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I awake suddenly from the deep sleep I'm in. The noise of a high pitch scream coming from within the house has taken me from the deep and dark dream I was involved in. I turn to my wife Dorothy in utter shock. She remains peacefully asleep. I close my eyes and act as if the scream was coming from my imagination. Minutes later, another scream is within the air. I raise my head from my pillow and sit on the side of the bed. I peer out the tiny wooden framed window in the bedroom. The sky is black, the rain is heavy and the lightning is fierce. Bedroom doors are slamming and curtains are flying high above their rods, due to the cyclone like winds. I hear the voice of my eight year old daughter Martha, quietly whispering words that cannot be heard over the background noise of the vicious storm, taking action outside the house. I slowly walk down the main corridor, on the second story of the house, between our bedroom and Martha’s room. Tip toeing quietly past my eldest daughter Josephine’s bedroom which is placed exactly In the middle of the second story floor. The wooden floors below me creep as I anxiously walk faster and faster to Martha’s door. Being just eight years of age, Martha sleeps with the door open and her night lamp slightly illuminating the room until her eyes close. When she is peacefully sleeping, Dorothy kisses her cheek and darkens the room. This time was different. The door remained closed and the shadow of light could still be clearly seen from the gap between the door and the ground. Martha’s whispers were now replaced by tears. I reach out for the door handle, directly in front of me. I slowly turn the handle to undo the door as quietly as possible. The door slowly creep’s open. I peer my head through the gap of the tight opened space. I see Martha sitting on the edge of her bed, facing the opposite direction, crying her heart out. What’s wrong darling? I ask with an anxious voice. Bobby and I are playing hide and seek. I have found him and he won’t come out. I feel my heart beat gradually beating faster and faster. I slowly walk towards Martha’s bed. I kneel down to her eye level. Her eyes are staring towards the ground, as her tears form a puddle on the old timber floors beneath her. Who is Bobby darling? Martha slowly removes her eyes from the ground, as I watch them slowly creeping up my body. Moments later, her eyes meet mine. She stares at me as if I asked her a stupid question. He’s the man in the cupboard daddy.
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