The Unimaginary Friend

by Guy Bass

  The Gorblimey tooted happily as he tucked into his fourth slice of birthday cake.

  “How long’s this been going on then?” Ben’s mother said, staring at Ben’s unimaginary friend in disbelief.

  “How long’s what been going on?” Ben asked.

  “Don’t play daft, Benjamin,” his mum said. “Has the Gorblimey always been real? Where have you been keeping him all this time?”

  “He’s just been in my head ’til now,” replied Ben.

  “Well, we can’t very well send him back there,” sighed Ben’s mum. “We’ll have to do a shop. What does he eat?”

  “He likes cake.” Ben grinned as the Gorblimey shoved another slice into his mouth. The Gorblimey chirped in agreement and nodded so fast that his candle flame went out. He let out a panicked peep, and stuck his fingers in his ears. The next moment his cheeks puffed out and the flame flickered back into life.

  “This’ll take some getting used to,” said Ben’s mum with a smile.

  “Now hang on, this is not the sort of thing you get ‘used to’,” said Ben’s dad. He’d looked pale and sweaty-browed since he first laid eyes upon the Gorblimey. “An imaginary friend is supposed to be just that – imaginary. Do you remember that awful girl you made up when you were six? Debbie, was it?”

  “Daisy,” Ben corrected him.

  “You blamed her for all sorts of terrible behaviour,” Ben’s dad continued. “It was a blessed relief when you finally forgot about her—”

  “I didn’t forget her,” Ben interrupted. “We moved house again and Daisy didn’t want to come with us.”

  “My point is your ‘friends’ are trouble enough when they’re just in your head … but real?” said Ben’s dad. “I mean, what if this thing is dangerous?”

  “Bob! What a thing to say!” said Ben’s mum as the Gorblimey honked in dismay. “Ben imagined him – doesn’t that make him our responsibility?”

  “I’m just trying to be sensible about this,” insisted Ben’s dad. “Don’t you think it’d be better off in a zoo than—”

  “A zoo? The Gorblimey’s not an animal!” Ben snapped. The Gorblimey let out a piercing squeal and panicked for the third time that day. Ben turned to see his friend vanish before his eyes. “Gorblimey! Where are you?”

  The faintest whistling sound filled the room. Ben looked down at the table. There, standing on the deck of the matchstick pirate ship, was the Gorblimey, his candle flame a bright blue. He was no bigger than a chocolate bar.

  “No way,” said Ben, peering down at his tiny unimaginary friend. “You can shrink. You can really shrink!”

  “Well, would you look at that, Bob – he’s in perfect scale with your ship,” said Ben’s mum with a smile. “Ahoy there, Gorblimey!”

  The Gorblimey made a sound like a ship’s whistle. His flame flickered orange-yellow and he saluted, before proudly pacing up and down the deck.

  “He … likes it?” said Ben’s dad as the Gorblimey chirped happily. “He likes my ship?”

  “And every ship needs a captain, doesn’t it?” said Ben’s mum, picking up the cake slice. “That settles it then – the Gorblimey is staying. Now, who wants another slice of—”

  There were three unnerving raps at the front door, then silence fell across the room.

  “Who’s that now?” Ben’s mum said at last. She headed for the door. “Probably one of the neighbours wondering what on earth’s going— Oh!”

  Ben’s mum stumbled backwards as the door swung open. There, standing in the doorway, was a tall, lean figure dressed in a long tailcoat and breeches and a three-peaked hat. His head lolled back to reveal his grinning skull of a face.

  It was the skeleton.

  No sooner had Ben’s dad spotted the skeleton at the door than he let out a scream so loud and shrill that next door’s skittish Schnauzer, Sullivan, started howling its head off.

  “Ah, yes, I am quite a sight,” the skeleton noted, a deathly smile fixed on his face. “I apologize if my appearance unsettles but skinless is how I came into this world, and skinless is how I remain.”

  Ben found himself holding his breath as he glanced back at the matchstick ship to see the shrunken Gorblimey duck behind a set of matchstick stairs leading to a matchstick poop deck.

