“I will taste your blood, your insides, and your feeble, carnal meat. Delicate things are the easiest to break. Will you bleed yourself to me? It’s on the counter. Grab it! Grab the razor!” The words were like death, menacing and cold. A voice so bass it burned his left ear to listen. It always came so late at night, the voice inside the pillow.

“I’m so tired of waiting and watching. Grab it! Slice yourself open and let me feed upon your mortal essence. Think of all the misery you’ll prevent if you just end it now. Sacrifice is so easy. Do it!” Peter thought it was a voice inside his head until he turned over in bed and heard it again in his right ear. “It’s been so long since you’ve been dust. Wouldn’t it be nice to return to it? If I had arms, I would rip you to pieces. Help me end you.”

“Let me sleep.” He wanted to cry but it was just a damn pillow. Every night he regretted ever accepting the awful thing. He had grown tired of flipping ordinary pillows over to feel the cool side. Had it really been worth this perpetual nightmare? To lose even more sleep? And who would really believe him if he told his friends that his pillow threatened him while he slept…? It started out as subtle whispers but now the voice was booming, raspy, and clearly angry.

“It would be like slicing into butter, so soft, so smooth. Cutting your wrist will send us both to heaven. Hurry up! I’m starving. Starving!” It groaned in an awful billow. Followed by quick choking sounds, deep and grotesque. “You smell so tasty. Press your face harder so I can lick the sweat off your skin. Yes! Yes! Or better yet draw a happy smile with the razor. Cut so deep. You will never be lonely again.”

Peter punched the pillow, taking out his frustration as hard as he could but he knew it was all in vain. The pillow fluffed back to its original shape. He punched again. It was still there. His fears, his personal demon was still there no matter how hard he punched, slapped, bit, head-butted, and tore. The pillow returned its shape. A guttural howl purged from his chest. He stared with malicious intent. The bastard would have to pay. It wanted suffering. It would get suffering. With murderous imagination Peter fantasized on how much damage he could do to this once inanimate object.

“Let me sleep.”

Once more, as it always seemed to start recently, he put his ear closer and to determine if the voice was still there and if it was really there or perhaps all make believe. A delusion. If his pain and torment were real or only just a pillow.

“Ahahaha!” Rang the pillow in a bass roar. “You want to sleep! You will sleep forever! You’ve struggled with regret for so long. Let me be the thing that rights your wrongs. Let go! Let it flow into me!”

Peter couldn’t take it anymore and threw the pillow at the wall as he ran from the room. There was only one solution for this. He needed sleep, whether that was eternal or just for a few hours. It needed to end. It needed to end, now and forever. Tears streaked down the bags below his eyes as he ran into the bathroom, slamming the door, passed his parent’s bedroom and his older brother. He didn’t see his older brother standing there, smiling with glee, holding a small microphone.