Johnathan

I remember clearly the day Johnathan arrived. I had gotten home around 5 from work. Tired and hungry, all I wanted was to heat up my TV dinner and relax in my favorite chair for the evening. As I walked onto my porch, I saw a large package leaning against my front door. I had no clue what it was as I had not ordered anything for quite some time now. At the same time, I could not think of anyone who would send me a package. I had no children, no siblings. No family at all since my wife died. Then I remembered my wife had a sister, somewhere in Texas I believe, that is if she was still alive. We had not spoken since me and my wife married, they were never very close and once she left for college, she had made a point to never return. My wife wrote her a few times to no reply so we figured she had washed her hands of us.
The package stood up to my hip but wasn’t very heavy. I took it inside and looked it over for a return address. I found none, but I did find a card taped to it. So, I took the card off and opened it. The card was blank on the outside and when I opened it, it said only two words: I'm Sorry. The words were written in nice but hurried handwriting to make it indistinguishable between male and female writing. I sat the card down and opened the package.
Inside was a pale brown box with the name Johnathan written in red surrounding a plastic window. Inside was a hand-crafted doll of exquisite craftsmanship. I carefully removed the doll from its package. The doll stood just under 3 ft. had brown hair and green eyes. I tell you I could not tell the difference in the doll’s hair from my own; it looked, felt, and seemed the very same.  I wondered at the time if the doll maker had used horse hair. The doll had round cheeks, a few freckles across the bridge of his nose, and a slight smile with dimples. I have to say other than that the doll being just under 3ft. and me being just under 6 ft. and my eyes being blue Johnathan was the spitting image of me as a boy. I wondered if the person who sent me this saw that as well, but that would not explain the mysterious card attached. I sat Johnathan in my wife’s old chair and went about making my supper. Those first few weeks went by without incident. I even found myself talking to him at times. People get lonely and look for company wherever they can as they get older. I had actually began looking forward to returning home after work so I could talk with Johnathan. Before you ask no he did not stay in my room with me. At first, I left him in the chair but as I grew closer to Johnathan, I felt that was cruel. So, at night before I went to bed, I laid him down in the guest room, which later would be known as Johnathan’s room.
Time went by with me and Johnathan watching television and keeping each other company, then one Saturday an old friend stopped by. “ Finally found a replacement for Rebecca, I see.” He said laughing a bit. I laughed a little as well at his joke.
“No, nothing like that.” I said, “That there is Johnathan and someone sent him to me.”
“Who?”
“Well, I don’t know who. There was no name or return address.”
“Nothing, not even a card or anything?”
“There was a card that just said I'm sorry on it.”
“That’s a bit strange. Wonder why it said that, A joke you think?”
“I dunno know, maybe.”
“How did you come by the name then?”
“It was written on the box?”
“So, you didn’t name him after…?”
“No. I would never.” I said. What my friend was referring to was my unborn son. I told you that I have no children and that is true, but my wife Rebecca and I had become pregnant about a year after we married. She carried him full term, but he was still born. We found out as soon as we could what we were having a son as to be prepared. We even came up with a name- Johnathan. I would be lying to you if I said this thought had never crossed my mind and I lying further still if I said that I did not come to think, even love this wooden boy as my own son. It was as if the universe had given me a respite in my grieve over losing him and my beloved Rebecca so close together. I should mention that my wife took her own life a few years after we lost Johnathan. She felt it was her fault and could not live with that guilt. I tried to convince her it wasn’t but she could not be persuaded and one evening when I came home from work I found her in the bathtub, her arms cut open with a razor blade. The words I'm sorry written in her own blood above the tub. As I write this, I see the coincidences I failed to see at the time. Maybe my friend saw and did not want to bring it up or maybe it slipped past him as well. It’s funny how our minds can connect things at times and at other times keep them separated. I wonder if it does that to protect us from going mad.
My friend stayed a few hours and we got rightly pissed on the beers he brought and the few I had in the fridge. No more was said about Johnathan the rest of the night, no more needed to be said. After he left, I went upstairs and passed out on my bed, still fully clothed. I woke up the next morning and felt all the beer I had drank the previous night. It had been a good long while since I had drank that much. I went into my bathroom and did what we all do every morning, I then filed through my medicine cabinet and found the Advil. I took 4, filled my cup with water, and swallowed them down. I then brushed my teeth in an attempt to rid my mouth of that cottony feel. It was Sunday so I changed, got Johnathan from his room, went downstairs, put him in his chair, by this time I had started to see my wife’s chair as his, and went into the kitchen to scrounge me up breakfast. It was while I was doing this that I realized that I don’t remember taking Johnathan upstairs. I must have because no one else was in the house but I knew I had not.
I started to think about it when someone knocked at my front door. At first, I thought maybe my friend had left something behind and had returned to get but when I opened it, I saw a police officer on my front doorstep. I was shocked to say the least. He had asked me if I knew a Daniel McAdams and I said of course. He asked when was the last time I saw him and I said last evening. I told the officer that we sat in my kitchen drinking till after midnight and then he walked home, and I went to bed.  That was the moment when the officer told me that my friend was dead. Someone had attacked and beaten him to death with a small blunt object. I could not believe it. this was not a bad neighborhood, we didn’t have very much crime and when we did it was usually small-time vandalism like kids stealing those mirrored garden ball, toilet papering houses, but not random murder. He asked to search my residence and I allowed without hesitation. He found nothing of course, then a detective showed up and asked me all sorts of questions. They said I was probably the last man to see him alive besides the killer. I understood that made me a suspect, but they could and would not find a motive. He was my best friend and I loved him. I miss him.
