Knocker

Looking for Knocker

I'm feeling the pillow, rubbing my fingers against it and pressing down gently. It's so silly how this pillow killed Rodger. Just one little pillow is all it took to stop his tummy going up and down, one little pillow to stop his heart. I wonder, if I cut Knocker open, would he have a heart? Maybe he does, but it's just different. Maybe his heart doesn't stop, maybe it never stops.

I hold the pillow by the bottom, and I shake. Slowly the inside is coming out, and the skin–fabric, it's just fabric–is left, like a snake shedding its skin. I think back to T.V. and how many times I've seen snakes on it. Snakes that swallow things whole and have to digest them slowly. I used to cry at those parts, but Ma told me that that's just what happens in life, and you can't help it; it's something that just needs to happen if the snake wants to live.

My eyes move towards the door, and so do my feet. I reach for the knob, then stop, wait, listen. There's still no sound coming from outside. The door knob is cold in my hand, and for a second it slips because I'm so nervous but then I turn it and it creaks open really slow. I push it to go faster with my foot, and then with both hands, I hold the pillowcase, and creep outside. Knocker isn't here; I don't know where he is now and that's worse than if he was right here, ready for me. The floor is warm in the hallway and there's not a lot of light, just a little bit coming from the bathroom, which is where I'm going now. I'm getting closer and closer but I keep looking around me because maybe it's a trap.

I push the bathroom door open really fast, like a bandaid. Knocker isn't standing there waiting for me. He isn't behind the shower curtain and he isn't in the cupboards, which means he's somewhere else, and he could be right behind me!

I twirl around–but he's not there.

I'm getting angry now. Angry and scared and upset. But mostly angry, I think.

I'm angry at myself for always listening to Knocker, for believing he was my friend. I'm angry that he told me to kill Mr Whiskers and Rodger and M–

I'm angry at myself for blaming him.

Knocker isn't in the kitchen or the living room or anywhere else. After I check Ma's room, there's only one other place, and I don't like it.

My room has never been mine; I've always shared it with Knocker, who called it his room, so it never felt like it belonged to me. It was where I slept, where I dreamt, where I woke up sweating and screaming because I'd had horrible nightmares that stayed in my head long after waking. Knocker stayed in it more than me, because when I went out with Ma he would have to stay in there. It was also where my pa...

I shake my head really fast so that the memory slips out and I blink a few times as if telling my brain to stop remembering the past and focus on now.

I take shaky steps towards my room, and when I enter I can't help but jump back out. There's something on the ceiling.