I'm Hazel. When I was 12 years old, I was obsessed with my pillow. I never allowed anyone to take it away from me, even for a second. If it happened, it felt like I couldn't breathe. Because of this, my parents were always concerned, as my life seemed to be connected to it.
They were also worried because it was a bad habit. They tried to convince me to let go of the pillow, but my heart wouldn't allow it.
On my 12th birthday, I was so happy with my pillow and my friends. I was dancing and playing games, and for a few seconds, I had forgotten about my beloved pillow. Then, I realized my pillow was missing, and I started weeping because I couldn't bear to lose it.
At that moment, I saw a mysterious man standing near the door, holding my pillow. I ran toward him. He looked ugly, with scars on his face that made him appear disgusting, but I was only focused on my pillow. I asked him to give it back to me.
The mysterious man gave me a creepy smile and handed it over. When I touched it, I realized it wasn't my pillow, but I still felt relieved.
I ran back to my parents and friends. Deep down, I knew this wasn't my pillow, but I ignored the feeling.
After the party, my mommy asked me to sleep. I jumped into bed, ready to share everything with my best friend—my pillow. I told it everything, then drifted off to sleep.
Late that night, I woke up to a noise. I was shocked when I looked around the room—it was a mess, and my pillow was wearing my birthday dress. I was terrified, unable to scream. But I mustered up my courage and started shouting. My parents rushed in, but they were bewildered by the state of the room.
They scolded me, thinking I was responsible. With tearful eyes, I tried to convince them that I didn't ruin my room, but they couldn't understand how a pillow could fly. They thought I was making up stories to avoid school. My mommy gave me the pillow, knowing I couldn't sleep without it.
I hugged the pillow again, trying to convince myself it was just a misunderstanding. Deep down, I knew it wasn't my pillow.
The next day, when I returned from school, my mommy seemed scared. She didn't tell me what had happened, but I could tell from her tense expression.
After lunch, I went to my room, but my pillow wasn't there. I shouted, asking where it was, but my mommy had no idea. I searched everywhere, feeling uneasy without it.
Finally, I found it in my closet—with makeup on! I was startled because neither my mommy nor daddy would have done this. Who did it?
I took the pillow to the washroom and tried to remove the eyeliner stains, but they wouldn't come off. Frustrated, I threw the pillow away and started crying.
As I did, the pillow stood up and started staring at me with its horrible eyeliner eyes. It walked toward me. When its face was just a few inches away, I heard a voice:
"You disrespected me. Now your parents will face the consequences."
It then turned into a lifeless object again, just as my mommy walked in and asked why I was crying.
She saw the makeup on the pillow and was shocked. This time, she didn't scold me because she knew I wasn't behind it. My mommy's makeup had already been ruined before I came home, and she was now suspicious of the pillow.
She took me to her room, and I left the pillow behind because I knew it wasn't mine anymore.
That night, I slept with my mommy for the first time without my pillow. When I woke up, I heard my parents arguing. My mommy was trying to convince my daddy that something was wrong with the pillow, but he couldn't believe that a lifeless object could be scary.
In reality, they were hesitant to throw it away because I had loved the pillow so much. But I didn't know that it would become my nightmare.
I went to my parents and told them I wasn't attached to the pillow anymore, so they could throw it away. My mommy smiled with relief, and my daddy was glad I had let go of my obsession. Without hesitation, they threw it into the trash.
That evening, we had a pleasant dinner. I ran to my room to show my parents a drawing where I'd earned stars from my teacher. But when I stepped inside the room, I was shocked—the pillow was there again.
This time, it had a crooked smile on its makeup-covered face. Suddenly, the pillow started flying and threw a lamp at me. I hurriedly hid behind the wall and called for my parents.
They rushed to help, but the pillow blocked them from getting to me. It wrapped a wire around my neck, warning them to stay back.
My mommy knelt, begging for my life. The pillow gave another crooked smile, then moved to her. With that creepy smile, it killed my mommy by cutting her throat with the wire.
My father and I sobbed over my mother's death. Before we could react, the pillow lifted my father into the air and threw him down the stairs, injuring him badly.
Before the pillow could strike again, a priest appeared in the room and started praying. He poured holy water on the pillow, turning it to ashes.
The pillow was gone, but it had taken my mommy away.
Later, my father and I left the house. I now hate pillows, even the ones in my room. They've become my nightmare, and it feels like the pillow will come back to torture me again!