The Faces In The Closet Novels & Stories

Watching every move she made. “We’re shutting this place down,” he said. “Today.” Clarissa turned to him like he was an insect. “Oh, Marcus,” she sighed. “Still playing soldier. Still following commands you do not understand. He didn’t blink. “Try me.” She raised one hand. Calm. Too calm. Then the walls changed. Not screens. Mirrors. And behind them? Faces. Children. Teens. Adults. Dozens. Maybe hundreds. Staring. Trapped. Test subjects.

*Aria’s POV* The wood of the closet door splintered inward. A heavy boot kicked through the panels, shattering the lock. I scrambled back, pressing Adrian into the corner, shielding his eyes with my body. I raised the flashlight, blinded by the sudden invasion. "Don't!" The door was ripped open. Three men in black tactical gear flooded the small space. They didn't wear masks. They didn't care if I saw their faces. That terrified me more than anything. It meant they didn't plan on leaving witnesses.

“People seemed happy. I got a lot of laughs from the vegan cheese bit.” “Good.” I sighed. “Get out, I have to shower. There’s hospital germs in my hair.” “And I’m the one they say has health anxiety. Night, JoJo.” “Night.” I kicked off my boots and wandered into my bathroom. I didn’t bother to strip off before stepping into the shower. I just wanted to wash off that awful night. I was in that house again. With the long winding corridors full of doors. Not one of them led to the room I wanted. But I didn’t know what room I wanted. So I kept walking, looking in each room until I found it.

The room was small, just enough for two single beds, a wardrobe, a tall mirror, and a desk with a lamp, but it was clean compared to the rest of the apartment. Miles closed the door to the room after I stepped in, then led me to the wardrobe that almost reached the floor to the ceiling. He opened the closet door and pointed at the clothes in black, jeans, and white. There were tons of branded beanie hats, mouth masks, and underwear. "Half of it is Jayden's," Miles says as he opens the closet door and points to a larger area. "Though some of his clothes are probably in the washing machine or on the line."

It’s the color of my wardrobe. I jerk back, blinking rapidly. “Nope,” I whisper. It wiggles toward me. Another one joins it. Then another. They’re crawling up the basin. “No, no, no, no —” I try to squash one with my finger, but it splits into two and slides away. The bathroom door creaks open. I glance toward the mirror — and my stomach drops. Behind me, reflected in the glass, stands a figure in a black hoodie. But the face — the face is a clown mask.

" Tristan's voice was thick with tears by the time he was done speaking. However, I simply looked at him coldly while peeling his fingers away from my hands. "It's too late, Tristan," I said. "I've already left the closet, and I'm never going back inside ever again." Tristan had confessed his true feelings much too late.

And for the first time since this whole twisted thing began— He looked devastated. I had just redressed when the knock came. Wolfe tensed immediately. His mask snapped back into place like a reflex. One knock. “Who the hell is that?” I wanted to scream; I wanted to slap anyone behind that door that spoiled this moment for me. Then another. Louder. “Get in the closet,” he whispered. I blinked. “Are you seri—” “Now, Aria.” I darted into the narrow supply closet just as the door opened.

EVERLEIGH SEVERAL HOURS EARLIER I stood in the walk-in closet and just stared. It’s only been an hour or so since we went down and met with Rogan, so I know I haven't fallen asleep and missed a day or ten. What Ronan referred to as my side of the closet was relatively empty when we had left. Now I’m standing in a fully stocked closet. Did I fall through some kind of alternate dimension? Does clothing multiply like Tribbles?

Two boys and a girl were having a threesome. “Oh shit!” He exclaimed in horror, quickly slamming the door, “Please memory, forget what you just saw.” He moved on to the next door and opened it. “Oh fuck!” He exclaimed once more at the gruesome scene and shut the door, “Is Professor Stiles even home? How the hell am I to leave here.” He moved on to the next door and placed his eye on it. All he heard was moans, he moved to the next one, to the next and then to the last door on the passage.

He turns us to the right. There the space is empty for the most part. A robe hangs on a hook by the door. At the end of the empty racks, another space for shoes takes up a portion of the wall. Three pairs of fuzzy slippers in yellow, green, and Giants orange are illuminated by the overhead lighting. We walk farther into the closet where a large white square dresser takes up the middle of the space. He pulls open the top drawer a small amount. There's a flash of pink before he closes it again.