[cover photo was Edited 
The Closet
The ClosetThe scratching in the door increased in intensity and volume. Karen shrank back further into the closet, pulling the bottom of some hanging garments close to her as if they would somehow protect her.
Again the scratching.
A meow.
A cat, it was one of the damn cats. Had to be Mr. Mouser. The gray tabby had taken a shine to her during the first walk through of the house when they were discussing camera setup.
More scratching and meowing.
"Pssst, go away cat." She hissed through the slats of the closet door. Mr.Mouser's tail flicked up and quivered as he heard Karen's voice.
"A damn cat is going to get me killed" she thought to herself as she pressed up against the door trying to catch the cat's attention and get him away from her hiding place.
The door knob to the bedroom rattled just a little, as if it was being tested.
Karen pushed backwards from the front of the closet, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
"Oh God, oh God." She strained to hear any more noise from the direction of the door but could just hear the damn cat rubbing against the door of the closet.
"Please." She thought."Please go away cat."
A shadow fell across the slats of the closet door and just as quickly was gone again.
Karen squirmed as quietly as she could into the farthest corner of the closet. She balled up a fallen sweater and held it against her mouth as if it would somehow protect her with staying silent.
A bang, more shadows.
"Oh God, are there more than one?" Her mind racing, she blindly reached around her trying in vain to find anything she could use as a weapon.
Mr. Mouser gave a loud hiss from outside the closet.
Silence.
She couldn't hear anything. THe cat was still, the creaking floorboards were keeping their silence. The whole house seemed to be holding its breath.
A shadow darted across the slats of the door, there was a yowl of pain and almost pure terror. A loud thud from what was probably the wall.
More silence.
Karen strained to hear anything. But all she could hear was the pounding of her heartbeat in her ears.
The handle to the closet moved just a little, but it definitely moved.
Karen pulled her legs up against herself, trying to physically get away from whatever was at the door.
The handle moved again, this time turning a little and a gentle push, testing if the door was locked or not.
The handle moved back its normal resting place after it pressed again the lock mechanism.
How much could a flimsy lock like that keep out?
The handle turned again. It turned until it hit the latch of the lock.
The door shook as it was pulled and pushed as something tried to open it.
Karen squealed and pushed her leg against the flimsy door hoping somehow it would keep those things at bay.
The door exploded in the shower of splinters, Karen looked up and screamed.
SIX MONTHS EARLIER
"OK, Mitch what's the great idea?" Karen sat down at the table in the small messy office.
Her TV producer grinned at her over his horn rimmed glasses.
"Ghosts." He said simply, his grin getting even wider.
Karen stretched and looked at him.
"Ghosts are bullshit."
Mitch looked at her crestfallen, "Really, you're one of those people huh."
"One of what people Mitch?" Karen got up to leave.
She looked at him almost pitifully, "Everyone knows ghosts are bullshit."
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