Imaginary Friend

by Stephen Chbosky

  “She’s at the front door, Mom!”

  Christopher’s mother held her son in her arms and rushed downstairs. She fished out her car keys and opened the door to the garage. The house dropped ten degrees. She ran into the garage and unlocked the car. She sat Christopher in the front seat.

  “She’s in the house!”

  Pebbles hit the garage door as the wind picked up outside.

  She threw the suitcases next to the emergency road kit and the Giant Eagle groceries that she’d never unpacked. She came back to the driver’s side and climbed in. She hit the garage door opener.

  “Mom, she’s in the garage!”

  Christopher’s mother turned but saw nothing. She looked over at him. His eyes started to droop.

  “Mom, I feel so…sleepy.”

  “No!” she barked. “Stay awake. You hear me? Stay awake until we are far away from this place!”

  She flipped the key. The gears ground. The car wouldn’t start. She tried again. The ignition caught, and the car roared to life. The garage door opened. Christopher’s mother threw the car into reverse, then turned back to look through the rear windshield.

  That’s when she saw the old woman from the log cabin.

  “Where are you taking him?!” she screamed.

  The old woman rushed at the car. She tried to open Christopher’s door. Christopher’s mother hit the automatic locks.

  “Where is my husband? We swam in the Ohio River together. He was such a beautiful boy!”

  The old woman put her hands on Christopher’s window. Christopher’s mother hit the gas and tore back through the driveway. The old woman’s daughter left the log cabin and ran to the driver’s-side window, chasing the car like a dog. Christopher’s mother hit the gas and raced down the street. Jenny Hertzog ran out of her house.

  “Stop coming in my room! I’ll drown you in Floods!” Jenny screamed.

  Christopher’s mother gunned the car past David Olson’s old house on the corner. Jill was outside with her husband, Clark. They had moved the crib from the upstairs bedroom to the porch. Clark held Jill while she sobbed furiously.

  “We asked you for a baby! Where is our baby?!” she shrieked.

  Christopher’s mother raced out of the neighborhood. Away from the madness. Away from the Mission Street Woods. She looked down at the gas gauge. It was near empty. She knew that if the grocery store was picked clean, the gas station wouldn’t be far behind. She looked over at Christopher sitting in the front seat. His eyes were shutting.

  “No, honey! She wants you to sleep! Fight her!”

  She rolled down the windows. The air was freezing. It made her knuckles ache, but it did the trick. Christopher opened his eyes. They passed the gas station near the elementary school, but the line ran all the way down Route 19. Angry customers honked their horns and shouted at each other. She had to find something off the beaten path. She remembered there were two gas stations next to Kings Restaurant on McMurray Road. Only locals would know they were there. She turned off near the high school and headed straight for them. One of them was closed. One of them was practically empty.

  It was a miracle.

  Christopher’s mother pulled into the gas station. She got out of the car and went to the pump. She swiped her card. Declined. She took out the Visa. Declined. American Express. Declined. She cracked open the fake aerosol can and pulled out five twenties. She raced inside the Mobile Mart. There was a teenage boy on the phone.

  “Where’s the party?” he asked his friend. “Is Debbie Dunham there yet?”

  Christopher’s mother grabbed a case of Coke and the last gallon of water. She threw the cash down on the counter.

  “Pump seven,” she said. “And I’d like a gas can.”

  The teenage kid flipped on the pump and gave her the last red gallon can. Just as she rushed out of the Mobile Mart, she heard the boy laugh into the phone.

  “That girl is such a slut.”

  Christopher’s mother rushed back to the car and gave her son one of the cans of Coke.

  “Drink it, honey. It’ll help you stay awake.”

  He cracked open the can and drank. She started pumping the gas. She quickly pulled out her phone. Call the sheriff and warn him. Call all the mothers and Ambrose and Mary Katherine and her friends at Shady Pines.

  She looked down at the phone.

  No bars. No service.

