Let's Not Meet~ Reddit Horror Stories

I Murdered My Daughter's Imaginary Friend

Time went by but the profound remorse remained. It's still smouldering as my heart is beating. I can't remember the last time I slumbered in peace after that night. I have been told to exteriorize these feelings, to free them from my inner cage.

Five years ago, Holly, my only daughter turned six. Time is fragile, it fades with each clickety-clack of the clock. However—call it a blessing or a curse—the worthy memories remain, vivid as if living them today.
Her sixth birthday earned its eternal place in the burrows of my mind. Not due to her joyous smile, nor due to the love brimming in the atmosphere of our garden. It earned its place because, that night, she met her imaginary friend, Darren.

Let's talk about Holly, she was my treasure, the one I would forever cherish, love and protect with my very life and soul. She glowed, she just did, there's no other way around it. She was polite, witty for her age, charming and affective. The concepts of lie and pride never made their way into her being, she never hesitated to say: "I love you" or "I hate you." She only knew truth and innocence.

Words of a father, you might be thinking, and you are right. I did know pride, thanks to her.
Our whole family gathered for her sixth birthday, it was a crowded event to say the least. Fortunately, it went swimmingly. Cake on the table, Holly eager to extinguish the candles' fiery flames as we all sang happy birthday. "Don't forget your wishes darling," said my mother with a broad smile.
Holly clapped to the beat, her features expressed sheer happiness, that same magical feeling we felt on christmas night when we were children. When our imagination convinced us of the existence of a fat, white-bearded man clad in a red suit climbing down our chimneys to leave us presents. We didn't know what the world was capable of, we didn't care.
Holly was no different, the idea of an imaginary friend made sense.

The next morning she came to the table, gave me and her mother, a good morning kiss and joined us in our delicious task to devour a pile of hot cakes. "Mom, I want to eat veggies today at lunch," she said.
Both my wife and I gazed at each other with a frown filled with confusion, she hated veggies. "Sure sweetie, anything for my precious princess," my wife said, pinching Holly's cheeks.
"I told you they were tasty!" I said and smiled at her. Strangely, she turned her eyes away from me and stared downward. "Holly?"
She shut her eyes tight—she believed that when she closed her eyes she disappeared briefly—and wouldn't open them.
"Holly, what are you hiding?" I asked, worried, this was not a normal behaviour of hers. She only did it when she made a mistake.

Her eyes opened and she sighed audibly, as if defeated, "I didn't taste any veggie," she confessed, "Darren told me I had to be a good girl and eat them. Otherwise, Santa would bring me coal and ash instead of a puppy this Christmas."
"Come again, who is Darren?" I asked and leaned forward, making sure I didn't miss a single word.
She covered her eyes with her palms.
"Holly, I can see you, who is this Darren?"
At this point, my wife grabbed my forearm and signaled for me to remain calm by pushing both her hands in a downward motion, as if pushing the air.
Holly gave up, "yesterday I wished for a new friend and my wish was granted. Darren lives in my wardrobe, he visited me last night," she said and found refuge in a big hot cake bite.

An imaginary friend, I had them too, I thought to myself, and switched the conversation to another topic. At least he seems to give her good advice.
How wrong I was.
The next couple of days everything went fine, nothing out of the ordinary. We grew accustomed to hearing her talk by herself late at night. Out of curiosity, I have examined the wardrobe and found nothing. Holly did try veggies and fell in love with spinach. Naturally, I showed her Popeye, one of my favourites cartoons.
There's an inflexion point to everything.
It had been six days since she confessed Darren's existence. That morning, the joy of her smile turned into pouting lips, downcast eyes and despondent gait. She didn't even kiss us good morning.
"Holly, what's wrong princess?" Her mother asked, caressing her arm.
Holly shut her eyes and refused to open them, longer than ever before. Ten minutes had gone by and we didn't know what to do.
"Holly, we are not playing anymore, we can see you. Did Darren upset you?" I asked, on the verge of losing my temper.
Tears streamed down her cheeks but at least, she nodded.
"Good, I will go to have a talk with Darren right now and fix this," I said and pretended to stand.
"No!" she screamed, eyes wide opened. "You can't talk to him."
I frowned, "why is that?"
"He-he is in a bad mood lately. He says that you are both stupid adults and that I shouldn't believe you." Tears intensified. I stood and cradled her, she wasn't a baby anymore but I my instinct guided me, "listen to me princess, if he treats you bad, you come to our bedroom okay? I will have a talk with him while you're in school." She nodded and finished her breakfast, Claudia and I left her on school and then went to our respective jobs. We both agreed that if Darren didn't disappear, a psychologist would be a must.

