there was something in my parent’s closet

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When I was 6, my family moved to a little house in the woods of Northern California.
When we first moved in, we loved the place. It was cozy and had a good view of the forest from the master bedroom. Speaking of the master bedroom, it contained our one problem with the house. There was a walk-in closet. Of course, normally there would be no problem with that. But it was the vibe that you got when you walked into it that was terrifying. I swear, as soon as you stepped into that damn closet, a feeling of cold dread would wash over you. That’s a sensation that I haven’t felt since we lived in that house and sincerely hope to never feel again.
We originally shook it off, not even trying to give an explanation to it. But we started to get more paranoid when Marla, the family dog, refused to go near the closet. It started as her just avoiding the closet and leaving the room when my mom or dad opened the closet, but after a month or so, she would refuse to even go in my parents room. We still shook it off. Besides, what could we do? It’s not like we could move again.
After a few months things got…worse. Things moved around in the closet, my mom’s jewelry would appear in the living room when no one touched it. It went on like this until June 6, four months after we moved in. This date is important for more reasons than one, but we’ll get to that.
It was about 11:00pm and my parents were already asleep. I was in their bed because I had a nightmare (i was 6, ok?). There was a huge CRASH from the walk-in closet and the living room at the same time, like something heavy had been thrown down. My parents and I woke up and I was told to stay in bed. My mom walked out into the living room and my dad opened the closet. All of my parent’s clothes had been thrown of the shelves and onto the ground, along with a few boxes they never unpacked. On top of the pile was my dad’s leather jacket with a dirty tire mark stretching across the back. This is when we stopped pretending. Something wasn’t right. My mom came back into the room soon after, saying my uncle’s urn had fallen off the shelf in the living room.
My uncle (my dad’s brother) had been killed in a car crash several years prior to us moving. He had been on his way home when a drunk driver hit his motorcycle. He died on impact. My uncle had given my dad that leather jacket. He died on June 6, at around 11:00pm.

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