There is something you should verify before you turn in for the night. You might not live if you don't.
On one of those evenings when I was around eight or nine years old, I just could not fall asleep. The room was slightly too hot, and I'd spent the whole day indoors, watching TV and eating popsicles. My entire body ached, as if it were punishing me for lounging about all day, and I could feel an odd buzzing in my ears.
I was most annoyed about my pillow. This unevenness was unprecedented. It didn't take long for the case to start sweating, and as soon as I flipped it over, it became drenched once more. I tossed and turned all night long, but I still couldn't get comfortable.
I stood up and made my way downstairs to join my dad in watching baseball. He inquired if I needed anything and muted it as soon as he saw me.
As a response, I just shrugged. "My cushion is awful. I'm done.
He gave a little nod before uttering the words, "Maybe it's Mr. Pillow."
You should probably be aware that my dad is completely irreverent before anything else. He stepped up tremendously, loving my sister Betty and me twice as much as our mother had before she left when we were tiny. When we went camping, he would always be the one to make up ridiculous ghost stories—like bears that adore the scent of ladies' shampoo or demon-possessed deer—and then, in the dead of night, he would always come rattling the tent and terrify us to sleep.
After getting some water, I planned to go back to bed, I told myself. Suddenly, I shifted my gaze to the television. The Brewers were down by eight runs, so he could have been attempting to divert his attention.
"He was quite the oddball," my dad remarked, fully disregarding my presence. Obviously, he wasn't known as Mr. Pillow in those days. His name was probably Douglas. Had a soft spot for sneaking into youngsters' rooms and suffocating them.
A glass of water was poured for myself, and I poured myself a drink of thanks. "That will undoubtedly aid my sleep."
By the end, they managed to apprehend him, my dad assured me. "Large trial and all that. On the other hand, his cellmate used a pillow to suffocate him before he was ever found guilty.
"Alright," I responded. Looking in the refrigerator, I spotted a few slices of leftover pizza. As my dad went on, I cautiously began to remove the pepperoni.
"The strange thing arrived the following night," my dad informed me. The body of the cellmate was also discovered. Totally choked. However, the act had to have been performed by someone else in the cell. I know what you're thinking: the guards were undoubtedly to blame. Possibly yes. Nevertheless, further casualties occurred. Other inmates who’d screwed Douglas. Everybody died from suffocation in bed. After that, people began referring to him as "Mr. Pillow."
"Oh my..." I stated. "That is super creepy."
"And then the children residing in the vicinity of the jail also began to perish," mentioned my father. They would be discovered lifeless in their beds when their mothers returned home. The sole connection between the fatalities was the fact that a few of the children had complained about being uneasy in bed the night prior, inquiring as to whether or not their parents had changed the pillows or anything.
"Dad," I said. “This is absolutely ridiculous. Please, just quit.
The next morning, parents would discover the children's old pillows hidden away, and the bed would be devoid of any pillows whatsoever. It seemed as if it had recently vanished.
Those final few words slipped my mind completely. I simply went to the loo and then made my way to bed. My dad quickly unmuted the TV, and the noises of the baseball game resumed.
Then, on the way to my room, I thought I heard a window squeak and what sounded like footsteps. I entered the room and gazed upon my bed. There was not a single pillow on my bed; I am not exaggerating. I hurried over to the window, which was slightly ajar. I looked around and saw no one; it was raining and dark outside. I double-checked that the window was securely secured before closing it.
At this point, my heart rate had increased to almost 1,000 beats per minute. I opened my wardrobe door after walking over to it. On the floor of the room was my regular pillow.
As quickly as I could, I yelled and dashed downstairs.
My father! I yelled out. Upon seeing me, he immediately halted the game. I did my best to describe the window, the cushion, and everything else.
"Did you think it was just a silly story?" "Excuse me?" I inquired. It was the most naive.
Dad gave me the thumbs up.
"I simply concocted it," he claimed. My apologies. I apologise for making you feel afraid. Are you Mr. Pillow? I kid you not. I was under the impression that you were old enough that it wouldn't frighten you. But he seemed a little anxious the entire time he was speaking. His eyes widened in shock.
On the couch, he instructed her to wait. I should probably go see how Betty is doing.
My father has never ran that quickly before. Step by step, he hammered up the steps. While he was out, my little sister was in my mind's eye, either dead or dying, wailing for help as a squishy pillow smothered her. It was unbelievable that I had hurried downstairs without first making sure she was okay.
He lowered himself a little time later, holding my sister who was sleeping in his arms.
His reasoning was that he thought it would be a good night for everyone to stay in and watch a movie on the couch. In your opinion, what
Mr. Pillow was thereafter completely removed from my dad's vocabulary. He was under no need to do so, though. My habit of checking the inner label of my pillow before bed has not changed much, even though I am now in my 30s.
I still hear of a youngster in my community passing away suddenly every so often. My theory of what happened is well-developed, but I see no use in disclosing it. Mr. Pillow's narrative is so ridiculous, no one would ever believe it.
My apologies. I am familiar with the sound of this. I thought it could be useful for someone else, so I thought I'd share it. Just make sure to examine the inside of your pillow case before you turn in for the night. Examine the label carefully to ensure it is familiar. You might not live if you don't.
