I’ve never really talked about it before, but something strange happened to me when I was younger. I pushed it to the back of my mind, thinking it must have just been some kind of trick of my overactive imagination. But recent events have made me begin to question myself.
I’d all but forgotten about Mr. Bibbins. Back when I was 4, like most kids my age, I had an imaginary friend. In my case, it was Mr. Bibbins. Even now my memory of him is hazy, but from what I remember he was a giant, adult-sized pink and blue spotted bunny. His face was more human-looking than rabbit-looking, but it was pleasant enough that I didn’t mind.
He only ever appeared at night, after my parents had put me to bed and turned out the lights. I’d sit up in bed and wait until I could hear the faint knocking on my window, pulling back the curtain to see Mr Bibbins there, a large silly grin plastered across his face.
I’d open the window and he’d clamber through, falling to the floor, causing me to burst into fits of laughter. Sometimes my mom or dad would poke their head around the door, hearing my laughter at the odd hours in the morning. Mr Bibbins would hide under the bed, out of sight, and I would pretend to be asleep under my covers until they closed the door and went away. We’d play together for most of the night until I could barely keep my eyes open. Then he’d pick me up and tuck me into my bed, gently kissing me on my forehead before clumsily leaving again through the window, giving one last, larger-than-life wave.
Whenever my parents questioned what I was doing the night before I would tell them that it was Mr Bibbins. They’d never believe me of course, they just assumed that it was my overactive imagination, conjuring up images keeping me up at night. Concerned for my sleep, they stipulated that I could only play with Mr. Bibbins before bed. They weren’t too happy when I told them I couldn’t as he only came at night.
Mr Bibbins would come back most nights, always knocking on the window just after my parents had gone to sleep, always clumsily falling through it. I always enjoyed playing with him, he had such fun games. One night though, he seemed slightly out of character, not quite as happy or bouncy as normal. He seemed kind of deflated like he had a massive weight on his mind. This upset me a little, I didn’t like seeing my friend sad, even if he was imaginary. Asking what I could do to cheer him up, he suggested that we go outside and play in the garden.
Immediately I was torn, my mind raced with thoughts of all the fun and games that me and Mr Bibbins could get into in the garden, with no parents to tell us off. It would cheer my friend up too, which would make me happy. But what if my parents came into my room and found it empty or found me in the garden? I’d be in a world of trouble.
Mr Bibbins seemed to get agitated with my indecisiveness, constantly pushing the question as the night went on. I wasn’t having fun anymore, this wasn’t the fun Mr Bibbins that I’d played with every other night, In fact, there was something about how he was behaving that scared me a little. After a while, I brought up the courage to tell him how I was feeling.
Almost immediately he seemed to fall into despair. His face sank as the words left my mouth. His painted features dropped into a saddening grimace as he got to his feet and slowly made his way to the window, shuffling his feet, his shoulders hunched.
A bolt of panic shot through me, had I upset him even more? Running over to him and hugging him around his leg, I looked up at his face and asked him where he was going. Much to my despair he gently pushed me away, saying it would be better for him to just leave. I obviously wasn’t the fun friend he thought I was. My mind reeled with fear, I didn’t want him to leave, I didn’t want him to stop being my friend. Apologies began flowing out of me like a steady stream in an attempt to appease him, to make him my friend again. Tears were streaming down my cheeks but I hardly even registered them.
He held up one of his padded hands in a shushing gesture, looking at me with that same disappointed face. I stopped the torrent of words spilling from my mouth. Without another word, he opened the window and made his way out, but there was no larger-than-life wave this time as he left, no goodbye or joke to make me laugh. He just left.
I cried all night that night, I remember my mother coming in to comfort me. I was inconsolable, my best friend had left. I’d forced him away. Why hadn’t I just played outside with him like he’d asked? Why did he have to leave?
I spent the next day sheepishly waiting for the night to come, I was going to apologise to Mr Bibbins and then everything would be fine. As night fell I waited at the window for Mr. Bibbins, ready for him to appear with that silly grin plastered across his face holding his stuffed bunny. As soon as he came in I’d apologise for last night and he’d hug me. Then we could go into the garden and play all sorts of games and have all sorts of fun. We’d be best friends again and we could forget about last night.
I sat there eagerly, waiting for the knock on the window. Checking out of the curtain from time to time. Waiting. He’d be here soon.
I woke up next to the window that morning still in the same position as the night before. I must have fallen asleep waiting for Mr Bibbins….he never came?
