Skeleton in the closet has these long wiggly fingers. He waves them in my direction, and scrapes his nails along the louvred doors. Just to get my attention. He thinks it's fun.

His clickety, clackety jaws smile openly at me. He knows everything. He sees everything. He doesn't need to have a voice. He just knows.

Skeleton in the closet will keep his day job, and prefers to come out on special occasions. Like dreary wet days in the middle of winter. Or when I'm sick. Or when I'm in the middle of a headache.

The good news- skeleton in the closet doesn't sport any flesh, clothes, or anything resembling horror movie status. He's just good, clean bones. With secrets lying like little hand grenades inside the marrow.