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His Name Is Kevin

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His name is Kevin and he lives in the air vent on the ceiling above your bed.

That’s where his parents put him long ago, and that’s where he stayed.

No need to worry; Kevin is quiet, and has no intention of waking you while you sleep. He just likes to watch you lay there, hugging your pillow as the soft glow of the television set illuminates your body. Kevin enjoys looking at your body.

Oh yes, yes he does.

Kevin also likes the way you smell. When you are pressed up against your sheets on those hot and humid nights where you begin to sweat, and the moisture on your skin evaporates, dispersing the scent of your musk. Your fumes raise up into the air, where Kevin inhales you.

Listen closely, and you can hear him breathe.

Don’t look up— Kevin doesn’t like when you look at him. Kevin’s parents didn’t like when other people looked at Kevin either. They didn’t like it when kids would point and stare.

It is too dark anyway, and you aren’t even wearing your glasses. If you do look up, you will barely be able to make out his features through the rings of the air vent anyway, and he will not acknowledge that you know that he is there.

He will simply wait, and stare…

And you will stare back at him, as you have many nights before. The lights are off and it is dark in your room. You can’t see Kevin, but Kevin can see you. Unsettled, you will dismiss the idea that something is up there. Soon enough you’ll forget about it. When you shake away the uncomfortable feeling you have you will manage to fall back to sleep with your head tucked firmly beneath your covers and your eyes tightly shut.

Then, wrapped up like a mummy, you will rest, but Kevin doesn’t like this. Kevin wants to see your face. He wants to see your flesh, which is so much more prettier and healthier than his. He wants to see your perfectly formed eyes, nose, and lips— because it makes Kevin forget about his own grotesque deformities.

So he will wait until you are sound asleep and he will silently unfasten the air vent. He won’t have any trouble— it is fairly loose already, and he has done this before. Then he will very slowly, as to not make any sound at all, reach a very long, emaciated arm down through the opening— and with a thin, pointy finger he will gently stroke your back through the fabric of your sheets. His stroke is a subtle as a whisper, and as faint a soft breeze.

You will not awaken, but your nerves will sense the tingles left by Kevin’s fingernail gently gliding down the length of your spine, and you will become mildly agitated, slightly uncomfortable. In an instinctive effort to avoid this feeling you will toss and turn until your sleeping self slings the blanket off of your body and Kevin will see you once more.

Then, after affectionately caressing your cheek, Kevin’s arm will slowly recede back into his narrow chamber, where he will continue watching you until the morning sun rises.

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