I didn’t leave my room the next day, I couldn’t bring myself to. When my parents came to check on me, an expression of worry plastered across their concerned faces, I told them about what had happened with Mr. Bibbins. I explained about him asking me to go out into the garden, how he seemed to change so quickly when I didn’t say yes, and how he left and hasn’t come back.
They looked at each other, sharing a concerned glance. Looking back on it, I get it, if my children were to say the same things to me I would be the same. They arranged for me to go to therapy sessions once a week, in the hopes that it would help me separate my imagination from reality and help me forget about Mr. Bibbins.
Therapy was okay, it was a lot of telling me about how the thoughts in my head might seem real, but they might not always be, and how to tell the difference between reality and my imagination. I didn’t much care for it, but after a while, I noticed it helped. I didn’t feel as sad about Mr. Bibbins, and he hadn’t appeared again for almost a month. I was beginning to go about my life like normal. When my parents turned out the light at bedtime I went to sleep, rather than whiling away the hours playing games with Mr Bibbins.
Everything was fine, until one night about a couple of years later. Shortly after my 7th birthday, I awoke to an odd tapping at my window. I checked the rocket ship alarm clock on my bedside table, it was 11 p.m. The tapping came in small, spaced-out raps, a gentle ticking on the window.
I made my way out of bed and across the room, an odd sense of unease gnawing at me. The sound persisted, a gentle tap…..tap…..tap. Gingerly I pulled back the curtains, unsure of what was waiting for me on the other side. There was nothing there, the window showing me the street below. I looked around to see if there was anything that could possibly be making that noise.
The street outside was quiet and still, the only source of illumination was the orange glow of the streetlights. My eyes scanned back and forth, adjusting to the lighting outside, sweeping across the pavement until I saw it. There, just below the window, standing on my front lawn, was a large, pink and blue spotted bunny with a human face, holding a small bunny rabbit toy. Mr Bibbins.
He couldn’t be there, he wasn’t real. I knew he was imaginary, but he was standing there, large as life itself. I was so confused. An odd sense of fear worked its way along my spine, was I going mad? I looked down again, he was still there.
When he saw that I had noticed him a goofy grin spread across his face and he raised his hand in a silly wave. Something seemed off about him though. Although he still wore that same grin and moved with the same demeanour, he looked dishevelled. His face looked older and rougher and he had matted, dirty patches of fur across his body, like he had been playing outside in the mud.
He gestured for me to open the window. I did so with shaking hands, still not trusting that any of this was real. As I slid the window open I could hear his voice, as familiar as ever but gravelier than before, as though he’d smoked several cigarettes a day.
It was almost like he’d gotten older in the time I’d not seen him. Almost like he’d fallen on hard times. But he was imaginary. I wondered if this was how subconsciously I wanted to see him. Wanted him to have fallen on hard times without me so that he knew how much we needed each other? It made me feel a little guilty.
He apologised to me for how he’d left that night, an expression of sadness and remorse covering his face. But he was back now and he wanted to play, just like old times. He said the last part with a look of pleading hope, looking me in the eyes.
Then he asked if he could come in and play. There was an odd tone in his voice that I didn’t like. I couldn’t think why at the time, but I think it was desperation, like he needed to come in, like it was really important.
Struggling to determine if this was real or not I decided to let him in. There was no harm in it if he wasn’t real, it would just be another thing for me to talk to my therapist about, and if he was real then I would have my friend back after such a long time and I’d be vindicated.
Finally relenting, I pushed the worried thoughts to the back of my mind, now overtaken by the new sense of potential vindication. Shouting down to him, I told him that I forgave him, and that he could come up if he wanted to and we could play all the games we had before. I’ll admit there was a large part of me that hoped he was real, hoped that we could be best friends again.
Mr Bibbins shouted that he had no way up, he couldn’t climb like he used to so he couldn’t reach my window. I would need to get a ladder. Excitedly I told him I would get the one from the storage room and lower it down to him, then he could use that to climb up.
Opening my bedroom door a small crack I tentatively checked that there was no sign of my parents upstairs. I could still hear the sounds of the TV blaring from downstairs, my parents were engrossed in whatever it was that they were watching.
I slowly opened the door, careful not to make any sound that might alert my parents to the fact that I was still awake and out of bed. Silently I made my way to our storage room and dragged my dad’s ladder across the landing to my room. All the while that giddy sense of excitement was present, this was just like old times when mom or dad would come in to check on me and Mr Bibbins would hide under the bed.
