Imaginary Friend

by Stephen Chbosky

  Christopher’s mother stopped.

  “I’ll always love you, honey,” she said. “Tell me.”

  “Mom…” he said. Christopher looked up at her. His voice was shaking with fear. Tears started to wet his eyes. They fell on his face like water on a hot skillet. “The nice man wants me to tell you something.”

  Don’t listen to this, Kate.

  “Tell me what, Christopher?”

  Her little son took a deep breath and turned to the white plastic bag for strength. Then, he nodded and spoke softly.

  “Mom…I know beer is not supposed to be on the rocks. I know everyone in your family was terrible to you except for one uncle. Uncle Robbie died when you were ten. Some men beat him up for being different.”

  His father told him, Kate. Give him the pill.

  “At his funeral, you promised that if you had a kid, you would always believe them. No one believed you when you were little. You told your mom, aunt, and grandmother. But no one stopped it. And when you were a little girl, you were so mad, you thought you could close your eyes and destroy the world. But you never tried because you didn’t know where you would live.”

  His father told him. You know that. Be strong.

  Christopher’s mother could feel an electricity rush through the house. She could smell ozone. Like lightning. Two clouds bumping together. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Her son felt electric, like a balloon after rubbing it on a sweater.

  “It’s okay. We’re going to get through this, honey. I promise,” she said.

  “You met Daddy when you were running away from home. You asked him to hit you when you first met because you thought no hitting meant no love. He didn’t do it. He held you instead. You thought you would never stop crying.”

  Your husband was crazy, Kate. He told your son everything. Give him the pill.

  “Mom…I know Daddy killed himself in the bathtub. I know you hurt a lot and hid most of it from me. You kept moving to get away from the blood, but it would never go away, so you kept moving. You felt really sad when you met Jerry. I know Jerry hit you, Mom. So, you took me away to keep me safe. Nobody ever did that for you.”

  “How do you know all that, honey?” she finally asked.

  “Because the nice man told me.”

  What the fuck is wrong with you, Kate? He’s crazy. Give him the pill!

  “He asked me to build a portal to the imaginary world to help him. Because the hissing lady is going to shatter the glass between their side and ours. We have to stop her, Mom! She’s dangerous. I was there in the kitchen with you and Jill. You thought you spilled your coffee, but it was really the hissing lady. She wants me to sleep. She wants me to lead her to the nice man and then kill me because I’m so powerful.”

  You want to lose another man? You want to be all alone again?

  “But every time I go to the imaginary side, it hurts me. That’s why my nose is bleeding. It’s not my blood. It’s your blood. It’s Dad’s blood in the bathtub. It’s Mrs. Keizer’s blood. Mom, please! I could feel the burn on your hand. I could feel all the old people at the pageant. The people in the hospital. I can feel all of their pain. All of their joy. What I know about people is killing me!”

  Did you hear that? It’s killing him, Kate! Give him the pill!

  Christopher’s mother stopped. She held her son and looked him right in the eyes.

  “What do you know about people, honey?”

  “Everything.”

  With that one word, Christopher fell into her body and began to weep. She held her son, who was too weak now to resist the pills. This was her chance.

  Give him the pill, Kate.

  Christopher’s mother held her little boy as he convulsed with sobbing. Shaking from the sleep deprivation. A lifetime of motherhood flooded through her. Every pillow turned to the cool side. Every grilled cheese sandwich made just the way he liked them.

  Give him the pill, Kate! Or you’re a terrible mother!

  Christopher’s mother stopped. She listened to the voice again.

  You’re a terrible mother, Kate. Now give him the pill!

  And that’s when she realized that it wasn’t her voice.

  It sounded like her. It was almost perfect. The tone was right. She could be negative to herself. She had an internal monologue that had said some ruthless things over the years.

  But…

  Kate Reese was not a terrible mother. She was great. Being Christopher’s mother was the only thing Kate Reese was ever great at. And some bitch was doing a perfect imitation of her voice to convince her otherwise. Something wanted Christopher to take those pills. Something wanted her son to sleep. Something wanted her son.

