They always come calling. Soft teen girls nervous and giggling. Trying to be hard boys drunk and full of bravado. In the end, they are really all the same. Hot bags of blood and emotions that wake me from sleep to rattle my chains and deliver nonsense messages to the other realm.

I loved them once. I knocked and bumped and moaned when they chanted.

“Billy. Billy, are you here? Can you make your presence known?”

I don’t even know if my name was Billy but, they always seem to like it. So I answer. I whisper in their ears and blow graven breath on their sweet necks.

Now they bring hot lights and ridiculous men stomping around being skeptical.

“Come on Billy. Scare us. What, you only like to scare little girls?”

One dumb girl calls and wets herself and I am the villain. She demanded in her loud, shrill voice that I touch her. That I show myself to her because she did not believe..

Yes, I showed her.

I bit and howled. I loomed as a shadow bigger and darker than the night. I was proud, it’s hard to do and she messed herself and ran out screaming with her drunken friends.

Now here I am.

When the tough guys with their lights and camera are here.

They scream for evil Billy. They dare me to hurt them.


I will show them bad Billy.

I am Billy.

I will be Billy.

When the loud man starts challenging me to touch him, to make myself known I get ready. I devour the batteries in their bright lights and gadgets, then I run just a bit of myself right up the cleft of his bottom. At first he only stood very still and then he shrieked.

Oh, did he shriek.

He jumped like the cats I play with sometimes and ran shrieking and clutching his cold violated bottom. The energy rippled from his fleeing self through his friends and into me.

I gathered myself and stood at the end of the only open hallway, I am huge and blacker than the blackness. My voice is real and so loud the man with the headphones on drops to his knees in pain.

“I am Billy. I am here. Leave me alone.”

 They run away and my place gets dark and quiet. The rats and cats and other little creatures come back over time.

I don’t know who I was.

Now, I’m Billy.

Big Bad Billy.



2 thoughts on “

  1. Natalie DeYoung

    I love how you balance what is not said with the characters you sketch. In this piece, the blanks about what Billy isn’t saying speak so loudly. It’s creepy (in a good way).

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