Then, he waited for Jill’s voice to cover his tracks.
“No, Dr. Haskell. It started suddenly. I don’t know what it is.”
Christopher dragged the table painfully across the floor. Moving with each word. Stopping with each silence.
“I don’t think it’s allergies. Not in December.”
Every inch like pulling a tooth.
“Is there something going around?”
The rags left deep, red streaks on the concrete. Christopher pushed the table flush against the wall. His hands making little prints in the blood.
“Flu season? Does that usually come with a rash?”
He rushed over to the nice man, who had managed to get three of the shackles loose.
“Well, thank you, Dr. Haskell. I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Jill said, hanging up the phone.
Christopher could hear Jill walk back to the living room. But the kitchen floor still creaked. The hissing lady was waiting in the kitchen. The nice man desperately hacked at the lock on his ankle with the screwdriver.
“I can’t do it,” he whispered, delirious with pain. “Just leave me here.”
“No!” Christopher whispered.
“You’re invisible in the daytime. You can escape.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
Christopher took the wrist shackle in his bare hands. The heat broke out on his forehead. The power moved through his fingers. Christopher began to split the shackles like breaking a deck of cards for a shuffle. He tore the metal shackle off the nice man’s ankle and dropped it gently to the ground. The nice man was speechless.
“How did you do that? Only she can do that,” the nice man whispered.
“I don’t know,” Christopher said. “Come on.”
He propped the nice man up against the wall. The nice man looked woozy. On the verge of passing out. Christopher splashed some water on the nice man’s face. The water trickled down his filthy neck like a mudslide.
“I can’t stand,” the nice man said.
“Yes, you can. Get up.”
Christopher took the nice man’s hand and pulled him to his feet. The nice man’s knees buckled, but he put his hand on Christopher’s shoulder to steady himself.
With Christopher as a crutch, he limped to the window.
The nice man reached the table. Christopher sprang to his feet and turned. He took the nice man’s hand to help him climb and stand, almost slipping on the slick blood. The nice man opened the window curtain. He saw dozens of mailbox people standing guard around the house. Their strings stretched like demented laundry lines hanging the world out to dry.
“Her guards,” the nice man whispered.
Christopher put his hands together for the nice man’s foot.
“I’m too big,” the nice man said.
“Not for me,” Christopher said.
The nice man put his foot into Christopher’s hands. He looked skeptical. Like he couldn’t believe the little boy could carry his weight. Until Christopher pushed. The nice man inched up the wall and grabbed the windowsill with his fingertips. He used whatever strength he had left to pull himself up. The nice man opened the filthy window and let the fresh air into the basement. He put his chest halfway through the opening and collapsed. Panting like a dog left in a car.
“Get up!” Christopher begged.
Christopher grabbed the nice man’s bloody feet and pushed the rest of his body out of the window with all his might.
Then, Christopher slipped on the bloody table. He reached out, trying to find his footing. But the force was too great. Christopher fell to the ground.
Bringing the metal table down with him.
Crash!
The kitchen floor creaked upstairs. Christopher scrambled to his feet. The table lay upside down like a dead cockroach. There was no way to climb the legs.
“Stay here, David,” the hissing lady said upstairs.
“She’s coming,” the nice man whispered. “You can make it!”
Christopher looked up at the window. Ten feet off the ground. The nice man stretched his body down from the window. Christopher ran. Jumped. Their bloody hands met for a moment, then slipped. Christopher fell to the ground.
“Turn off the light!” the nice man whispered.
The hissing lady turned the doorknob.
Christopher leapt up and grabbed the string hanging from the lightbulb. The nice man closed the curtains. In an instant, the world went black.
The door opened at the top of the stairs.
The kitchen light poured into the basement. Christopher crawled like a mouse and hid under the staircase.
The hissing lady walked down the stairs.
Creak. Creak. Creak.
Christopher’s heart pounded. There was nowhere to run.
He watched her bloody shoes through the slits in the wooden stairs.
Creak. Creak. Creak.
Christopher held his breath. The blood pounded his temples. The hissing lady’s feet came right to eye level. He reached through the slits and braced himself. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Four.
Swallow your fear or let your fear swallow you.
Christopher yanked back on the hissing lady’s feet. She fell down the stairs, slamming her head on the bloody floor.
“AHHHH!” she hissed.
He only had seconds. Christopher ran from under the stairs and jumped over her outstretched arms. She reached up, tripping him. Christopher screamed and landed on the stairs above her. She reached for him. Her hands smearing blood up his pants as she climbed his body as if scaling a wall.
“There you are!” she hissed.
Christopher kicked back. The adrenaline coursing through his veins like the world’s blood. He connected with her chest. Sending her backward. She hit the wall and screeched. He ran to the top of the stairs and turned. The hissing lady was already on her feet. Racing up the stairs after him. Faster than anything he’d ever seen. Christopher slammed the door shut.
BOOM.
The hissing lady charged into the door. Like a caged animal.
Christopher braced his body between the door and the kitchen wall.