  “Who is that?” Christopher’s mother said out loud. “Who’s there?”

  The room was silent. But she could feel something creeping.

  “Mom, do you believe me now?” Christopher whispered.

  Christopher’s mother looked down at the bottle of pills in her hand. In one motion, she dumped the entire bottle of aripiprazole down the sink.

  “Yes, honey. Now, pack your things. We’re getting the fuck out of here.”

  Chapter 63

  Mary Katherine walked through the doors of the church. It was late, and the room was empty. The only light came from the streetlight pouring through the stained glass and a few candles lit by loved ones trying to keep family alive through faith. Otherwise, there was darkness. Mary Katherine dipped her fingers into the holy water and walked down the center aisle to the front. She crossed herself and sat in the pew usually reserved for the Collins family. But they weren’t here. Right now, there was only Mary Katherine and God.

  And the baby.

  Mary Katherine choked back the thought. She barely remembered driving here. She thought about the first pregnancy test turning blue. She knew she couldn’t be pregnant. It was impossible. So, she had convinced herself that the first test must have been defective. Yes. That was a much more reasonable explanation than a pregnant virgin. She’d torn open the next box and read the instructions by the light of her cell phone. With this brand, if there were two lines, she was pregnant. If there was one line, she wasn’t. She squatted and peed on the next stick and waited like a prisoner in front of a parole board. The next few minutes felt like an eternity. Waiting for the one line. Waiting for one line.

  Please, God. Make it one line.

  When the two lines came, so did the tears. She immediately tore open the final box and quickly read the instructions. A plus sign (+) meant that she was pregnant. A minus sign (–) meant that she could wake up from this nightmare and go back to her life as if none of this had ever happened. She found her mother’s bottle of water in the emergency kit and drank. And waited. After she peed on a stick for the third and final time, she looked at the test—God’s test—and promised to study hard. Get into Notre Dame. Get married. Have a career. Have children with her husband like every woman in her family had for generations. Just please, God, make it a minus sign (–). She prayed harder than her father had during all Notre Dame and Steelers football games put together when the quarterback threw a long pass at the end. What did they call that again?

  A Hail Mary.

  She looked down at the stick and saw the plus sign (+) in her hand like the gold cross around her neck. And she sobbed. God’s test was three for three. Father. Son. Holy Ghost. Mary Katherine would have a bump under her graduation gown. She would never be able to look at her graduation pictures. And once the admissions people heard, she would never get into Notre Dame.

  Mary Katherine didn’t know how long she’d sat there in the cold, weeping into her hands, but when she finally stood up, her knees were as sore as the passion play. She’d somehow managed her way to the car. And she somehow managed her way to the church. And now, she knelt down on the kneeling bench. She closed her eyes and prayed with all her heart.

  God, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did, but I know I did something wrong. Please tell me what I did,
and I’ll make it better. I swear.

  Silence. Her knees dug into the bench. She scratched her arm. She couldn’t stop scratching. Her phone buzzed with a text. The noise startled her. She couldn’t figure out who would text her this late. Maybe Doug woke up. Maybe her parents found her bed empty. She pulled out her phone. The text was from UNKNOWN.

  The text read…You peed on a stick, slut.

  Mary Katherine felt her heart go to her throat. “Mortified” was too small a word. Someone had been watching her from the woods.

  Her phone buzzed again…Hey, Virgin Mary. I’m talking to you.

  Mary Katherine deleted the texts. She wanted to make it all go away. She wanted to make herself go away.

  God. Please. I don’t understand why this is happening. Whatever I did to upset You, I promise to make it better. Just tell me what to do. I just need You to talk to me.

  Her phone buzzed again. I said I’m talking to you, slut.

  Mary Katherine stopped. She looked around the church. No one was there. She suddenly felt a terrible fear in the pit of her stomach. She shoved the phone in her pocket. The phone buzzed once. It buzzed twice. She finally couldn’t help herself. She looked.

