Nobody ever gets taught about the monster in their closet, we only ever hear about it from other children or child-aged characters. Despite no description ever being given we all have a vague idea of what it looked like to our younger selves.
Eyes large as your whole head, teeth like broken kitchen knives and a voice that rumbled through the floor.
We all remember the monster in our closet, only the monster was never in the closet - it was the closet.
Or rather, it was the door.
Every door is something alive, some remnant of a tree's memory coupled with a taste for human blood and atom-thin splinters that dug into your eyes and deeper still, leaving you as hurt and damaged as they remember feeling when they were separated from their home tree.
When you forget why you walked into a room,when a headache suddenly begins as soon as you enter a classroom and doesn't go away until you leave, when something in your mind aches with every door you pass through - they take something of your mind and add it to their own.
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