That evening as I laid Johnathan down in bed I noticed a red spot on his shirt. I thought that it must have gotten there from the police looking around but I do not remember seeing anyone near him. So, I looked at him in the eye and said “Johnathan, did you have a hand in Daniel’s murder?” he just lay there, and I said out loud “James, you have done lost it mate. Accusing a wooden doll of murder. That’s laughable is what that is. Anyone here you say that and it’s the looney bin for you old man.”  I stood and turned towards the door to go to bed. as I reached the door, I turned back to look at Johnathan and I tell you his head was turned, and it was as if he was watching me. I know how it sounds; maybe his head was turned the whole time, maybe it turned as I stood up, but no his head was straight as if he was looking at the ceiling when I turned to go. My blood went cold. I left the room, shut the door, and locked it from the outside.
That night I lay in my bed thinking if my friend, thinking of Johnathan locked in his room and that is when I heard it. it sounded like someone trying to open a door.  I got up and headed to the hallway. I saw the doorknob to Johnathan’s room turning back and forth. Someone was trying to open it from the inside. I went to the door and inserted the key and opened it. Johnathan was there sitting in the middle of his bed staring at me. I looked all around his room, under his bed, the closet, I checked the window to make sure it was locked- it was. I looked back at him and a crazy thought ran through my head. It was Johnathan that killed Daniel. I knew it could not be, but it felt true all the same. I backed out never taking my eyes off of Johnathan, he never took his eyes off of me either. I shut and locked the door and did the same to my room as well before laying down again. I fell asleep and there were no more disturbances that night.
The next morning, I did my morning routine but instead of going to work I called in. I told them what had happened and said I would need a few days. They reluctantly agreed to let me take vacation that week. I checked on Johnathan after I got off the phone and he was lying where he normally was when I would come to get him. I decided that day to leave Johnathan locked in his room that whole day and when it was bedtime, I checked in on him. This time he was sitting upright in the middle of the bed and looking right into me. Not at me but into me like he was peering into my soul. I shut the door and locked it, I went into my room and locked my door as well. I had just laid down in the darkened room when it started. At first it was a wild rattle of a doorknob, then I could hear a door slamming in its frame as someone tried to force a locked door open, as if they were trying to break the frame. I quietly slipped out of bed and looked through the keyhole of my door. I could see Johnathan’s door shaking and banging in its frame. I could see shadows moving beneath the door. I unlocked my door and threw it open; the slamming had stopped. “That will be quite enough of that.” I yelled, “I know what you did, and you need to be punished for it. We will discuss this further in the morning. Now go to bed.” it was quiet the rest of the night.
The next day I took Johnathan downstairs like I normally do. I called the post office to see if I could track down from where the package I received was from. They had no records of a delivery.  I hung the phone up and went to the bathroom to get some Advil. I knew I was going to need it. after coming back downstairs I went into the kitchen and grabbed a block of cheese from the fridge. I reached to grab a knife from my block to cut it and there was one missing- the butcher knife. I checked the sink and the dishwasher, but it was not anywhere to be found. I walked into the living room and was shocked to see Johnathan was not in his chair. I went up stairs and saw that the door to his room was now shut. I slowly opened it, but it would only open a little bit. It was enough for me to peak my head in and behind the door sitting on the floor was Johnathan and the missing knife lay beside him. I reached in and grabbed the knife, ran downstairs, and put the knife away. I then went back upstairs to get Johnathan but when I arrived his door was wide open, and he was no longer in his room. I searched for him all over but could not find him anywhere and I tell you I swear I heard the sound of little feet running from room to room but by the time I reached the source of the sound I found nothing.
That night I tried to stay awake, afraid to fall asleep. Afraid of what Johnathan might do to me as I slept, but fall asleep I did. Siting in my chair I passed out. I woke as a sheet fell over top of me and I felt a small body on mine. I heard the rip first as the knife cut through the sheet and then I felt the knife cut into my arm. The knife moved back and forth with fury as it cut the sheet to ribbons and sliced into my hands, chest, and arms. At last, I was able to fight off my attacker and throw him and the sheet across the room. I had been stabbed and cut 6 or 7 times by that time. I looked and what I saw horrified me. Laying there under the ripped up bloody sheet was Johnathan and the knife I replaced earlier. I grabbed the damned doll by the arm and took him outside. I threw in my metal garbage can, doused him with gasoline and set him afire. I watched as he burned to ashes before me, I put the lid back on so the fire would die out and went back inside. I cleaned and wrapped my wounds and lay down.  The events of the night had wore on me and I slept. I slept behind a locked bedroom door, a locked front and backdoor, and locked double paned glass windows. I slept.
The next morning, I got dressed, changed my bandages, and went downstairs. I had meant to clean the remains of Johnathan out of the garbage can and take them to the dump myself. As I came down the stairs he was there. He was sitting in his chair and he looked brand new. He sat there watching me and I knew this was not something I could kill. So I found his packaging, packed him up, wrapped him up, found an address in Alaska, and shipped him away with a note attached that simply said- I’m sorry.