Urban Legends and More

Mr. Widemouth

Mr. Widemouth is a scary creepypasta story about a five-year old boy who has an imaginary friend that might not be so imaginary after all.

When I was a child, my family moved around a lot. We never stayed in the same place for long and it seemed as if we were always on the move. Because of this, many of my early memories are fuzzy and unclear.

However, there is one period of time that remains as clear in my mind, as though it all happened just yesterday. I often wonder whether these memories were simply hallucinations caused by the long sickness I experienced that Spring, but in my heart, I know they are real.

We were living in a large house on the outskirts of the city. As a family of three, we didn't really need such a big home and there were a number of rooms that we never used during the five months we spent there. In some ways, it was a waste of space, but it was the only house we could find at the time that was close to my father's place of work.

The day after my fifth birthday, I came down with a terrible fever. The doctor said I had to rest in bed for three weeks and concentrate on getting well. It was a horrible time to be bed-ridden as we were getting ready to move and most of my toys were already packed away in boxes. My bedroom was almost empty and I had very little to keep myself entertained.

My mother brought me some ginger ale and a few books several times a day. Other than that, there was very little for me to do. I was always bored and grew more miserable by the day.

I don't exactly recall how I met Mr. Widemouth. I think it was about a week after I was diagnosed with the fever and confined to bed. My first memory of him is when I asked him if he had a name. He told me to call him Mr. Widemouth, because his mouth was large. In fact, everything about him was large in comparison to his body... his head, his eyes, his crooked ears... but his mouth was by far the largest.

"You look kind of like a Furby," I said as he flipped through one of my books.

Mr. Widemouth stopped and gave me a puzzled look. "Furby? What's a Furby?" he asked.

I shrugged. "You know... the toys. The little furry robots with the big ears. You can pet them and feed them... almost like they're real pets."

"Oh," replied Mr. Widemouth. "You don't need one of those. They aren't the same as having a real friend."

I remember that Mr. Widemouth seemed to disappear every time my mother stopped by to check in on me.

"I hide under your bed," he later explained. "I don't want your parents to see me because I'm afraid they won't let us play together anymore."

We didn't do much during those first few days. Mr. Widemouth just looked at my books, fascinated by the stories and pictures they contained. The third or fourth morning after I met him, he greeted me with a large smile on his face.

"I have a new game we can play," he said. "We have to wait until after your mother comes to check on you, because she can't see us play it. It's a secret game."

My mother came in with a few more books and some soda at the usual time. After she left, Mr. Widemouth slipped out from under the bed and tugged me by the hand.

"We have to go to the room at the end of the hallway," he said.

I objected at first, because my parents had forbidden me to leave my bed without their permission. Mr. Widemouth persisted until, finally, I gave in.

The room at the end of the hall had no furniture or wallpaper. Its only distinguishing feature was a window opposite the doorway. Mr. Widemouth darted across the room and gave the window a firm push, flinging it open. Then, he beckoned to me and told me to look out at the ground below.