Behind Closed Doors

~Monster's Inc. (c) PIXAR 2001-2011~

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Despite what they always told her, Mary knew the truth.

Ever since the tender age of three, up until she was seven, the young girl had refused to answer to anything other than 'Boo'. And upon her parents' inquiry of where in the world she came up with such a name, the three year old's answer would be plain and simple; Kitty.

As she grew, Mary told her family about them—about him.

Her parents easily passed them off as make-believe friends, products of her young and overactive imagination, but she continued to believe otherwise.

She always drew them; their images varying from horrible-three-year-chicken-scratch, to reasonably better eleven year old art. They were taped to her bedroom door, (but never the closet door) her walls, the window and even her bed frame. She told wild stories of what she remembered from that wonderful and strange world, and wrote down the rest as to preserve what exactly had happened. Fragments would fade from time to time, although Mary highly doubted that it would ever completely disappear from her mind.

As she grew, the young girl ceased to make many friends, always locked in her fantasy world, reminiscing adventures past. In school she had a friend or two, but that was it, and Mary would come home alone every afternoon. She was teased because of her fixation, of course, but the child held her head high and ignored them. She'd been taught not to sink to their level, and wasn't about to do so now, or ever.

And the years passed; the pink in her bedroom gave way to a light, sky blue, and her miniature tea-party-table was given away, along with several of her old toys. But she always kept a few of course, her room still maintaining that aura of youth and creativity it'd held when she was three.

Every night, Mary would hear her parents speaking about her. How she didn't act like a 'normal' child, and how her imagination and make-believe friends would soon become the best of her. It wasn't right for an eleven year old to have imaginary companions, they'd said to themselves, as well as to her.

Mary ignored them all.

And now, lying in bed with a light blue comforter pulled around her, rain pattering lightly against the window, the young girl could hear them whispering about her once more, just outside her door. She clutched her Jessie doll tightly, only relaxing when both their voices and footsteps faded.

Mary breathed a sigh of relief, momentarily releasing the doll from her death grip, before shuffling around in bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin and tucking an arm under her pillow. Her breathing became even, eyes falling closed, and a few minutes later she heard the timely sound of her closet door opening.

Boo smiled.