  She would try calling again on the road. She would try all the way to West Virginia. She filled her tank, then topped it off. Then, she filled the red plastic can with one more gallon of gas. She knew this might be her last stop for a long time. She threw the gas can in the trunk and climbed back into the car.

  “Mom? Am I asleep or awake?”

  “You’re awake, honey. Don’t sleep yet. She wants you to sleep.”

  “Mom, I don’t know where I am.”

  “I know, but I do. And I won’t let you out of my sight.”

  Christopher’s mother hit the ignition. She pulled away from the gas station and climbed onto the street. The wind had knocked a tree down on Fort Couch Road, so she turned around and headed west. Past the high school. There was a shortcut to the highway. She could get on it and be in West Virginia in less than an hour.

  “Drink your Coke.”

  “I did.”

  “I know you’re sleepy, honey. But you have to fight!”

  “I just need to get in the backseat and sleep.”

  “We’ll be in West Virginia in an hour. Then, you can sleep for days.”

  “The hissing lady will never let me go, Mom.”

  “Put your seat belt back on!”

  “Don’t worry. The nice man said he’d find me. I won’t be alone.”

  He was too weak to move to the backseat. He closed his eyes. She shook her son frantically.

  “NO! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!”

  She grabbed the gallon of water and poured it on his head. His eyes snapped open. She gave him another Coke. His arms were too weak to hold it.

  “Mom,” he said.

  “What, honey?” she asked.

  “She’s going to turn to avoid the deer.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t be mad at her. This was all meant to happen.”

  He touched her hand and calmly turned to the passenger-side window just as the deer ran in front of Mary Katherine’s car. Mary Katherine turned to avoid the deer and Christopher’s mother saw the two headlights rush right at her son in the passenger seat.

  Christopher’s mother looked out at the headlights. She could feel the tickle he left behind on her hand as time stopped.

  Christopher was right.

  This was all meant to happen.

  She saw every coincidence strung together like popcorn around a Christmas tree. She could have unpacked the groceries, but they were still in the car. She could have lost her keys, but they were still in her pocket. One second here. Two minutes there. There could have been a line at the gas station. Or no more gas. Or a credit card that worked instead of cash from a fake aerosol can.

  But that’s not what happened.

  Because it didn’t want to stop her from leaving.

  It wanted her to be on the road.

  In that spot.

  At exactly 2:17 a.m.

  When Mary Katherine’s car turned to avoid the deer

  and crashed through the passenger-side door.

  Part V

  Asleep

  Chapter 65

  Christopher, it’s so nice to see you again,” the voice said.

  Christopher opened his eyes. He was in a hospital bed. A nurse stood above him, humming to herself. She was preparing a sponge bath. Her eyes looked familiar, but the white surgical mask covered her face.

  The calm voice spoke again. “That’s it. Don’t be afraid.”

  Christopher couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from. He looked around the room. The door to the bathroom was closed. He listened, but he couldn’t tell if the voice was coming from behind
the door. Was that breathing? Was that scratching?

  “Oh. I’m not in the bathroom. I’m up here, buddy.”

  Christopher looked up and saw Bad Cat staring at him from the TV. It was one of Christopher’s favorite episodes. The one where Bad Cat uses the fire hydrant to turn the neighborhood street into a water park. But the episode was all wrong. The fire hydrant wasn’t shooting water.

  It was shooting blood.

  “Hi, Christopher,” Bad Cat said. “Gosh, it’s been a while. I’ve missed you a ton. How are you, buddy?”

  Bad Cat smiled. His teeth were razor-sharp. Covered in meat. Christopher tried to sit up, but he was strapped down tight. He looked at his wrists and ankles. They were tied to a gurney with balloon strings.

  “Don’t fight, Christopher. We’re trying to help you. We just need to know where he is, buddy.”

  Christopher panicked. He looked around the room for any escape. Bars blocked the windows. Was this the imaginary side? A nightmare? Where was he? How did he get here?

  “Sorry, Christopher. We don’t like locking you in, but we can’t let you run away again until we find him. Gosh, no, we can’t.”