I asked my boss for a day off under the excuse that I was feeling feverish. He told me to take as many days as needed, we have known each other for a long time and had a great relationship.
I came back home early, I felt the need to research about these imaginary friends. How did you handle such an intangible subject that affected the mood of your kid? May this be an early sign of a mental sickness? Doubts flooded my mind. I had to arm myself with knowledge to protect my daughter.

A cold gust of wind blew my notes away, Damn, I forgot to shut the window this morning, I thought and kept reading. After a while, I needed fuel so I went to the kitchen, in the way I found a pink crayon on the floor. *Hiring a cleaning lady might be a good idea."
I researched a lot throughout the day, most papers said the same thing, imaginary friends are normal, part of their lives, yet when they impulsed your child to misbehave it was a good idea to seek for therapy as early as possible. They also suggested to try and hear a conversation and try to analyze the current of thought of your child.
And that's what I did.

The night fell, dinner filled my stomach, I talked with my wife about my plan, she agreed under the terms to not wake her up. I hid in the bathroom, it was next to Holly's bedroom and pressed my ear against the wall to hear as much as I could.
That's a bad idea Darren.
...
I won't do that Darren, it's dangerous my father will scold me!
...
I will do it if you promise to talk instead of write for once.
...
My heart sunk. The window, the crayon. Holly tiptoed towards the kitchen, she didn't notice me in the shadows. Could it be? Is my imagination tricking me?
A few seconds later, Holly tiptoed back to her bedroom, she held something behind her back. Her gait was careful, soundless. She crossed the bathroom door and I peeked to see what she hid.
A knife.
Before she reached her bedroom, I grabbed her and covered her mouth, suppressing the scream. Sheer fear imbued her eyes, I beckoned for her to go with her mother and took the knife from her hands.
She nodded and I gingerly placed her back onto the ground. I pressed my index finger against my lips, signaling her to remain silent. She tiptoed to our bedroom.
With the knife tightly clasped on my hand and my jaw clenched I walked towards Holly's room. I didn't feel fear, the deep hatred of someone perturbing my daughter drowned it. The adrenaline swarmed my veins, heart pummeling. A triangle of light escaped towards the hall, the door was upholstered.
I pushed the door.
Sitting, with a red crayon on his hand, was a shirtless, anorexic man. Bones visible through his paper-like skin. I shuddered at the fragility of his being, the shaft of his extremities narrower than Holly's. He turned to me, I had never seen eyes as dead as his, expressionless, bloodshot and unreadable. He stared deep into my pupils, unblinking as he wrote. The fear grew and crippled my body. What is this monster.

He raised the paper and smiled exaggeratedly, displaying no teeth nor tongue.
Her core, a sweet fruit.
I let the knife fall, I wouldn't need it. I surged towards him and kicked his face. He didn't flinch nor did he resist, he fell limp onto the floor, bleeding. I kneeled over him, snatched his neck, eyes inhumanly wide, hatred defeated fear and rushed towards my fists. The crack of his windpipe soothed my existence. He was dead but I wouldn't stop, not until I disfigured that fucking smile out of his cadaverous face. The warm blood bathed my fists and stained the floor.
"What did you do to her, motherfucker? What did you do to her!" I yelped, as I massacred him.
"Robert!" My wife screamed from afar.
I bolted towards our bedroom, Holly stood in the doorframe, motionless staring at our bed. It might have been the adrenaline shock but I missed the details as I ran. I missed the dripping knife on Holly's hand, I missed the trail of blood meandering through the carpet, staining her tiny feet, I missed the stranger seeding ideas into my daughter's brain, I missed the second knife on Holly's pocket; but I didn't miss my wife's corpse, slain at the throat, yugular blasting voraciously, feeding the pungent crimson river; nor did I miss Holly's reassuring smile as she grabbed my hand.
"Don't worry daddy, Darren told me he would heal her."