It's a Walk-In, Not a Walk-Out
Mom was right. I’m not ready to live alone.
That light under the door, mocking me, I’m going crazy in here! Should I scream again? No. That’s why I wanted my own place, after all, so I could make noise without bothering anyone.
Of course, I was thinking of my stereo, not my desperate screams for help when I inevitably trap myself in my own closet.
Wait, I’ll just call— oh, my cell phone’s still on the charger.
I’m such an idiot!
What’s the deal with these crazy old houses, anyway? I mean, who puts the lock on the OUTSIDE of the closet door? That was an accident waiting to happen. Didn’t take me long, either. I’m not even unpacked yet.
As long as I’m in here, I might as well work on that. I guess this hard shape is that box of sweaters. I think I can hang them up in the dark.
Oh. That’s not a sweater. It’s a…flashlight? Hey, it’s my emergency kit! Nothing helpful in there though. Let’s have a look around with the light.
Hey, is that…a door in the ceiling? To the attic? Can I reach it? Yes! I’m saved!