  Christopher looked at the floor. It was stamped with bloody footprints. All shapes. Sizes. Men. Women. Mostly children. It looked as if people had been staring at him the way they would an animal at the zoo.

  “Just tell us where he is, Christopher, and we’ll let you go.”

  Christopher looked back at the television. Bad Cat made his tongue clack like playing cards in a bicycle tire. Tick tock. Tick tock. Then, somehow, he reached his claws out of the television and changed the channel. Christopher saw himself on the television now. Strapped to the bed. The nurse dipped the sponge into the bucket. When she brought the sponge back out and squeezed it, Christopher saw it was dripping blood like a bleeding heart. On the television, the door opened. Bad Cat walked to his bed.

  “Hey, buddy,” he said, leaning over. “Do you know where you are? Where do you think you are?”

  Christopher thought he was on the imaginary side. Right? He had been here before. But how did he get here? Or was this a nightmare? Or was this both? Or neither?

  “Where am I? That’s what you’re thinking, buddy. I can smell it on you. You didn’t fall asleep, so this isn’t a dream. No no no. You didn’t go into your little tree house, either. But still, here you are. Yes yes yes. There are four ways in. Three ways out. You know two. We know more. She has the key. But where is the door?”

  Bad Cat brought his paw to Christopher’s forehead and began to pet him as if Christopher were the house cat. Not the other way around.

  “I’ll tell you how to get out, buddy. But you have to tell me where he is first,” Bad Cat purred. “Four ways in. Three ways out.”

  Christopher’s mind raced. The tree house and a nightmare. Those were two of the four ways into the imaginary side. What were the other two? He tried to remember how he got here. All he remembered was a bright light. And screaming.

  “This is your last chance, buddy. We don’t want to hurt you. Gosh, no, we don’t. But if you don’t tell us where he is, we’re going to have to cut the words right out of your body.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I think you do, buddy.”

  “I don’t! He ran away!” Christopher pleaded.

  “No. You helped him escape. There’s a big difference. He was going somewhere. He must have said where he was going.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think real hard, Christopher. You must have a plan to meet up. Where will you meet him, buddy?”

  There was no plan to meet. But he had to think of something fast. So, he lied.

  “At the school.”

  “You’re a bad liar, buddy.”

  “I’m not lying!”

  Bad Cat dropped his smile. He let out a deep, resigned sigh.

  “Nurse, please prepare him for surgery.”

  The television turned off, taking Bad Cat with it. The nurse took the bloody sponge and started to scrub Christopher’s arms and chest with it.

  “Please, ma’am. Help me,” he whispered to the nurse.

  The nurse did not respond. She just kept humming. She finished the bloody sponge bath, then unlocked the gurney and wheeled Christopher out into the hallway.

  “Where are we going?!” he asked. “Where am I?! Is this the imaginary side?!”

  The nurse said nothing. She just kept humming that tune. Blue Moon. She pushed Christopher down the hallway. The gurney wheels turned. One of them was crooked like a clubfoot. Squeak squeak squeak.

  They passed a hospital room. Mr. Henderson sat up in bed, holding his bloody throat, trying to scream. But no words came out. Just blood. It poured from his neck in tiny bubbles, which floated like balloons in the air until they popped, letting out little screams. Suddenly the hospital loudspeaker woke up like an old radio filling with electricity. There was a moment of terrible feedback, and then the terrifying voice echoing through the hallway.

  “Tick tock, buddy. You’re almost there,” Bad Cat said.

  The nurse kept pushing the gurney. Squeak squeak squeak.

  “This is your last chance, buddy. Oh gosh, yes it is. Tell us where he is, and we won’t go into the next room.”

  “Where are we going?!”

  “Oh, you don’t want to see it, buddy. I’m counting to three. You ready? One. Two.”

  The nurse pushed the gurney toward a door. Squeak squeak squeak.

  “Three!”

  The door opened. Christopher was suddenly blinded. He looked around at moaning and slobbering faces lost in the flare of a bright light. His eyes slowly adjusted, and he saw that the faces belonged to children. All of their teeth were missing. The kids sat in a circle like ring-around-the-rosy. The center of the circle was completely clear with a large bright light hanging high above a cold, metal table filled with instruments.

