There's something in my closet. Its raspy monster breath makes my curtains flutter at night. I tell my mom, but she says it's just the sound of the wind whispering secrets to the moon. There's something in my closet. It scratch, scratch, scratches to get out with its sharp, shiny nails. I tell my dad, but he said it's just the tree branches playing tic-tac-toe on the window. "There's something in my closet," I tell my sister. "You better eat him before he eats you," she says. "Now get out of my room." There's something in my closet. Sometimes I see its four hungry eyes - it's a two-headed d