What lives in the closet?

⏱ ~4 min reading

Bogdanchyk moved into his grandmother's room for the whole summer. Grandma was no more — she left in the spring, quietly, like the evening wind. But the room remained. And dad said that it was time for Bogdanchyk to sleep separately, like an adult. So they gave him his grandmother's room.

The room was beautiful. The walls were light green, like young leaves. Above the bed hung a small painting of a field of daisies. On the table was an old lamp with a pink shade. Everything in there smelled of grandma—her hand cream, vanilla cookies, and something else very special that only happens to people who have lived a long life.

But there was one thing in the room that Bogdanchyk didn't immediately like. A large old wardrobe. Dark, wooden, with carved doors and a round bronze handle. During the day, the wardrobe was just a wardrobe. And at night, it suddenly became something else.

Every evening, Bogdanchyk would hide his head under the blanket and listen. It seemed to him that someone in the closet was sighing. Or turning from side to side. Once he even heard something fall softly inside - “tuh”. Bogdanchyk almost screamed. He lay there all night, not daring to stick his nose out.

In the morning he said to his mother:

"I don't want to sleep in Grandma's room. There's someone living in the closet there.".

Mom looked at him seriously and sat down next to him.

— Have you looked there?

— No! — Bogdanchyk shook his head. — I won't open it. What if it pops out?

Mom was silent.

"You know what," she said. "Let's take a look together tonight. Just first, after dinner. While it's still light.".

Bogdanchyk thought for a moment. During the day, it's okay. During the day, even the scariest closet isn't so scary.

After dinner, my mother brought a small chair, placed it in front of the wardrobe, and sat down. She clapped her hand beside her:

"Sit down. And we'll open it together. One. Two. Three.".

The door creaked softly. Inside, there was a smell of something warm. Something very familiar. Bogdanchyk sniffed.

“It’s Grandma,” he whispered.

"This is her coat," said Mom. "Look.".

Grandma's coats and sweaters hung in a row in the closet. A gray coat that Grandma wore to church. A dark green one that she wore to visit them. A light beige summer coat with large buttons. Handkerchiefs on the top shelf were folded into squares. Below were Grandma's old boots. And on the inside of the door hung her very own knitted scarf with a red stripe that Bogdanchyk had loved to wear when he was three.

He slowly reached out and touched the dark green coat. The fabric was soft, soft. There was a faint coffee stain on the sleeve—Bohdanchyk remembered how once he and his grandmother had been drinking cocoa and she had spilled some.

“Mom,” he said quietly, “it smells like her hands.”.

Mom put her arm around his shoulders.

"I told you. There's no one scary in the closet. There are memories in the closet. Everything that Grandma wore, everything Grandma loved, lives here. Her hands, her shoulders, her walks in the park are here. Everything that's left of her is here.".

Bogdanchyk was silent for a long time. Then he sat down on the floor in front of the open closet, put his hands around his knees, and looked.

“Why is it making noise at night?” he finally asked.

"Maybe it's a draft," said Mom. "Or maybe the hook is coming off the hanger—it's old. Look—the brown one, see how it's bent? I'll fix it tomorrow.".

In the evening, Bogdanchyk went to bed. He looked at the closet for a long time. The door was open—he had asked for it that way. In the darkness, it turns out that the inside isn't so terrible. Just a coat. Just a scarf. Just grandma's things waiting for someone to wear them again or at least touch them.

In the middle of the night, Bogdanchyk woke up. He heard something rustling in the closet again. But this time he wasn't scared. He slowly got up, went to the closet, and stuck his head in. Inside, it smelled of vanilla and hand cream.

"It's me, grandma," Bogdanchik whispered into the darkness of the coats. "I'm already sleeping here myself. Don't be sad.".

Then he took the red-striped scarf off the hook, wrapped it around the soft teddy bear that was lying on his bed, and went back under the covers.

It was his first peaceful night in his grandmother's room. And from then on, every night before going to bed, Bohdanchyk would go to the closet, quietly say "goodnight" to it, and go to sleep. And the closet never scared him again. It simply stood there and protected what was most precious to Bohdanchyk.