Imaginary Friend (ARC) Page 13

  “‘Your brother is telling the truth!’ she said.

  “The older brother opened the front door. There was a little baby basket on the porch. The older brother crept up to it and took off the little blanket. And saw it…

  “…a little tape recorder playing a baby’s crying. The older brother ran upstairs and found his girlfriend in David’s room, screaming. The window was shattered. There were muddy handprints all over the glass and walls. His little brother was gone. They never found him.”

  The boys were silent. Christopher took a deep swallow.

  “Did that really happen?” he asked.

  The three boys nodded.

  “It’s a local legend,” Special Ed said. “The parents all tell us that story to make us go to bed at night.”

  “Yeah, but in our uncle’s version of it, there was a killer on the porch with the baby recording,” Mike said.

  “Yeah,” Matt agreed. “And there was no girlfriend.”

  Either way, it didn’t matter. Special Ed was crowned the king of the ghost story. By that point, it was well past midnight. The day’s labor and their full bellies made everyone sleepy. Since they were all spooked by the stories, they decided that one of them should stand guard while the others slept. Like a good leader, Christopher took the first shift to let his crew get a good night’s rest.

  And give him a chance to be alone with the nice man.

  Christopher watched his three friends unroll their sleeping bags on the cold ground. They climbed in and huddled together for warmth. Within minutes, the chatter died down. The flashlights clicked off. And there was darkness. And there was silence.

  Christopher sat in the tree house. He looked around the clearing for any signs of babies or cats or witches. But all he saw was that deer. It stared at him for a moment, then went right back to sniffing the ground for things to eat.

  Christopher wrapped the sleeping bag around him a little tighter and crunched a cold Oreo, his tongue finding the gooey white middle. He looked at the woods in the moonlight. The changing leaves red and orange like a campfire. And the minute he saw them, he could smell the leather baseball-glove smell and his father’s tobacco shirt and mown grass and damp leaves and chocolate chip pancakes and everything else that ever smelled great to him. He looked up and saw that the clouds had parted, letting in the moonlight. Behind the moon were thousands of stars.

  He had never seen so many. So bright and beautiful. He saw a shooting star. Then another. And another. One time in CCD, Mrs. Radcliffe said that a shooting star was someone’s soul going up to Heaven. He also saw a science show on TV that said a shooting star was a meteor burning in the earth’s atmosphere. But his favorite theory came from the playground back in Michigan. Christopher had heard once that a shooting star was nothing but a dying star’s last breath and how it takes six million years for the light to travel to earth so that we know the star is dead. So, he wondered, which was which. A soul or a star? And what if all of the stars had burned out already and it was just taking earth six million years to know it. What if that six million years happened tomorrow? What if they were all alone? And there were no stars except the sun. And what would happen if the sun burned out? And our shooting star could be seen millions of years from now. By a little boy with his friends building a tree house. And eating cold Oreo cookies or whatever it was that people out in the universe ate. Do all stars and all souls go to the same place in the end?

  Is that what the end of the world would look like?

  That thought made his head hurt a little, which was strange because he never got headaches when he was at the tree. But this thought was different. And it led to nicer ones. Like toasty fires. And his warm bed at home. And how nice his mother’s hand felt when she stroked his hair while he fell asleep. He had barely slept for almost fourteen days now as he stayed up late every night bringing wood out to the tree to prepare for the build. But now he couldn’t remember ever feeling sleepier.

  As his eyes closed against his will, Christopher had déjà vu about the tree. Like he’d slept here before. He thought he could feel his mother’s hand touching his hair like she did sometimes when he had a fever. But his mother wasn’t here. There were only the tree branches. And tree branches didn’t move enough to rub people’s hair.

  And they certainly didn’t feel like flesh.

  Chapter 25

  christopher. wake up.

  Christopher opened his eyes. He looked down at the white plastic bag, crinkling in the breeze.

  hi.

  He was so happy that the nice man was back, but he didn’t dare say anything. He didn’t want his friends to think he was crazy.

  don’t worry. your friends are asleep. they can’t hear us.

