the closet

I unlock the olive green door and even more paint chips fall off as it moves. I got this rusty key by giving the greasy landlord 20 bucks. The apartment is musty and dank. It's difficult to see in here. I shine the dull beam of the flashlight ahead of me, catching the dust motes my passage has tossed into the air. I make my way to the filing cabinet I glimpsed the other night at the party he held. There is just something so...off putting about him. Why can't anyone else see it? The filing cabinet is there, in the bedroom. I creep over the rancid carpet till I'm finally there. I open the third drawer down, on a hunch, and beneath a sheaf of invoices lies the box. The box I am SURE holds the truth about him. I hear a key scraping in the lock. My heart beats like an African war chant. Closing the drawer as soundlessly as possible (which isn't much), I race to the gaping mouth of the closet. The mildewy darkness engulfs me as I shut the door. ....