The slate gray house was quiet that dark and moonless night. Everything was still, as if the world had turned inanimate. The night was more peaceful then it had been in a long time. It was as though all the animals were hiding, not making a sound, cloaking themselves in the blackness of the night. Little Tommy's room was the quietest of all.
Tommy sat on his bed, half concealed under a blanket, waiting with anticipation. His mother and father had finally gone to sleep and he knew his only friend would soon arrive at his window, as he did every night. His patience diminished as he waited for the visitor. Soon, contaminating the passive hush of the night, there came a single knock. As Tommy glanced out his window, he became overjoyed that finally his friend had arrived. Behind the pane of glass was Kermit's face. Kermit's strait black hair was hidden by a tall crimson top hat. His sharp features were slightly shadowed by the brim of the crushed velvet hat. His pale skin clashed softly with his dark green eyes.
"Kermit!" Tommy exclaimed excitedly, as he unlatched the window. With one fluid motion, Kermit leapt over the sill of the window, landed with an acrobatic somersault, and bounced to his feet with a small bow, a tip of his hat, and a wink.
"Kermit Peterson, at your service," Kermit said with a mischievous grin. Kermit slipped slyly over to a chair next to Tommy's bed and perched on the seat. Kermit moved like a spider, his arms and legs, which appeared to be in constant contact with the ground, seemed to twist in unnatural positions. His perch on the chair almost seemed to defy gravity. As he smiled at the boy, a single strand of black hair fell over his left eye.
"Kermit," said Tommy softly, "You shouldn't be here." Kermit cocked his head, giving a confused look; his top hat shifted to the side.
"You don't want to be with your old friend Kermit anymore?" Kermit asked slightly jokingly. Tommy looked away from the tall man and towards the ground.
"My Mom and Dad say you aren't real. They say I'm too old to have an imaginary friend, and I can't play with you anymore. They say that I should go meet real friends," Tommy mumbled sadly.
"Well I'm here Tommy. When no one else is there for you I'm always here. I'm the one you talk to. I'm the one who understands you. You can't let them take you away from me," Kermit said solemnly. "You can't let them take you away," this time with a hint of anger.
"I wish I didn't have to Kermit. You know I do," tears began forming in Tommy's young, sparkling blue eyes.
"I don't have a choice," Tommy uttered, as his sob's burst through the air. Tommy wrapped his arms around Kermit and bawled.
"Don't worry Tommy, I'll take care of everything. Your parents won't get rid of me," Kermit said, a slight grin growing across his lips.
"Good night," Kermit said, as he slinked across the floor and silently out the window.
That night Tommy tossed and turned, frantically attempting to sleep. As Tommy finally drifted away into sleep, he heard strange noises. He couldn't understand what they were or where they were coming from, but he ignored them just the same.
The morning crept in discreetly, and Tommy slowly woke up. He smiled as he got dressed, imagining his parents apologizing for saying all the things they had about Kermit. He knew he could trust Kermit. Sometimes Tommy's parents weren't there for him, but Kermit always was. He imagined Kermit poised on the foot of the bed, talking to his parents, informing them that he was real, and that he was a great friend for their son.
Tommy walked casually to his parents room and slowly opened the door. The blood was everywhere. Tommy's parents bed was covered in the crimson fluid. The blood still drizzled down the walls, which were splattered with the remains of two innocent parents. Puddles of dark red were forming all over the room's floor. The six-year-old boy dropped to the ground, and screamed, and cried. He had never seen anything like it in all of his short life. His parents faces were frozen in extreme horror; their mouths open and their eyes wide. The boy lay there, sobbing, for hours, until his own puddle of tears blended with the puddle of his parents' blood. He ran to his room as the sun went down.
As the ball of fire set into a blood red sky, the boy sobbed and screamed into his soaking pillow. He couldn't believe that Kermit had done this. His life-long friend had killed his parents. He cried and cried and could not understand.
Soon there came a sharp tapping at the window pane, as if a piece of metal was being rapped against the glass. Tommy refused to look out the window. The last thing he wanted to look at right now was that horrible smiling face. He turned away from the tapping. But soon the tapping came harder, and Tommy had to look. He turned to see the face of Kermit, staring in at the boy. His pale skin clashed violently with his haunting green eyes. A sick grin was on Kermit's face.
"Tommy," he rasped. Tommy tried to find a place in the room where Kermit's grisly face could not see him, but there was none. Kermit stared in at the boy. Kermit's ghastly grin grew even wider.
"Tommy," he repeated melodically.
"Go away!" Tommy screamed. Suddenly Kermit's face twisted, the grin staying the same but his eyes shown the spark of rage as Kermit shattered the pane of glass with the knife in his right hand. He stepped through the window. Tommy quickly backed himself into a corner, as Kermit approached.
"Why didn't you let me in? I made your parents understand our friendship, Tommy. They understand now," Kermit hissed, his hat falling slightly lower over his eyes.He looked at Tommy now, not with his normal look of cheerfulness, but with a look of confused anger.
"You killed them! You weren't supposed to kill them," Tommy cried, his voice hardly recognizable.
"It was the only way, Tommy. You understand, right?" Kermit asked, his voice dangerously low.
"Go away, please," Tommy begged.
"You can never get rid of me, Tommy. I'm your best friend. Don't try to leave me," Kermit ordered, his voice getting louder with each word. Tommy saw Kermit's long fingers suddenly reach for him. Tommy twisted to the left barely escaping Kermit's wrathful grasp. He got up, ran to the door a few feet away and threw it open. Kermit jumped to grab Tommy, but the boy escaped again, slamming the door behind him on Kermit's outstretched arm.
"Tommy, don't run from me. I'm your only friend," Kermit demanded, calling out down the hallway towards Tommy's parents room, where Tommy had ran to.
Tommy was standing against the bloodied wall as Kermit stepped boldly through the door. Kermit grabbed Tommy by his shirt and pinned the boy to the wall near the ceiling. Kermit reached into his coat pocket with his right hand and pulled out the long thin knife. He raised the needle-like knife and whispered, "Tommy, I thought you wanted to be my friend. Sometimes you have to give things up for your friends." Tommy cried uncontrollably and gave up.
"Your not real," were Tommy's last words as the blade crashed down through his small chest, piercing his heart. Tommy's blood twisted around Kermit's arm.
"On the contrary, I'm very real Tommy. Very real indeed," the man in the velvet top hat said to the dead boy, a grin on his vicious face.
The slate gray house was quiet that dark and moonless night. Everything was still, as if the world had turned inanimate. The night was more peaceful then it had been in a long time. It was as though all the animals were hiding, not making a sound, cloaking themselves in the blackness of the night. Little Tommy's room was the quietest of all. One face glared angrily out of the bedroom window, and into the tranquil void of the night. It's pale skin clashed savagely with it's penetrating green eyes. Atop it's head, splattered with a few droplets of blood, sat a tall crimson top hat.
