Everybody's Billy

Billy is pushing 30 now. No one really ever talks about where Billy came from and why he is always sitting in that same old leather chair. My brothers never liked Billy. They picked on him, but if you ask me it was only because they were scared of him. Billy has that unnerving way of staring. Billy and I are about the same age now. I discovered, only recently, that I am the reason Billy remains… Everybody’s Billy.

“What’s his name?” They asked me, as if he couldn’t speak for himself.

“Name, Biwwey.” I stated matter-of-factly. I don’t remember why his name was Billy. Did he tell me? Did he speak a language I only knew at age two?

Billy has a new lady friend. He always has someone new. Sugar and spice and everything nice, she meets Billy and becomes… different.

“Billy needs to sleep!” She will say if she finds that he has attracted the attention of someone else. She will stomp and pout, pull hair and throw punches all for Billy. She wants Billy all to herself, and I think he likes that.

My brothers and I slept in the basement. So did Billy. Actually, he rarely ever left the leather chair. He just sat and stared. My brothers would crawl over next to me in the night. They would swear that Billy was tormenting them. They would say that they couldn’t sleep. Billy wouldn’t stop staring.

“Just ignore him.” I would say, careful not to catch Billy’s gaze from across the basement.

I would dream of Billy’s eyes, blinking so slowly, and I would wake in a cold sweat. Panic attacks, my family would say. I was being attacked by something, that’s for sure. What it was is anyone’s guess.

Cameron would say that he could see Billy watching us at night. He said Billy crept to our bedsides to stare at us while we slept. I told him he was silly and he should stop saying these things. I really wanted him to stop scaring me. I didn’t want to think about Billy’s eyes on me at night.

“Did you hear the latest about Billy?” My grandfather asked me recently.

I shook my head in reply.

“We almost lost him,” he said.

Billy spent a week away, taken by one of his latest ladies, pink and proper. Her reluctance to bring him back could better be described as defiance. Tears poured and words one would never expect came pouring from her mouth. When the battle was finally over, Billy was returned to his leather chair.

He sits there now, apparently content with his long and enigmatic existence, waiting for the next sweet little fly he can trap in his web.

He remains, dressed like Chucky in red with stripes. His shoes are worn as if the motionless doll has been walking for years. Perhaps Cameron was right all those nights that he insisted Billy was moving around in the basement. Billy remains, a malignant negative energy force that cannot be eradicated, even after 30 years.

Do I have myself to blame for opening the door to him? Did he somehow communicate with me all those years ago? Did he tell me his name was Billy?