When I was six, my best friend lived in my closet. His name was Mr. Pip. I know what you’re probably thinking: you were just a kid with an overactive imagination, right? Wrong.

I used to be obsessed with a TV show called Little Annie’s Amazing Adventure. Don’t bother looking it up. I haven’t been able to find anything about it online. It’s as if it never existed.

The show always opened with Annie alone in her room. She would look directly into the camera, smile feverishly, then mischievously beckon the viewer to follow her. Next, she’d saunter up to her closet door, knock three times, and the door would swing open, revealing a whimsical world filled to the brim with vibrantly multicolored landscapes and an abundance of wacky cartoon-like characters. My favorite of which was Mr. Pip.

Mr. Pip would accompany Annie on all her wild escapades, animatedly overreacting to every strange situation the characters found themselves in. Mr. Pip was a clown dressed in a polka dot jumpsuit with oversized floppy shoes and a bright red wig surmounting his head. I loved watching the pair bounce along on their journey as purple grass swayed atop rolling hills and birds floated through a milky yellow sky.

I remember the exact moment I met Mr. Pip. My mother had grounded me and sent me to my room without supper. She’d received a call from the principal that day detailing how I’d stomped Jimmy Hoskin’s crayons to smithereens completely unprovoked. He’d wiped a booger on me at lunch. He deserved it.

I was throwing a temper tantrum, wailing as loudly as my little vocal cords could muster so my mother would understand exactly how upset I was. Once I’d nearly screamed my lungs out, I settled down, my cries devolving into whimpering sniffles. That’s when I heard it. Three faint knocks from inside my closet. I fell silent.

I strained my ears, listening intently for any further disturbances. It happened again. Three soft knocks emanated from my closet door. I hesitantly crept up to it and returned the gesture. Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Hello there, Michael!”

I leapt back, stifling a scream. My head started to spin, and my palms began to sweat.

“W-who are you?” I demanded, delivering my best tough guy impression.

“You know me, Michael. I’m your friend, Mr. Pip,” the voice sang in that same high-pitched tone I’d grown so accustomed to hearing.

“How do I know it’s really you?”

“Would Mr. Pip lie to you?”

“Well… no.”

“That’s right, Michael! Mr. Pip would never lie to you.”

“Mr. Pip, can I ask you something?”

“Sure! Mr. Pip loves questions!”

“Why are you in my closet?”

He paused at that. I began to wonder if I’d overstepped. But after a brief period of tense silence, he responded.

“Because I live here, Michael. Your closet is my home.”

“So you… live with me?”

“Yes, Mr. Pip lives with you now! Mr. Pip could’ve lived with any little girl or boy he wanted, but he chose you, Michael. Aren’t you excited?”

“Yes, yes, I’m so happy!” I yelled. The realization that my favorite TV show character was going to be living in my room finally dawned on me and I bounced up and down like a jackrabbit.

“Good, good. Mr. Pip is happy too!”

I reached for the door and began to pull it open.

“Let’s play, Mr. Pip! Is Annie going-”

The door slammed shut abruptly.

“NO!” Mr. Pip bellowed in a menacing inflection that sent ice running through my veins. Hot tears welled in my eyes, and I started crying once more.

“Please don’t cry, Michael. Mr. Pip is sorry he scared you,” he apologized deflatedly.

“W-why can’t I play with you?” I blubbered, snot dripping from my nose.

“Because this is Mr. Pip’s home. Mr. Pip isn’t ready for visitors yet.”

“Okay,” I mumbled dejectedly.

“Oh, Mr. Pip knows what will cheer you up! A game!”

“What kind of game?”

“The question game! We’ll take turns asking questions and if you get them right you get a point!” Mr. Pip chirped, seemingly back to his cheery old self.

“Okay! I bet I’m gonna win!”

Mr. Pip wasn’t very good at the question game. We played for hours, and he didn’t guess a single answer right. Mr. Pip wanted to know a lot about my house and my family. He even guessed that my dad left for work at midnight! He always left at eight o’clock. What a silly goose!

We played until it was time for me to go to bed. I drifted off to a blissful slumber, elated that I now had my new best friend to keep me company.

“Michael, time to get ready for school!” Mom shouted, shaking me awake.

“Ugh, I’m up,” I groaned, lazily rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

Mom strode over to my closet door to get me dressed and ready for the day. A wave of panic jolted through me like a lightning bolt.

“No, Mom, you can’t go in the closet, that’s where Mr. Pip lives!” I pleaded, begging her not to disturb my friend’s sanctum.

“Michael, all your clothes are in there. I don’t think Mr. Pip will mind if I grab a shirt out of here real quick.”

“NO!”

My mother completely disregarded my cries. She flung the door open and… nothing.

“See? There’s no one here. Now go brush your teeth please.”