  Why won’t you write me back?

  You think you’re too good for me?

  She typed back…who is this?

  Her phone buzzed…you know who.

  Her phone went silent. The room suddenly turned cold.

  Her phone buzzed again…I’m looking at you right now.

  Mary Katherine shrieked. She turned around in the church, but found nothing but the statue of Jesus and the saints frozen forever in stained glass. Suddenly every instinct told her to get out of this church. Get in the car. Now. Mary Katherine left the pew without crossing herself. She rushed down the aisle. Something was wrong. She could feel the danger all around her. She opened the door to the church.

  Mrs. Radcliffe stood outside.

  Mary Katherine let out a scream. Mrs. Radcliffe was scratching her own arm. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her forehead was wet with fever.

  “What are you doing here, Mary Katherine? It’s almost two a.m.”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Radcliffe. I was just leaving.”

  Mrs. Radcliffe walked toward her. Scratching her arm.

  “There’s something different about you.”

  “I’m just nervous about Notre Dame. I came to pray. Merry Christmas.”

  Mary Katherine forced a smile and rushed into the parking lot. She didn’t care about what her parents would do anymore. She just had to get back home. She got in her car and turned on the ignition. She looked in the rearview mirror where Mrs. Radcliffe disappeared into the church. Mary Katherine didn’t know what she was doing here so late. Maybe she was sad. Maybe she wanted to light a candle for her family. All Mary Katherine knew for sure was that for some reason, Mrs. Radcliffe wasn’t wearing any shoes.

  Mary Katherine started driving.

  She knows, Mary Katherine. She’s going to remember when you threw up after taking Communion. You were pregnant with morning sickness and the Communion wafer tasted like the flesh of Jesus. That’s cannibalism. You’re disgusting.

  The inner voice was relentless. She looked down at the speedometer. She was driving 20 miles an hour. Her heart raced. She had to get home. Get safe. She put her foot on the gas.

  She saw you drink the wine. Do you really think that you drank God’s blood? That makes you a vampire. That’s insane. The church wouldn’t have cannibalism and vampirism. The church is beautiful. That makes no sense whatsoever.

  Mary Katherine looked in the rearview mirror. She saw the steeple of the church getting smaller. She didn’t notice, but she was now going 30 miles an hour. The voice inside her mind got louder, as if someone were turning up the TV.

  It’s not God’s fault this is happening. It’s yours. You’re the one who thought about sex. It doesn’t matter that you didn’t do it. You know the rules…to think it is to do it. So, you’re not a virgin at all. You’re a slut.

  Her phone buzzed. All the message said was…I’m still here, slut.

  Mary Katherine scratched her arm. She couldn’t stop scratching it and wondering who that was. She looked up at the sky. The clouds floated above her. The needle crawled up. 35 miles an hour. She just had to get home. 40 miles an hour.

  And now you want God’s forgiveness? After you threw up His body and blood. After you put Doug’s thing in your mouth. After you didn’t care about those old people because all you wanted to do was go to Notre Dame. After all of that, you think that God chose you? Go ahead, Mary Katherine. Go ahead and ask Him.

  “God,” she said quietly. “Am I having Your baby?”

  Her phone buzzed. There was nothing but a smiley face emoji, laughing at her. Mary Katherine looked at the sides of the road. The deer began to creep out from between the trees and through the yards. 50 miles an hour. She shook off the text and kept praying.

  “The reason I’m asking, God, is that um…that I’m thinking some very bad things. I can’t stop thinking about throwing myself down a flight of stairs. I keep wanting to hit my stomach to have a miscarriage. And I don’t want to think that anymore. So, just tell me, God. If I’m carrying Your child, make me hit a deer.”

  Her phone buzzed. This text had no words. Just that emoji, laughing. Mary Katherine started hyperventilating. She could see ahead on the road. The deer were gathering. Mary Katherine ran through a stop sign. Another and another. 60 miles an hour.

