The Game was Rigged from the Start

Every day I wake up, and Doug Walker stands over my bed. He keeps asking me if I liked the review for "Moulin Rouge," or his version of "The Wall," or if I think the Nostalgia Chick is cute. I've never watched any of these in my life. But when he asks me these, his voice is completely silent, his lips are moving, but tears are dripping from his face. His poorly tied tie has been tied into a noose. And with each tear filled question he asks me, he steps closer to my closet door. As he steps inside it, the door slams loudly, making me bolt from my sleep.
I never open my closet door.