“Mill Grove Plumbing?” Jill said on the telephone. “Can you come out immediately? I think something is wrong with my pipes.”
BOOM. BOOM.
Christopher dug his heels into the ground. The hissing lady reached for the doorknob. It turned. Christopher reached for the dead bolt. Stretching his fingers above his head.
“YOU ARE GOING TO DIE!” she hissed.
Christopher reached as far as he could. He could feel the tendons in his shoulder ripping like taffy. But the dead bolt was too far. He could not reach it. His legs strained to keep her inside. But she was too powerful. His legs began to buckle.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
Suddenly Christopher saw a bloody hand reach up his arm. He screamed. Until the hand passed him and snapped the dead bolt shut.
It was the nice man.
His face was pale and drawn. His eyes blinking, exhausted with pain.
“Come on,” he said.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
“DAVID, WHERE ARE YOU?!”
Her voice echoed through the house. The nice man crouched down and led Christopher through the kitchen. Jill was at the stove, making hot dogs in a large soup pot. But they weren’t hot dogs.
They were fingers.
“DAVID!”
Christopher turned to see David Olson walk from the living room. The hissing lady pounded on the door. David flinched. Terrified. David reached for the dead bolt. Christopher was about to run back to stop him. The nice man grabbed Christopher’s shoulder.
“She can’t know David helped us. She’ll kill him,” he whispered.
Christopher nodded and followed the nice man outside.
“She’ll search the streets first,” he said. “Follow me.”
The nice man limped, leading Christopher through the backyards. A huge deer ran out of a doghouse, howling bl
oody murder at them. The deer leapt for the nice man’s throat. Until the chain yanked it back, and the deer landed on the slush-covered ground, whimpering.
“Guard dog,” the nice man said. “Come on.”
Christopher walked behind the nice man. They crept into a backyard. Next to a tire swing. Christopher heard the pitter-pat of feet.
He turned and saw Jenny Hertzog.
Dressed in her nightgown.
Hiding in the backyard.
Freezing to death.
He wondered if Jenny would ever believe what was happening in the backyard she used as a hiding place. Soon, the cold became too much. He saw Jenny Hertzog open the back door of her house and creep into the kitchen. The nice man gestured, and Christopher followed behind her. The house was smoky and dark. Jenny tiptoed into her entry hall, trying to go undetected. Her stepmother was in the living room. Asleep. Her Marlboro Red smoking in the ashtray. A daytime talk show was on. They were doing paternity tests.
“You ARE the father,” the host said.
Jenny crept up the stairs without waking her stepmother. She passed her stepbrother’s room. Quiet. She was just about to turn the corner when his door opened. He was older. With angry acne. And braces that he kept licking with his tongue.
“Jenny, you weren’t in bed. Where have you been?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“I thought you were too sick to go to school. I stayed home to take care of you,” he said.
She froze.
“So, let me take care of you,” he said. “That nightgown is too small. Floods. Floods.”
“Shut up, Scott,” she finally said, defiantly.
“Don’t tell me to fucking shut up, you slut. Come here.”
Defeated, she went into his room and closed the door behind her. Christopher put his ear to the door and heard nothing other than music. Scott was playing an old song. Blue Moon. Christopher grabbed the doorknob to help Jenny.
“Don’t. It’s a trap,” the nice man said.
But it was too late. Christopher opened the door. Standing inside were a dozen deer. Their fangs exposed. They rushed at the door. The nice man slammed it shut.
BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.
The nice man raced Christopher through the house and opened the side door. There they saw…
…a baby basket.
A mailbox person held it. Thick zippers kept his eyes closed, but the black stitches on his mouth were just loose enough to sound the alarm. The mailbox person opened his mouth through the stitches and made the sound of a baby crying.
“Waaaaaaaaa!”
The nice man grabbed Christopher’s hand. He dragged him past the mailbox person, toward the street. They ran together down the lawn. The hissing lady ran up the driveway, chasing after them. David Olson crawling like a dog behind her.
“STOP HIM!”
Her voice boomed through the street. The mailbox people fanned out through the neighborhood. Groping blindly with their arms outstretched. Hunting for the escaped prisoner. They made a solid wall along the street. Blocking both sides.
“We can’t make it!” Christopher said.
“Hold on to me,” the nice man said.
The nice man summoned all his strength. Just as he and Christopher were about to smash into the wall of mailbox people, the nice man jumped. They hurdled the mailbox people and landed safely on the street.
“STOP HELPING HIM!” she cursed the nice man.
The hissing lady jumped after them, trying to grab the nice man, but she missed. She landed on the street. Her feet started to smoke and burn. Leaving liquid skin on the pavement like a chemical spill. She peeled herself off the asphalt and dragged herself back to the lawn. Screaming in pain like a deer that had been hit by a car.
“She will heal in a minute,” the nice man said. “Hurry.”
The nice man ran with Christopher down the street. They raced past the mailbox people, each holding the string of the next, going on for miles with no end in sight. Christopher could feel the nice man’s energy through his skin. The healing spreading across his body like static electricity on a wool sweater. The nice man closed his eyes, his eyeballs shifting back and forth under his eyelids like he was dreaming. In seconds, he jumped over the mailbox people again.