I begrudgingly obeyed, shooting Mom a vexed glance while her back was turned. I spent the remainder of the morning stewing at the thought that my mother had scared Mr. Pip away. I remained recalcitrant throughout the school day, earning me a conduct mark from Mrs. McLemore. Once I returned from school, I slung my backpack onto the floor and made a beeline for my room.

“How was your day kiddo?” Dad inquired with his eyes glued to his newspaper.

“Good.”

I locked myself in my room, itching to know if Mr. Pip was still there. I sidled up to my closet door and knocked. Then I waited. And waited. Maybe he hadn’t heard me? I tried again. Nothing.

Once it became evident that my raps would go unanswered, I plopped down onto my bed and buried my face in my pillow. Tears began spilling from my eyes. Then I heard it. Knock. Knock. Knock.

I bolted out of bed and raced to the door, barely able to contain my jubilation. I hurriedly knocked again.

“Hello, Michael!”

“Mr. Pip! I thought you moved away because Mom came into my closet.”

“Oh no, Michael, Mr. Pip will never leave you!”

“Yay! Why couldn’t Mom see you though?”

“Mr. Pip went deep into your closet so your mommy wouldn’t find him. Mr. Pip didn’t want to scare her.”

“Oh, I get it. Can I come in and play yet?”

He paused for a long moment.

“Let’s play another game! I’ll make an animal noise and you guess what it is!”

“Oh, I’m good at this game! Let’s play!”

Mr. Pip and I played until I was again lulled into a peaceful sleep. Things went on like that for months. Every day I’d eagerly rush to my room to tell Mr. Pip all about my day.

My parents never understood Mr. Pip like I did. In their minds, he was just a figment of my imagination. A coping mechanism for all the kids who picked on me at school. One night, I overheard them talking about it.

“Daniel, I got another call from his teacher today. His grades are slipping again. You need to have a talk with him about this imaginary friend. He won’t leave his room anymore, and when he does, he’s not focusing on his schoolwork.”

My father sighed.

“I know, honey. I just thought that maybe if we gave him a little space, this whole thing would work itself out.”

“Well, it’s not. Do you think he’s being bullied at school? I mean, he used to be so active and now he just shuts himself in his room all day.”

“It’s a possibility. Let me talk to him and try to figure out what’s going on. Then we can decide what we need to do.”

I heard my father rise from his chair and begin making his way to my room. I flew back to my bed and braced myself for the uncomfortable discussion that I knew was coming.

My father knocked on the door.

“Hey buddy, mind if I come in?”

“Okay,” I murmured, hoping I could brush off Dad’s questions so that he’d leave me alone.

He sat down beside me on the bed and rested a hand on my shoulder.

“Michael, is everything okay? You know, with school and stuff? You’ve been spending a lot of time in here lately, and your mother and I are getting concerned.”

“Yeah, everything’s fine Dad, I just want to play with Mr. Pip is all.”

“Buddy, I know this is going to sound harsh, and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, but Mr. Pip isn’t real. You need to start making friends your own age.”

I balled my fists as anger rose to the forefront of my emotions. Dad just didn’t get it. He didn’t know Mr. Pip like I did.

“Mr. Pip is real! He’s my best friend. I talk to him every day!”

“I didn’t want to have to do this, kiddo, but I’m going to have to show you that Mr. Pip is made up.”

He marched over to my closet and reached for the handle. The door swung open before he had a chance to grab it.

“Hello there, Daniel!”

Dad released a horrifying guttural shriek. There before him stood Mr. Pip.

He looked nothing like he did on TV. Bright scraggly red hairs sprouted from his head, dotting his scalp in ugly uneven patches. His makeup hadn’t been redone in some time, cracks spider webbing along the caked-on face paint. Mascara flowed from his eyes in dark jet-black streaks, giving the illusion that he’d been crying toxic sludge. His polka dot suit was filthy, and deep lacerations were clearly visible through his tattered clothes. And that smile. Mr. Pip beamed at my father, showcasing rows upon rows of jagged pointed teeth. His crooked grin stretched impossibly wide, yellow teeth glimmering like miniature kitchen knives.

Dad stared in awestruck terror for only a second before scooping me up and racing out the door. I stole a glance at Mr. Pip, trembling uncontrollably as I fought back bile. His eyes locked with mine, that vile smirk unwavering.

“You haven’t seen the last of me, Michael! And next time, we'll play a game that’ll really get your blood pumping!”

His demented cackles reverberated through the halls, sending chills through my soul as my closet door slowly creaked shut.

We moved shortly afterward. My parents called the cops, but a thorough search of our home revealed nothing out of the ordinary. We bounced around between cheap motels for months until we managed to find our current house.

As time dragged on, my memories of Mr. Pip began to fade. Eventually, I made friends and I recently started middle school. But tonight, all that prior dread came crashing down on me like a tidal wave. Because as I was writing this, three soft knocks drifted from my closet.