The Man with the Rabbit Head

My friend just told me this story. Last weekend her husband was away on business and she was working in her living room and her two and half year-old son was playing in their bedroom when all of sudden he comes running out screaming.

“Mommy, Mommy!” 

He runs up to her and grabs her by the hand. He looks terrified.

“What is it?” She asks. He drags her to her bedroom and points towards a dark corner.

“Mommy,” her son whispers “What is that man doing there?”

“What man?” She asks peering into the darkness.

“The Man standing there. The Man with the Rabbit Head.”

My friend says nothing. She finds she can’t talk.

“Make him go away.”  He begs.

My friend tries desperately to get herself together and gives a forced laugh.

“There’s no man there,” she says. She takes her son’s hand and drags him out of the room. She pours herself a big glass of wine and puts Moana on loud for the rest of the evening.

‘What did you do?’  I ask when she’s telling me this

“Prayed he never saw it again,” she says. “So far, so good.”

Is it wrong of me to hope he comes back? I love my friend, but I really want to know what happens.