  “My grandmother taught me not to judge a book by its cover but I’m not sure I can take any more surprises today,” said Ben’s mum, tightening her grip on the cake slice in her hand. “Now, who are you, and what do you want?”

  “My name is Keys … Skeleton Keys,” said the skeleton, taking off his hat and bowing deeply with a rattle of bones. “And I have come here for your son! Crumcrinkles, I only now hear how sinister that sounds…”

  “You leave Ben alone!” roared Ben’s dad. He grabbed the cake slice from Ben’s mum and brandished it like a weapon. Before anyone knew what was happening, he was racing towards the skeleton.

  “Dogs ’n’ cats! I am in no mood for rumbleshoving…” declared Skeleton Keys. He bent down on one knee and sunk his right index finger, impossibly, into the floor. His finger turned with a CLICK-CLUNK and, in an instant, a trapdoor materialized in the floor.

  “Bob, wait!” cried Ben’s mum, leaping to stop Ben’s dad, but as the pair collided the trapdoor swung open beneath their feet. They tumbled through it and vanished into darkness.

  “Mum? Dad!” shrieked Ben. “What did you do with them?” he demanded as the skeleton slammed the trapdoor shut.

  “Why, I transported them that-a-way, to the other end of your street!” replied Skeleton Keys. He waggled his forefinger. “I call this one the Key to a Quick Getaway … it opens doors where there are none. A handy little trick, pun intentional, that has saved me from many an unimaginable fate.” The skeleton glanced at his bony wrist as if looking at a watch. “I would say we have about two minutes to deal with your unimaginary problem…”

  “P-problem?” Ben asked nervously, glancing over to the matchstick ship to make sure the Gorblimey was well and truly hidden.

  “Fret not! Ol’ Mr Keys is a dab hand at dealing with unimaginaries,” Skeleton Keys declared, the words rattling out of his mouth. “Once upon a previous life, I too existed in the mind of a child … until the day her imaginings became so wild that I was suddenly as real as bad breath.”

  “You’re an imaginary friend?” asked Ben.

  “I was … though it has been an age since anyone called me ‘friend’,” replied Skeleton Keys with a sigh. He made his way to the fireplace and placed his hat on the mantelpiece. “These days I have a lonelier purpose – keeping a watchful eye socket on the recently unimagined! So, there I was, besnoozed at home in my Doorminion, when lo and behold, I got the twitch. It is always a confuddling feeling, the twitch – a most peculiar rattle of the bones! But it can mean only one thing – an IF has become unimaginary.” Skeleton Keys gazed into the fire and rubbed his eye sockets with his fingers. “But I only get this awful skull-ache if the unimaginary is dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?” repeated Ben. “But the Gorblimey isn’t—”

  “An IF is all very well when they exist in your mind but when they become unimaginary, that is a whole other bag o’ hamsters!” interrupted Skeleton Keys. He picked up an iron poker from the fireplace and jabbed at the burning logs. “If an unimaginary proves too dangerous for the real world, it is up to me to prevent chaos and calamity, not to mention catastrophe. So, where is he? Where is the beast that abducted you?”

  “I … I don’t understand,” Ben muttered, doing everything he could not to look at the pirate ship.

  “He must be close by – the twitch led me to your door,” explained Skeleton Keys. He swung round, waggling the little finger on his right hand. “Fret not! Ol’ Mr Keys can end his wild ways, for I have this!”

  “A finger?” Ben asked nervously.

  “No, this,” tutted the skeleton, pointing to his fingertip. Like the rest, it was shaped like a key. “For these fantabulant fingers o’ mine can open doors to hidden worlds a
nd secret places,” he added. “And this one is the Key to Oblivion.”

  “What’s Oblivion?” asked Ben as the Gorblimey stifled a fearful chirrup.

  “A prison of nothingness!” declared Skeleton Keys. “To be banished to the endless void of Oblivion is to disappear, to vanish … even from the faintest memory! Those who find themselves there are doomed to be forgotten. I am not going to lie, it is absolutely rubbish.”