  “Please, this one time. Just tell me. Because I keep thinking about killing myself. I would never do it, but to think it is to do it. So, I just did it. Did I just do it? Did I just kill myself? Am I dead? Did I just sin now? Am I damned forever? If I’m damned forever, make me hit a deer.”

  Mary Katherine flew through a red light. She passed a speed limit sign that read 25. She just couldn’t get the sin off her. She couldn’t outrun it. No matter how fast she drove. She couldn’t get the sin clean. She looked down at the speedometer. 70 miles an hour.

  “God, please. I need You to tell me right now if I am having Your baby because I keep thinking about having an abortion. And that’s a mortal sin. But I keep thinking it, and if I keep thinking it, then I’m doing it. And I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to hurt Your child. Please! Please help me! God, if You want me to have an abortion, make me hit a deer. If You want me to kill myself. If You want me to die! If You want me to have Your baby! Just give me a sign, and I’ll do it! I’ll do anything for You, God.”

  Mary Katherine saw the red light up ahead. The deer watched her car from the side of the road. Rather than slowing down, she hit the gas harder. She flew into the intersection just as the light turned green. 80 miles an hour. 90 miles an hour.

  Her phone buzzed one last time. You’re going to die now, slut.

  When she hit 100 miles an hour, Mary Katherine felt the world go quiet. She had no idea why she was doing this, but it felt like someone else was pushing the gas pedal. Someone else was picking up her phone. Someone else was furiously typing a text back to that random person who was bullying her.

  WHO THE HELL IS THIS?! Mary Katherine typed.

  She put the phone back down.

  She was going 125 miles an hour.

  She did not see the deer in time.

  Chapter 64

  Christopher’s mother rushed through the house, throwing essentials into a suitcase. Food. Warm clothes. Batteries. Water. She could leave everything else. They could always come back for the rest. But when things got dangerous, she knew the smartest thing to do was run. And this was more than dangerous. Something in Mill Grove was making the town crazy.

  And it was killing her son.

  “We’re leaving in one minute!” she yelled down the hall.

  The wind howled outside. Christopher’s mother slid the closet door open. She grabbed all the winter clothes she could find and stuffed them into her suitcase. She was just about to close it when she saw the one designer outfit she bought
at the outlet mall. The one she wore on her date with the sheriff.

  The sheriff. You can’t leave the sheriff.

  It was the voice again. Imitating her. Trying to slow her down.

  “I’ll call him from the road,” she said out loud to make sure the thoughts were her own.

  She passed over the designer outfit and high heels to grab a thick scarf, boots, gloves, and a thousand dollars in cash hidden in plain view in a fake aerosol can. She threw it all in her suitcase, then hurried down the hallway to Christopher’s room. She found him sitting on his bed. His suitcase empty. He hadn’t packed any of his clothes. Only the one picture of his father.

  And the white plastic bag.

  “What are you doing?!” she asked.

  “Mom, the nice man says we shouldn’t go. Something bad will happen.”

  “Tell him I’m sorry, but we’re leaving.”

  “But, Mom—”

  “This isn’t a debate!” she yelled.

  She started filling his suitcase. Christopher held the white plastic bag to his ear like a seashell and listened. After a moment, he nodded and turned to his mother.

  “He says when you spoke out loud, the hissing lady heard. She won’t let you take me away, Mom!”

  “Watch me!” she yelled.

  A tree branch scratched at the window.

  “She’s coming, Mom.”

  The wind howled outside. A branch brushed against the window like little baby fingernails.

  “We’re leaving right now, Christopher!”

  Christopher’s mother snapped the suitcase shut and grabbed it with her right hand. Christopher with her left. Christopher looked at the white plastic bag.

  “Sir, you can’t help us if she catches you. Run!”

  He opened his bedroom window and threw the white plastic bag out. The wind took it like a kite. There were half a dozen deer milling about the backyard. They stopped nibbling on evergreens to start chasing the bag into the woods. There was a thud downstairs.