The quiet returns. She's sure there's something in the wardrobe, something awful and there's something else, something at the corner of her eye, something here with her and she doesn't know which one will get her first, but they're there and it's only a matter of time because she can't move a muscle and these things can take their time she isn't going anywhere they can get her when they get her because she'll still be there...
...The handle on the wardrobe begins to turn, creaking as it does. A louder creak and the door slowly begins to open.