  Christopher looked down at the clearing. He saw his friends curled up on the ground.

  “Where have you been?” Christopher whispered.

  i’ve been right here watching you. you are doing such a great job.

  “Thank you,” Christopher said.

  are you tired or can you keep building?

  Christopher looked down at his phone. He had been asleep for only ten minutes, but somehow he felt like he just slept in on a Sunday. His muscles were sore and strong. But for some strange reason, he wasn’t tired.

  “I can keep building,” Christopher said cheerfully.

  great. let’s go to the woodpile. stock up for tomorrow.

  Christopher climbed down the 2x4s like baby teeth. Then, he grabbed a skinny stick and scooped up the white plastic bag.

  Christopher and the nice man left the clearing together.

  Christopher had made this trip to the woodpile dozens of times by now. But something was different. Something was wrong. He felt eyes on him. The whites of deer’s eyes. And little creatures. The twigs cracked under his feet like brittle bones. And he thought he could hear breathing behind him. Like the times he played hide-and-seek and tried to make himself not breathe too loud. He thought someone was near him. Shallow breath. A little kid’s breath.

  He remembered a little kid’s hand.

  A little kid giggling.

  Was that a dream? Or was it real?

  i found a shortcut. turn here.

  Christopher followed the white plastic bag. He stepped over logs and tripped on a branch. He turned the flashlight deep into the woods and thought the branches were two arms coming to strangle him. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t dare. The nice man had warned him about this feeling. When the wind didn’t feel like the wind, you had to be extra careful.

  especially when it feels like someone’s breath.

  “Chrissssstopher?” the wind kissed behind him.

  He felt it on his neck. He wanted to turn around. But he knew he couldn’t. If he did, he was afraid he could turn into a pillar of salt. Or stone. Or all the bad things Father Tom and Mrs. Radcliffe talked about in church and CCD. A snake. A little kid.

  “Hisssss,” the wind kissed behind him.

  Christopher broke into a sprint to the Collins Construction site. He saw the streetlight up ahead. Tall and blue. He ran with all his might and just as the kissing hissing found the back of his neck, he burst out of the woods…

  …and onto the street.

  He looked back. He saw nothing but trees. No eyes. No bodies. His mind must have been playing tricks. Or not.

  “What was that?” he asked the nice man.

  we need to hurry.

  Christopher went to the wood pile. Luckily, the security guard was asleep in the foreman’s trailer. Christopher took the longest 2x4 he could find and dragged it off the top. The wood fell with a splat on the ground. Christopher saw the security guard shift in his chair, but he didn’t wake up. He was just talking in his sleep like Jerry used to after he drank too much.

  “Christopher?” said the man in his sleep.

  The hair stood up on the back of Christopher’s neck. He saw the man’s eyes twitch under his lids like he was dreaming.

  “What are you doing with th
e wood?” the guard whispered.

  Christopher started to back away.

  “What are you doing out there?” the guard whispered in his sleep.

  Christopher tiptoed back into the woods. He grabbed the long piece of wood and dragged it back under the cover of darkness.

  “You really shouldn’t be out here,” the guard whispered. “Or else you’re going to end up just like him.”

  Christopher felt his heart in his throat.

  oh, god.

  The nice man sounded terrified.

  stand still. don’t move.

  The guard rose and began to sleepwalk.

  “Just like him, Chrissstopher,” the guard hissed.

  don’t speak. it’ll be over soon.

  The guard walked right toward Christopher. Sniffing the air. He stopped right in front of Christopher and dropped to his knees. He opened his eyelids, but his eyes had rolled back into his head. There were no pupils. Just white like a cue ball.

  Or a cloud.

  “JUST LIKE THE BABY!” the guard screamed. “WAAAAAAAAAA!”

  With that, the guard closed his eyes and walked back to the trailer.

  pick up the wood. hurry.

  Christopher bolted like a colt. He dragged the long piece of wood back under the trees all the way down the path. When they were finally safe in the clearing, he turned to the white plastic bag.

