Sleep came slowly to Timothy that night. It was almost midnight, and he was becoming more frustrated with every passing minute. Not even hugging Sherman, his teddy bear, helped in his quest for slumber. He looked around his room. The way the dark distorted his toys and posters always made him uneasy. His view came to the closet at the foot of his bed. He slept in fear of the creatures he knew hid in his closet. He imagined their glowing red eyes piercing the darkness, staring at him hungrily. In his mind's eye, he saw them shambling out of the closet on slimy, green tentacles and eating him in his sleep. He stared at his closet a long time, drawing his Garfield sheets close under his chin. Finally, he released a long sigh of resignation, and settled down in his bed, staring at his white ceiling.

Tim's eyelids finally dropped. He was just beging to drift into slumber when a squeaking noise sliced through the silence. He was going to ignore it and slip into sleep when his sluggish mind recognized the sound. It was the hinges of his closet door. His bolted upright in bed, eyes wide, holding Sherman tightly.

His closet door was still swinging slowly. Tim stared straight into the abysmal darkness of his closet, gripping his bear and sheets until his knuckles turned white. His teeth were clenched in an attempt to hold back the scream he felt pushing its way up his throat. He held his breath, hoping that if he was quiet enough whatever was in there would ignore him.

He was as scared as he thought it was as possible to be, but when he heard something bump against the wall, his fear increased a hundred times. He threw his blankets over his head and lay huddled as still as he could, his heart pounding in his ears. Tim thought his chest would explode if his parents didn't come to save him soon. Then he heard the voice, calling his name.

"Timmmmmy," the voice whispered, sounding like dead leaves blown by the wind. The voice came form the closet.

Tim slowly pulled the blankets from over his eyes. He looked into the inky blackness of his closet, expecting something to jump out and devour him at any moment. Instead, he stared into the black curtain of darkness in his closet and listened to the voice call him again.

"Come with ussss, Timmy."

Tim felt the tides of fear rushing through his mind begin to ebb with the peculiar soothing of the voice. His muscles relaxed, and he began breathing easier. He even loosened his grip around Sherman.

"Come with us, Timmy," the voice said again.

"Who are you?" Tim asked warily.

"We're your friends. We have fun in here. Come with us."

Tim looked at the closet. His fears were not yet completely assuaged. Regardless, he slipped out of bed, the hardwood floor was cold on his bare feet. Despite his evaporating fears, he still held on to Sherman. The darkness seemed to convulse, solidifying.

"Who are you really?" Tim asked.

There was a pause. "We take children to a magic land where there are no parents and toys grow on trees," the voice said.

"What about school? Is there any school?"

"No, no school."

Tim stepped closer to the closet. "Is Robin Derkins in there?" Although he would never admit it to anyone, he kind of liked Robin Derkins.

"No," the voice whispered, "but maybe you could help us find her. I'm sure she would appreciate it."

The sheet of darkness in the closet had gained the consistency of tar, and was swirling slowly. As Tim walked closer, the murk spasmed in anticipation.

"Do we have to eat vegetables?" Tim asked, his reservations fading by the second.

"There are no vegetables where we want to take you," the voice said. "Walk into the closet, and we'll take you there."

Tim walked closer to the fluttering gloom. He had almost made up his mind. He had one more question. "Can Sherman come with me?"

There was another pause. The sound of hushed conversation came from the closet. Then the voice answered, "We'll make an exception just for you. Bring Sherman. Now hurry, before your parents come."

Looking directly into the hypnotic whirlpools of the closet, Tim put out his hands. He could almost feel the twitching, semi-liquid mass. He was about to take the last step into the closet when he heard, or rather felt another voice speaking to him. It said four words: "Get back in bed."

Suddenly, Tim was filled with terror of the sight of the open closet. He turned and bolted back to his bed.

The voice's cajoling tone had vanished, replaced by howling fury. "COME BACK HERE!" it roared.

Tim vaulted into bed and looked back at the closet. The darkness had formed a pseudopod and was reaching for him. The black liquid of the closet flowed into the arm, stretching toward Tim's bed.

As the pseudopod closed in him, Tim tried to fend it off with his pillow. His pillow was yanked from his hands and he cowered in front of the approaching night, defenseless.

Then the light switched on. Tim's eyes snapped shut from the pain of the blinding light. A jarring resonance reverberated through Tim's bones, chattering his teeth. He thought he was dead until another, more familiar voice rang in his ears.

"What are you doing," his mother demanded, "moving furniture?"

Timothy opened his eyes against the stinging light to look at the closet. The door was open, and the tangled pile of toys and clothes that he had kept in his closet were strewn across the floor.

Timothy was never again bothered by the thing in his closet, and although he recovered from the horrible shock he had experienced, he was never again able to make Sherman talk.