  The Gorblimey couldn’t stop himself letting out the tiniest terrified toot. The skeleton spun on his heels towards the matchstick ship and loomed over it, his sunken sockets scanning every inch of the miniature deck. The tiny Gorblimey froze but it was too late – he’d been spotted. Skeleton Keys unfurled his long, key-like fingers, brandishing them like weapons.

  “Ah,” he said. “There you are.”

  “Ignoble creation of a child’s overactive imagination!” cried Skeleton Keys, rounding on the tiny Gorblimey as he backed away across the matchstick deck. “No more will you plague this poor stripling!”

  “But the Gorblimey’s not—” was all Ben managed to get out before the terrified Gorblimey let out his high-pitched whistle. With a tiny POOOOOOM! the minuscule monster leaped into the air and ricocheted off the ceiling, before bouncing around the room like a pinball.

  “Dogs ’n’ cats! He has a trick or two up his nose, this one!” shrieked Skeleton Keys, desperately trying to grab the Gorblimey as it whizzed around with a POOOOOOM! POOOOOOM! POOOOOOM!, shattering ornaments and light bulbs. “He is slipperier than sardines on a soap dish!” declared Skeleton Keys. “But I can be tricky too!”

  As the Gorblimey rebounded off one wall and headed for another, Skeleton Keys thrust the Key to a Quick Getaway into the wall and turned it with a CLICK-CLUNK. A doorway materialized in the wall and the skeleton swung it open. The Gorblimey was moving too fast to stop – he shot through the doorway and disappeared.

  “Gorblimey!” Ben shouted. A split second later, the transported Gorblimey reappeared through the kitchen doorway. Skeleton Keys was waiting for him – he stretched out a long arm and grabbed the flying Gorblimey as he zoomed past.

  “Gotcha!” cried Skeleton Keys, his little finger poised and ready. “Your reign of terror is over – Oblivion awaits!”

  “Wait!” Ben cried, the Gorblimey hooting in horror. “The Gorblimey isn’t dangerous! He’s my friend!”

  “Yes, he is a fiend!” the skeleton said. “Brute, release the child from your— Wait, did you say ‘friend’?”

  “Yes! The Gorblimey is my best friend!” cried Ben. Skeleton Keys froze, the Gorblimey still struggling in his grip.

  “Best … friend?” repeated Skeleton Keys. He suddenly lunged towards Ben, so close that Ben flinched backwards. “Are you sure? Blink twice and make the sound of a peacock if he is holding you against your will…”

  “What? No, he’s not!” cried Ben.

  “But the twitch is never wrong! Except that one time … twice if you count the incident with the unicorn,” mused Skeleton Keys.

  “Well, the Gorblimey is not dangerous – he’s not!” Ben said as firmly as he could. A dubious Skeleton Keys placed the monster carefully on the kitchen table and peered at it, his head cocked suspiciously to one side.

  “Miscreant monster, you clearly have this child spellbound,” Skeleton Keys cried, rolling his head from one side to the other. “The unimaginary must be a threat! A wild imagination runs in the family, and after what happened with your father…”

  “My dad?” Ben said as the skeleton trailed off. “What do you mean? What happened with my dad?”

  Skeleton Keys paused, and though his skull was fixed in a grim, expressionless visage, Ben was sure he saw a sudden look of sadness on the skeleton’s face.

  “That is a confuddling tale … and some things are best forgotten,” Skeleton Keys sighed. He peered wistfully at the pirate ship made from matchsticks, and added, “Though he still dreams of the sea, I see…”

  “I don’t understand,” Ben said. Then suddenly came the panicked cries of his mum and dad as they raced down the street towards the house.

  “I am afraid we are out of time, for the time being,” said Skeleton Keys. He loped over to a nearby chest of drawers and opened one of the drawers to find it filled with hundreds of matchboxes. He closed the drawer, slipped another key-shaped finger into its lock and turned with a CLICK-CLUNK.

