After you failed to convince your daughter that you killed the monster of the closet years ago . One day you return from work to find her room in mess and the closet door riped off with her slipper coming out of the closet wall with a few words engraved on the walls `` I 'M BACK '' [ wp ]

Raising Sophie was hard enough as it is ever since Martha died. Her and I were both in this together now, with no one else in the immediate family to help us. That was a few months ago, and the day that I remember getting the call to come down to the station was horrible. Yet, here we are, living on, and enjoying the days together when we did. My nine to five wasn ’ t all that, and I hated that I have to be away from her for so long, but she ’ s old enough to live on her own now. 
 
 I remember one of the many reoccurring nightmares that Sophie had was about the “ Green Beast ” that lived in her closest. Martha would always calm her down, while I would go into the closet, shut it, and bang around while talking hilarious amounts of smack to the beast. She would scream out in fear, and I would call out “ Daddy ’ s got him! ” while Martha would smile and pet her hair to comfort her. She was always my supporter in the many battles we had against him, silently cheering me on and giving me that sly smile and commending me for my effort; We were a great team. I remember getting out of the closet, fixing my shirt, and starting over at Sophie with that proud smile as she stared at me in awe. Martha would applaud my efforts, and Sophie would be happy. 
 
 However, this didn ’ t stop. A few days later, Sophie cried out about he was back, and was mad about what I did. I got on a knee and reassured her that he was defeated, and that truly, he would never come back. 
 I was wrong. 
 
 I got home earlier than usual today, shutting the door after a long day at the office. I was tired, and I had a massive headache. I called out for Sophie, wondering where she was, perhaps at band practice. So the next few hours I was cleaning up, prepping my dinner, on the computer, but… I still never heard from Sophie. I called her, and texted her. “ where are you? ” I asked, and I got no response. I thought she was just busy, until I noticed the coat she usually wore was resting in the kitchen. 
 
 Was she mad at me? Was this another spout of depression from what happened to Martha? It was so hard on her… poor, poor Sophie. 
 
 I made my way up the stairs, and looked at the closed door as I called out her name. No response, my voice went lower as I asked again for her to come out, again… no response. I moved over to the door, knocked once, twice, three times, and still got no response. I issued that this was enough for her privacy, and that I simply wanted to make sure she was okay… so I grabbed the handle and opened the door. 
 
 I froze; the bed was a mess, sheets tore up and pillow across the floor. The wood on the bed seemed torn into, as if someone – something - tried to climb onto it. I felt pale, was she kidnapped? The window was closed, the door was locked when I got in… it made no sense, until I found myself staring at the closet. 
 
 The doors were shattered, one was at least, while the other was hanging from its hinge with those same marks. The darkness inside of the closet seemed endless, as if it was much larger and deeper then I have ever seen if before. Resting near the shattered door, was one of my daughters flat, Sophie's flat, that seemed to be halfway consumed by that seeping darkness. Large imprints resting on the depressions that would be the handles to the closet opening, and written on the hanging door, read words that still haunt me even when I sit here trying to get my bearing together and figure out what to do. 
 
 “ I ’ M BACK ” 
 
 As if all of this already wasn ’ t making sense, and the horrible ideas of what this could be actually be true, one thought continued to comfort me and calm me down, until I realize that it ’ s not here anymore. 
 
 I don ’ t know how I ’ m going to do this without you, Martha… 