“How did you do that?” Christopher asked.
“I’ll teach you.”
They moved off the street and disappeared into the Mission Street Woods. The nice man led him down a path. The deer crashed the trail behind them. Nipping at their feet. A team of cats with two little mice. The nice man made a sharp left past the billy goat bridge. The sleeping man popped his head out of the hollow log.
“They’re here!” the man screamed in his sleep.
The nice man jumped over the log and led Christopher down a narrow path of dead, jagged branches. The deer behind them got wedged in the bottleneck. The hollow log man screamed as the deer dragged their tongues across his face like a salt lick. Drowning him in spit. Right before they began to eat his face.
“Don’t look at them,” the nice man said.
They left the narrow path and ran across the clearing. To the tree. The nice man collapsed on the ground, straining to breathe. Exhausted.
“We only have a few seconds,” the nice man said. “She knows you helped me now. She will do anything to get you back here.”
“Then come with me,” Christopher said.
“I can’t. The hissing lady has the only key. I can’t leave here without it. Neither can David.”
A great shriek went up to the heavens as the hissing lady searched the woods.
“So, let’s get the key. I’m invisible now. I can handle her,” Christopher said.
“Listen to me,” he barked. “However strong you become, she is stronger. And the next time she catches you, you will never get away. So, focus your mind. Do not daydream or fall asleep. I will work with David to get the key. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come back.”
“But I came here to save you.”
“You did. Now go.”
The nice man grabbed Christopher and pushed him up the tree. Plank by plank. Baby tooth by baby tooth. He reached the tree house door just as the hissing lady jumped into the clearing with David and the deer.
“STOP HELPING HIM!”
The nice man jumped down and rushed away into the shadows. The hissing lady ran at the tree. Christopher dragged his body into the tree house and quickly closed the door behind him.
Within seconds, the cotton candy air turned back to frozen December. Christopher opened the door and looked back down at the clearing. The hissing lady was gone, along with the rest of the imaginary people. He was back to the real side.
And Christopher had rescued the nice man.
Chapter 50
The moment Christopher came back from the imaginary side, he felt the price of his new powers. The tearing of the chain was now a throbbing in his hands. The lifting of the nice man to the window was now a pain in his shoulders that felt like torn ligaments.
But the worst was the headache.
It felt like a knife pushing his eyes through his eyelids. Compelling him to walk. Take a step. Take the next step.
He had to keep going.
He had to get back to school.
He climbed down the ladder and grabbed the white plastic bag from the low-hanging branch. He put it in his pocket for safety. Then, he limped his way back through the snow to school, making only one stop.
Jenny Hertzog’s house.
He walked up to the door, rang the bell, then ran away. He knew that would be enough to wake up Scott’s mother and buy Jenny Hertzog one more afternoon of peace.
He finally arrived at school five minutes before the final bell. Christopher snuck back in through the open window in the boys’ bathroom. Then, he waited outside his homeroom until the bell rang and the hallway was flooded with students.
“Where have you been all day?” Ms. Lasko asked him suspiciously.
“I’ve been in class all day, Ms. Lasko. Don’t you remember?”
Christopher smiled and sweetly touched her hand. Letting a little heat move from his fingers to hers.
“Yes,” she said. “You’ve been in class all day. Good work, Christopher.”
She patted the top of his head, and his brain soaked up the entire day’s lesson plan like a sponge.
Ms. Lasko is…
Ms. Lasko is…going straight to the bar after work.
Christopher went home on the bus and sat behind Mr. Miller, the bus driver.
Mr. Miller called…his ex-wife.
Mr. Miller is…going to spend Christmas with his children this year.
“Hello, Mr. Miller.” Christopher smiled.
“Sit down. Don’t distract me!” the man barked.
Christopher went home, where his mother was waiting for him with hot bread and chicken soup. He made sure not to eat the bread. Because he knew he would have to stay awake until the nice man told him it was safe.
My mom’s arm…
My mom’s arm…still hurts from the hissing lady’s coffee.
“How was school today, honey?” she asked.
“It was okay,” he said.
I can’t tell…
I can’t tell…my mom or the hissing lady will hear.
“What did you learn?” she asked.
“Not much,” he said, then recounted a few details from Ms. Lasko’s lesson plan.
My mom doesn’t know…
My mom doesn’t know…I will do anything to keep her safe.
That night, when his mother went to sleep, Christopher slipped down into the kitchen. He grabbed the milk carton and poured a big glass of milk. He looked at Emily Bertovich’s picture, searching for any clue as to whether or not the hissing lady was watching him.
But all he saw was Emily smiling.
He put Emily back, then quietly searched the cupboard and found some Oreo cookies. He put them on a paper plate. Then he grabbed the loaf of Town Talk white bread and chipped ham and made a sandwich with lettuce and mayonnaise. He put the evidence away and tiptoed down to the basement.
Imaginary Friend Page 28