  “What was that?”

  The nice man was silent.

  “What did he mean when he said ‘you’re going to end up just like him’?”

  i don’t know.

  “Yes you do. I’m going to end up just like the baby. What does that mean?”

  please, christopher. don’t ask me that.

  “Tell me,” Christopher hissed. “Or I’ll stop working.”

  The white plastic bag floated in the wind on the stick in his hand. There was a long silence. And then, a sad, resigned voice.

  i can’t tell you. but i can show you. just remember…

  we can swallow our fear or let our fear swallow us

  Chapter 26

  What was that sound?

  Matt sat up. He turned. He was in the sleeping bag. Rolled up like a man in a hollow log. His hand instinctively found his forehead, which was covered in sweat.

  From the nightmare.

  He was stuck to the ground like flypaper. The street turned to quicksand. He couldn’t stand or run. He just kept drowning in the street. The sand coating his lungs.

  Screaming as his brother died.

  Matt stuck his head out of the sleeping bag and looked up at the stars. The blue moon lit the clearing like a lantern. As bright as a sun dying in the sky. There was a deer looking at him. Matt bolted up. The deer startled and ran toward the old mine tunnel, which looked like a giant’s mouth, swallowing the animal whole.

  Matt stepped out of the sleeping bag, and the freezing November air hit his pajamas. That’s when he felt it. The wet spot. He had wet the bed again. And this time, he didn’t do it at home. He did it on a sleepover in front of his friends. Like a baby, he thought. Like a stupid baby.

  Mike was going to tease him forever for this.

  Panicked, he looked over at the wheelbarrow near the tree. He thought maybe if he could get to his backpack, he could put on the extra thermals before Mike woke up. He moved to the tree, avoiding every twig that might crack. He tiptoed past his brother sleeping soundly and grabbed his backpack. He moved away from Mike. Back toward the tunnel. With each step, he got closer until his eyes caught something in the moonlight. A figure huddled in the shadows. Digging in the dirt.

  It was Christopher.

  And he was talking to himself.

  “Yes, I can hear the baby,” he whispered.

  Matt forgot all about the fresh clothes. He tiptoed toward Christopher, digging in the dirt like a dog burying a bone. When he got closer, he noticed a thin branch with the white plastic bag on it.

  “I don’t want to see. It’s too scary,” Christopher whispered.

  “Christopher? Are you okay?” Matt said.

  Christopher turned around quickly. He looked startled.

  “How long were you standing there?” he asked.

  “Just now. What’s wrong with your eyes?” Matt asked.

  “What do you mean?” Christopher said.

  “They’re so bloodshot.”

  “It’s nothing. Don’t worry, okay?”

  Matt nodded, but he did worry about it. Christopher rubbed his exhausted eyes. Then, he looked down at Matt’s pants and saw the streak of urine staining the denim a dark blue. Matt’s face went hot with shame.

  “Don’t tell. Please,” Matt said.

  “I won’t,” Christopher whispered.

  “No, I really mean it. My brother would never stop teas…”

  Without a word, Christopher pointed down to reveal the pee stain on his own pants.

  “You had a nightmare, too?” Matt asked.

  “Yeah. So don’t worry.”

  Christopher smiled at him. And somehow, Matt felt better.

  “What were you doing?” Matt asked.

  Christopher paused for a moment.

  “Digging for treasure,” he finally said.

  “Can I help?” Matt asked.

  “Sure. Grab a shovel.”

  “Can we change our pants first? I don’t want Mike to see that I wet the bed, okay?”

  Christopher smiled, and the boys quickly rummaged through their backpacks and pulled out fresh underwear and pants. They peeled their underwear off like bananas left in a cold fridge. The cold air hit their willies (Matt’s word), which retreated back into their bodies like scared turtles. Then, they quickly put on fresh clothes, which felt warm and soft and dry. Christopher opened up the tools and handed Matt a small shovel. They began to dig for treasure. Side by side.

