Closet Stories

The phone rang as I was locking up for the night and I thought about leaving it ring. Then I thought about my bank account, went back around the desk, picked up, and said: “Conde.” An older man’s voice came on the line, dry as a desert bone. “Ah yes, Mr. Benjamin Conde of the Conde Detective Agency I presume?” “The same.” “Splendid, Mr. Conde. Splendid. Ah, yes, Mr. Conde, my name is Douglas P. Cahill III and the reason f...

I love light. I hate the darkness. This might be a statement you would hear from most people. Unfortunately, my obsessiveness stems for one horrifying weekend I will never forget. My fear of darkness did not begin one month, one year, or even one decade ago. It began forty years ago in a small house in Massachusetts. I had taken my appreciation of light for granted and it had never been greater than it was at the end of t...