Jim Stitzel

I dabble a little in a lot of things — writing, webcomics, gaming, photography, web design, music, and more. I write code full-time and words in the gaps in between.

Nine-year-old Timothy Lane sits on the edge of his bed trying not to look at his closet. The room is dark, but that yawning portal is darker and more terrifying to Timothy than anything else. He twists his hands in his lap, trying to find the courage to walk over and close the door, but he fails every time he tries.

Finally, he manages to put a foot down on the floor. His parents are asleep, so no one is coming to his rescue. He already knows he won't be able to sleep until that door is closed. So he stands up and takes two tentative steps toward the closet.

An enormous cramp suddenly grips his abdomen, and Timothy feels his stomach tear open. He tries to scream, but blood and bile rise up and choke him. He feels something long and sinuous slither from the open wound in his belly, and he looks down to see a taloned claw and arm reaching out.

Timothy falls to his knees in agony as the claw grips the floor and pulls him toward the closet. The closet was monsterless before. But now no more.


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Jim Stitzel

Jim Stitzel

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