  “Who were you talking to?” Matt asked.

  “Myself,” Christopher said. “Now hurry. You don’t want anyone else to get the treasure, do you?”

  They spent the next half hour digging. They didn’t talk much. Matt noticed that Christopher kept looking at the white plastic bag, but he didn’t think too much of it. Matt knew that Special Ed was Christopher’s best friend, but Matt secretly thought Christopher was his. And he didn’t mind coming in second to Special Ed. He was used to it by now. He had come in second to Mike his whole life. The only thing that bothered him was a nagging question in his mind. The thing that woke him up in the first place.

  What was that sound?

  It was on the tip of his tongue.

  “What are you guys doing?” Special Ed asked before Matt could place it.

  Matt and Christopher turned to see Special Ed and Mike approach, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes. Their breath making clouds.

  “Digging for treasure,” Matt said.

  “Can we help?” Mike asked Christopher.

  “Sure, Mike.”

  “I’ll make breakfast,” Special Ed said, finding his niche.

  Mike picked up the shovel and used his strong arms to cut through the frozen earth. Matt looked at Christopher to see if he would tell Mike about wetting the bed. Christopher smiled as if to say, “Your secret is safe with me.”

  * * *

  Later, the boys had their breakfast of Froot Loops with cold milk from the stream. Christopher said nothing of the terror. Nothing of the guard whispering his name. Or the sound of the baby crying, which had woken up Matt. He knew that the truth would scare Matt. And he didn’t want anyone but him to be scared. So, Christopher said nothing of the nice man explaining what would happen to him if he didn’t finish the tree house in time. The less they knew, the better. And the safer for everyone. And he knew that if he did tell them, they might get scared and run away. And he needed their help.

  When they finished the Froot Loops, he made sure Mike got the sugar dust, and Matt got the prize. Then, Christopher thanked Special Ed for a great breakfast.

  It was important to keep his troops happy.
>
  When morning came, the sun warmed their cold bones. They worked in shifts. Two boys building the tree house. The other two boys digging. After a snack of frozen Oreos and the last of the milk, Special Ed joined Christopher, hacking at the frozen earth looking for treasure.

  No treasure came.

  But at about 7:06 a.m., they did find a child’s skeleton.

  Chapter 27

  The call came in at 7:30 a.m.

  And the news began to spread.

  The sheriff’s night deputy went to church that Sunday morning to pray. He told Father Tom, who changed his homily to speak about how the remains of a child were found in the Mission Street Woods. He said that the child was in Heaven now, and as sad as the town was, they should rejoice in the power of Christ’s forgiveness.

  The homily was so powerful that Mrs. Radcliffe couldn’t contain herself. She kept dabbing at the corners of her eyes all the way through Holy Communion. How many times had she and Mr. Radcliffe prayed for a child of their own? How many times did she miscarry? And how many times did Mr. Radcliffe hold her and say that her body was not broken? It was beautiful.

  Mary Katherine prayed for the child and within minutes, her seventeen-year-old brain played hopscotch. That poor child. It should have had a chance to grow up like her and go to college. Like Notre Dame. She chastised herself for thinking of her own life at all. But she was afraid she wouldn’t get into Notre Dame. And her father would be so disappointed in her. She promised God to pray for the child and focus on service at the old folks home. But Mrs. Collins was so mean, and her mother was so crazy. The old woman screamed at her all weekend about how “they” were watching. How was she going to listen to that for a month? Especially after Doug quit, saying that nothing was worth this torment. Not even Cornell. Mary Katherine quickly reprimanded herself to stop being so narcissistic and think about the child.

  You don’t want to hit a deer with your car, do you?

  When mass let out, people called relatives and checked on their kids away at college. Moms held their children a little tighter and made mental notes to include extra-special treats on Thanksgiving. Dads decided to limit their football games to one (instead of three) to spend more time with their families instead of their fantasy football leagues. And kids found themselves getting whatever candy they wanted all day. Some felt guilty that it was for all the wrong reasons, but hey…candy was candy.