Slowly closing the door of my bedroom, I dragged the ladder across to the window before lifting it through. It was heavier than it looked. A slight sense of worry bubbled up in my stomach as I gingerly began lowering it down to Mr. Bibbins. I was terrified I might fall out of the window, caught in the ladder as it pulled me down. Just as I was lost in that thought, my hand slipped on one of the rungs and it fell to the ground with an almighty clatter.
Almost immediately I could hear sounds from downstairs before the lawn was illuminated with the light from the living room as the curtains were pulled back. I heard a scream from my mother as she’d obviously looked out the window and seen Mr Bibbins. She screamed. She’d seen him. He was real!
I heard her yell to my dad to call the police as Mr Bibbins turned on his heel and ran, his face a mask of fear. My dad ran out of the front door onto the lawn attempting to give chase but by that point, Mr Bibbins had vanished.
My mom came straight to my room after that. Bursting through the door and seeing the open window with me still leaning out of it. She looked terrified as she scooped me up in a tight hug, telling me that everything was going to be okay. I didn’t understand what was happening. They’d seen him too, so that meant he must be real. I wasn’t crazy and now we could be friends again. That was all I could say to her, but she kept shushing me, repeating that it was all going to be okay.
A few hours later, a couple of police officers knocked on my door and asked to come in. They spoke to my mom and dad about what had transpired. I was sitting in my room still awake, unbeknownst to my parents, listening as best as I could to the conversation taking place in the living room below.
After my dad had called them the officers had sent out a squad car to investigate. As it was en route to my house they passed someone matching the description of Mr Bibbins that my parents had provided. He was moving quickly and frantically down the street, looking over his shoulder as though he was checking if he was being followed.
When he noticed the police car he attempted to flee through the gardens of some of the nearby houses, jumping over the fences that separated them. The officers gave chase and ultimately they caught him and arrested him.
I was perplexed. Why had they arrested him? He was just coming to apologise to me so that we could be friends again. He’d obviously fled when my parents opened the curtains as he was scared. I’m sure if they gave him a chance they’d see how fun he actually was.
The officers went on to explain to my parents that Mr Bibbins was actually a 40-year-old man by the name of Kurt Jonas. He’d been known to the police for a while and was being investigated for several child disappearances over the past several years.
Each of the children’s parents always mentioned their child talking about their imaginary friend in the weeks before their disappearance. A bunny who was as tall as a man and had a human face, who was covered in pink and blue fur.
The pink and blue spotted fur of Mr. Bibbins was actually a large fancy dress suit, concealing all of Kurt other than his face, which he’d painted to give me the impression he was a large, imaginary bunny. He’d use the costume to win the trust of the children, posing as an imaginary friend before they vanished.
When the officers searched his suit they found something. At the time I didn’t know what it was but now it makes my blood run cold. Zip Ties and a syringe of Midazolam, the anaesthetic used to knock people unconscious for operations.
Thinking of what would have happened if I hadn’t dropped the ladder, if he’d managed to climb in without my parents knowing, causes me to have heart palpitations even now. I doubt I’d be writing this to you today.
Kurt was jailed and found guilty of several offences, including kidnapping, grooming and child endangerment. The amount of time they gave him meant he wouldn’t see the outside world for the rest of his natural life.
Years of therapy helped me to finally forget about Mr Bibbins, or Kurt, and move on with my life. As I say it’s only been recently that these memories have begun to surface again. I’ve been having a stressful time at work and at home, which in itself isn’t something out of the ordinary.
I think it was because of that that I kept seeing those odd pink and blue fury patches, always obscured by something. Sticking out just behind a wall or poking out from a doorway. I brushed these off as visual migraines from the stress. But the other day something happened that brought all of these memories flying back to the forefront of my mind.
I was cooking dinner, my children playing in the next room across from me, when I heard the doorbell ring. Other than it being a bit out of the ordinary for that time, I wasn’t expecting anyone, I didn’t suspect anything off.
I opened the door and was presented with…..nothing. There was no one standing at the other side of the door, no one that would have pressed the bell. There was no one in the street either, it was silent all but for the chirping of the birds settling in their nests.
I assumed it was some of the local kids playing Knock Door Dash or something similar. As I went to step out and get a better view of the street, my foot brushed against something that had been placed on the doorstep.
Looking down I had to catch myself, my strength leaving me. There, on the doorstep, was a stuffed toy. It looked exactly like the one that Mr. Bibbins used to carry around with him whenever he visited me.
I crouched down and picked it up, noticing a small note pinned to its front. Turning the toy to better read the note, it contained only the following words:
“See You Soon”