Cabin in the middle of Woods

The Pedophile

A/N :- Not mine and a bit gross.

I was jolted out of sleep when my 5-year-old son, Kevin, jumped on top of me. I let out a little yelp both from the shock of the impact and from being ripped out of a deep sleep.

A little disoriented, it took me a few moments to figure out what was going on. Now jumping up and down on the bed, Kevin yelled, “Fuzzy came again! Fuzzy came again!”

I sighed, rubbed my eyes, and checked the clock. It wasn’t even 6 o’clock in the morning yet. Kevin continued to jump ecstatically around the bed. By now, my husband was awake and very cranky.

He looked over to the clock, and, seeing the time, released a frustrated moan.

“Jesus, kid, can’t you wait until at least 6?” he murmured sleepily. He too had been sleeping soundly.

“Fuzzy came again! I told you he would!” Kevin was too excited to care what time it was. It could have been one in the morning for all he cared. “He’s back! He’s back!”

“Fuzzy” as he called him, was what we assumed was Kevin’s imaginary friend.

He described him as a fuzzy, colorful creature that arrives in magical mist through his window every night, and they play together. Kevin claimed that he could change colors and even shape, but he was always fuzzy.

My husband and I both dismissed this as an imaginary friend phase, as we lived in a somewhat rural area outside of a minor city, and there was no one around to play with.

Every morning, he would tell us what he did with Fuzzy last night. His stories would include making puzzles, reading books, jumping around, and cuddling.

The one thing that was weird, though, was the fact that Kevin had, at first, told us that ‘Fuzzy didn’t want us to know about his nightly visits’.

A bit put off at first, I soon disregarded this as merely a child’s need to feel special because he had a secret.

Sometimes I felt the need to check on Kevin at night, just to make sure everything was alright.

The main reason I didn’t was because Kevin was a very light sleeper, in contrast to me and my husband who were very heavy sleepers, and I didn’t want to run the risk of waking him up.

Kevin had stopped talking about Fuzzy a couple months back, so we just assumed that he had grown out of it.

I didn’t see anything wrong with Kevin bringing Fuzzy back. I was happy as long as he was happy.

I was a house wife; my husband worked in the city and was gone pretty much all day, so I cared for Kevin as he wasn’t in school yet.

It did get rather annoying after a while, constantly being bombarded with stories of Fuzzy all day.

I smiled at Kevin’s enthusiasm, but deep down I felt a sense of dread welling up at the idea of Fuzzy returning.

I got up out of bed and left the room, leaving my husband to deal with Kevin, and went downstairs.

While making breakfast, I decided to check the newspaper.A car crashed on the interstate, and no body was found. A rich lady donated money to the state for park improvements, claiming that their current state was “simply unacceptable.” There was a short editorial on why kids are doing poorly in school. An old man accused of pedophilia and using hallucinogenics and other drugs to lure children, arrested three months ago, was released from jail as there was not enough incriminating evidence.

Later that day, I was in Kevin’s room cleaning up. It smelled funny in his room; in fact, the last time I remembered it smelling this way was the last time Kevin was talking about Fuzzy.