The Lumber Room

As soon as the door shuts, I begin to panic.
It's too dark. My eyes blink rapidly, desperate to rid themselves of the coloured lights that dance through the gloom, remnants of light from outside.
My breathing slows as I regain my sight. Not that there's much to see.
The air is musty and thick, full of dust and forgotten things. Underneath, like dust swept under a carpet, is a faint acrid smell like smoke from a fire. Not the smoke from a bonfire that lingers for days and whispers memories from your jumper, nor like the delicate intoxicating scent of a blown out candle. This smells like fear.
Looking back at the door, I am blinded by the light that worms its way through the cracks. It lights up swirling dust like glitter in a snow globe. I move my foot and a larger cloud rises. I reach out as it settles, catching the powder in my hands. Ash.
I turn back around and begin to walk. My arms are outstretched, ready to guard against anything that's lurking unseen. My feet search the ground before each step and I cough as more ash rises.
I touch something.
A strangled yell escapes my mouth and I leap backwards. My heart is trying to force its way up my throat, through my chest, any escape from this room. I clutch my hands to my chest to trap it. My legs are trembling so badly it's all I can do to keep standing. It doesn't help that I'm coughing. The ash, angry at being disturbed, seems determined to suffocate me.
Once I regain control of my limbs, I edge forward. My heart's pounding again, begging me to turn around, to flee, to live. I scoff at my own foolishness. I'm not going to die.
Spurred on by this thought, I stretch out my arms and touch the object again.It's hard, but flaky. Like the bark of the gum trees that grow by the river. Curious, I push on it. It creaks, slow and melancholic. It sounds lonely.
Without even considering how something made of wood can feel anything, I begin to pull it towards the door. It's not easy. Some flakes fall off and the floor screeches in protest. With each step the object groans, longer and longer, louder and louder as we get closer to the door.
With one great, final grunt I heave it through the door.
Panting, blind, I breathe in fresh air.
When I can see I turn around.
A wardrobe?