  He was in an operating room.

  A doctor waited for him in full surgical scrubs, his face covered by a white mask. Christopher couldn’t see the doctor’s eyes. The nurse pushed Christopher through the circle as the children surrounded him. Their eyes glowing.

  Christopher turned away, terrified. The kids began to howl, jumping up and down like monkeys at a zoo. They tried to scream “Just tell us where he is, Christopher!” but with no teeth, they sounded hideous.

  “Juuuu elll uuussss whhherree hee izzzz chriiiituuuhhheer!”

  The nurse wheeled Christopher into the middle of the operating room. She locked the gurney wheels right next to the cold metal table. The doctor held up his hand, asking the room for silence. The kids obeyed. The doctor slowly walked to Christopher on the gurney. His shoes made an echo with each step in the silent room. The doctor held up his scalpel, silver and gleaming.

  “Christopher,” the doctor said in Bad Cat’s voice. “We don’t want to hurt you, buddy, but we need a worm to catch the fish. Just tell us where he is, and it all goes away. We don’t want to have to do this. Oh gosh, no we don’t.”

  Christopher looked over and saw David Olson on the cold metal table. David’s eyes were closed. Was he asleep? Was he dead? Did she find out that David helped the nice man escape? Was this his punishment? Was David being tortured?

  “Christopher, we’re running out of time. So, if you don’t tell us where he is, we’re going to cut out your tongue. Maybe it’ll start talking, buddy.”

  Christopher searched the crowd, hoping to find his friends. His mother. The nice man coming to save him. But he was all alone.

  “Oh, nobody can help you,” the doctor said. “Not until you tell us where he is.”

  The whites of the doctor’s eyes started to change as if someone were pouring black paint into them.

  “So, use your tongue, or I’ll cut it out,” the doctor said.

  “I don’t know where he is! I swear!” Christopher said.

  The doctor sighed. “Very well. Nurse…the gas, please.”

  The nurse nodded
and wheeled over the gas tank. She took the plastic mask and opened the valve, which let the vapor out in a long snaky hsssssssssssss. She brought it to Christopher’s mouth. He turned his head.

  “NO! You won’t put me to sleep!” he shrieked.

  “This gas doesn’t put you to sleep, Christopher. It makes you extra awake. We want you to feel this.”

  The nurse slammed the plastic mask down over his mouth and nose. The children jumped up and down, howling. Christopher held his breath, struggling against the mask. The doctor waited patiently for him to breathe. Christopher’s face turned red. His lungs felt like they would collapse. He finally couldn’t take another second of it.

  Christopher took a deep breath.

  The gas hit his lungs. Within seconds, he felt AWAKE! His eyes opened as if he’d eaten a million Pixy Stix. He tried to stop, but he filled his lungs with more and more gas, making his heart feel like it would explode. But there was something else he could sense. The gas reminded him of something. It smelled like…it smelled like…

  It smelled like old baseball gloves.

  Christopher looked back to the room, and that’s when he saw her.

  It was his mother.

  She was dressed in the same outfit she wore when she was driving the car. Yes. The car. That’s where I was. Her forehead was cut. Windshield glass in her hair. From the accident. And now she was crawling on the floor like a soldier. Past the kids screaming like monkeys. Using the shadows of their bodies to hide herself from the light.

  Just as the doctor brought the scalpel to Christopher’s tongue, Christopher’s mother leapt up and rushed at him.

  “Get away from him!” she shrieked.

  Christopher’s mother slammed her body into the nurse and grabbed the scalpel out of the doctor’s hand. She drove the scalpel into his shoulder. The doctor screamed as his lab coat turned from white to a dark blood red. Christopher’s mother unlocked the gurney. The children rushed at her, trying to stop the escape, but Christopher’s mother was faster. She pushed the gurney out of the operating room.

  “Are you okay, honey? Are you hurt?” Christopher’s mother asked.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Just get to the street!”