Kenny

“I heard the knocking again.”

 

Charlie’s mother threw the covers back. “Come in with us. It’s just the pipes.”

 

At the age of seven he didn’t need much room but his father rolled onto his side. “I bled the radiators.. There shouldn’t be any noises.”

 

“It’s Shower-Head Kenny.”

 

She  sighed. “Not this again. Go to sleep.”

 

The doctor had said imaginary friends were very common. She closed her eyes and put her arm around Charlie.

 

“He’s lonely. Can I sleep in the bath?”

 

“Don’t be silly.”

 

She drifted back to sleep but woke up to find Charlie sitting upright, staring at the door.

 

“Charlie, what’s wrong?”

 

No response. “Malcolm, it’s Charlie!”

 

There was a groan as her husband stirred.

 

She put her arm around Charlie and tried, unsuccessfully, to push him down. “He’s rigid!”

 

Finally Charlie whispered. “I couldn’t stand the knocking.”

 

She touched his head. “Charlie, why is your hair wet?”

 

Her husband spoke, “Charlie, look, we know it’s you that’s been doing the knocking. It’s OK.”

 

“No, it was Kenny. But it’s OK now. I let him out.”

 

She noticed he was cold. “What do you mean?”

 

And as the tall figure in the doorway knocked on the radiator Charlie’s mother began to scream.