The Pillow Killer

by Gillian Turner

Published by Gillian Turner at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 Gillian Turner

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He remembered the first time he did it. He was upstairs in his bedroom, staring at the pillow which comforted his sleep. It just lay there, a picture of apathetic hideousness. Why hadn’t he seen this before, in all the seven years he had slept with the thing? He continued staring at the pillow and his contempt grew. Downstairs, he could hear his parents arguing for about the bzillionth time over whether or not they should “split up.”

Joshua wasn’t sure what they meant by splitting up, but at the moment most of his attention was focused on finding a remedy for the horror the pillow gave him. Realizing a possible solution, he made his way down to the kitchen. There, he opened the drawer next to the refrigerator.

Don’t ever open that drawer, Joshua. There’s dangerous things in there, he recalled his mother telling him not so long ago.

They won’t notice me. They’re too busy anyway. I’ll put it back when I’m done. Joshua pulled out a knife -- just a little knife -- and went back upstairs. Part way up, he stopped to listen. Did his parents know what he just did? Nope! He was safe.

Back in his bedroom, he closed the door with a soft click. The pillow was still there, and still as apathetic as ever. Joshua felt his stomach churn as he walked over to the bed where the beast lay. Taking the knife, he cautiously neared the pillow and began with an incision in one corner. That incision then grew to the diagonal corner. Joshua could see white stuff oozing from the wound. With a sudden rush of confidence, he plunged his hand into the beast and scattered the stuffing around his room. He felt triumphant and, for a while, the horror in the pit of his stomach ceased.

* * *

About a week later, Joshua was downstairs playing with his toys. He had pitted his G.I. Joes against his favourite teddy bear. Of course, the teddy would win. He heard the front door slam shut, and the heavy footsteps of his father. Soon after, the door opened again and his mother came in.

“Joshua!” his father yelled

“Yeah? I’m in the living room Dad. I’m--”

“Go to your room. I’ll call you when you can come out.”

“But--”

“Now! Don’t argue with me!”

Joshua picked up his teddy bear and ran up to his room. His parents were going to fight again. Oh well, didn’t all parents fight? Anyway, now he could plan Sergeant Teddy’s attack without the enemy hearing him. He put his bear on the bed and got a piece of paper and a pencil out of his desk. He stopped for a moment to glance at the bottom drawer. The knife and remains of his pillow were still in there, hidden away. His parents’ voices were carrying upstairs now. Why couldn’t they just “split up” and stop?

Turning back to his bed, Joshua was horrified to see that his teddy bear was looking right back at him. Its eyes were empty, but at the same time it looked like it was alive. The same disease which had plagued his pillow had been caught by his poor teddy. But this time he knew how to make it all better.

Opening the bottom drawer, he picked up the knife and bravely moved toward the bed. Joshua used the same procedure on the teddy as he had on the pillow and it yielded the same results.

It’s filled with the same stuff. But they’re two different things - how can that be? The question was soon forgotten for he heard his father’s voice calling him down for dinner.

* * *

A month later Joshua was sitting amongst boxes in his room. He had to clean out his bottom drawer himself, before his mother could see its contents. Five other stuffed animals had gone into the miniature tomb, and by the last one he hadn’t been surprised to find the same white insides as his former pillow. He had put them in a garbage bag and sneaked it out to the curb just in time for the truck to come by. The knife too, had been replaced to its proper drawer in the kitchen.

That evening he sat at the dinner table with his mother and father for “their last meal together.” He noticed that they silently stared at each other, as if they could communicate without Joshua’s knowledge.

Suddenly, he recognized his the emptiness in his mother's eyes. The cold, apathetic glare pierced into his stomach, even though she wasn’t looking at him. He wondered if she were filled with the same stuff as all the others. Joshua excused himself from the table and went up to his room to think.

* * *

The alarm clock next to Joshua’s bed flashed a red 12:06 am. The slam of the front door had disturbed his sleep. He went downstairs to find his father, who had been sleeping on the couch, gone. He found his mother sleeping peacefully in her bedroom, oblivious to the event. Loathing began to overtake Joshua who, now more than ever, sensed the disease in his mother. A moment later he re-appeared at her door with the knife.

She must have the same stuff in her. That must be what’s making her like this!

He mounted the bed, careful not to wake her because, unlike his toys, she might be able to fight back. The disease was stronger in her. He raised the blade high above his head, then crashed down with all his might, driving the knife through his mother's heart. Her eyes peeled wide and her mouth opened for a scream, but nothing came out. Joshua saw the life flood back into her eyes before she fell like a rag doll back onto the bed, dying almost instantly. He continued the cut down her torso, and then started pulling out her insides. Fluffy white cotton and feathers filled the air and soon the whole room was layered in fluff. Joshua smiled and laughed.

I was right! I was right! Now mom is all better!