowly.
Time froze.
Time continued.
“Henry?”
And Henry attacked, swinging the bat down over and over again until it splintered.
***
When the cops found Henry standing over his mother’s body with the murder weapon in hand, they knew they were going to have to prepare for the media circus that would follow.
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