  When he opened the drawer again, Ben noticed it was empty and as black as a night full of shadows. Skeleton Keys quickly clambered inside. “I shall take my leave for now … but I will be keeping my eye sockets on you, monster,” he said, eyeing the Gorblimey. “Should you be tempted to show your true colours, remember I am only ever a door away…”

  “Ben!”

  As Ben’s mum and dad burst through the front door, Skeleton Keys disappeared inside the drawer as if it were as deep as a well. It slammed shut, seemingly of its own accord. By the time Ben’s dad had wrenched it back open, Skeleton Keys was gone and the drawer was full of matchboxes once more.

  Ben’s dad upturned the drawer, spilling matchboxes all over the floor. Skeleton Keys had disappeared and the drawer was no longer a mysterious escape route. The drawer was just a drawer.

  “Ben!” cried Ben’s mum, rushing over to him. “Are you all right?”

  “Mum, I’m fiiiiine,” Ben protested, not enjoying being fussed over in front of his best friend – but loving the fact that he had a best friend to be embarrassed in front of.

  “What was that thing?” asked Ben’s dad, frantically pulling out the other drawers and scattering matches all over the floor. “What did he want? Did he say anything to you, Ben?”

  Ben collected the shrunken Gorblimey from the table. As he cradled his best friend in his palm, Ben decided there was no way he was telling his dad the real reason for Skeleton Keys’ visit. Instead he said, “He, uh, didn’t say anything much. But he knew who you were, Dad.”

  “Me?” said Ben’s dad, taken aback. “I think I’d remember meeting a living skeleton!”

  “You certainly went a funny colour when you saw him,” said Ben’s mum. “And you did an awful lot of screaming…”

  “He was a skeleton! Excuse me for being spooked! What was I supposed to do, ask him in for a cup of tea?” Ben’s dad glowered at his son. “Ben, I want you to promise me that if you ever meet the skeleton man again, you’ll run as fast as you can, do you understand?”

  “But—” Ben began.

  “Promise me!” snapped Ben’s dad. “Promise me, or it’s the zoo for your monster!”

  “Bob! Take that back!” Ben’s mum cried, but Ben was already picturing the Gorblimey locked in a cage in Grundy Island Zoo, afraid and alone but for the company of the zoo’s one sad giraffe.

  “I—” began Ben’s dad, but Ben let out a grunt, half nervous and half defiant, and backed away. Then, with the shrunken Gorblimey still cupped in his palm, he raced upstairs. He could already hear his parents arguing as he climbed the ladder to his bedroom.

  “Dad treats me like a kid,” Ben complained, placing the Gorblimey on his bed. The monster grew to normal size in an instant and let out a low gargling sound. “I know, but Dad treats me like a little kid – like I’m nine,” Ben replied. “He’s just jealous ’cause he hasn’t got any friends except Mum and she doesn’t count ’cause they’re married. He’d rather spend all day with that stupid matchstick boat…”

  The Gorblimey emitted a goose-like honk and gave Ben a huge, hairy hug. Ben got hair up his nose and laughed as he tried to stifle a sneeze.

  “You’re welcome!” he said. “I can’t believe Skeleton Keys thought you were dangerous. How could he—”

  The Gorblimey suddenly let Ben go and stepped back. He stared past Ben, his candle flame flickering blue once more.

  “Gorblimey? What is it?” Ben asked. The Gorblimey raised a hairy hand and pointed at the wall. Ben turned. Scrawled in pencil crayon and covering the entire wall were the words…

  Ben’s bl
ood ran cold.

  “What…?” he muttered. He turned to the Gorblimey. “Did … you write that?”

  The Gorblimey trumpeted like a hippo, a little offended by the suggestion, and then let out a shrill tweet.

  “Of course not – why would I write on my own wall?” Ben looked down at the floor. He picked up a pencil crayon and saw it was blunted. In fact, the floor was strewn with blunted pencils. Someone had flattened them all to nubs delivering their message.

  But who?

  “‘You forgot about me’,” Ben whispered, staring at the words on his wall. One way or another, he was sure the Gorblimey would get the blame. Before his mum came to check on him, Ben found a rolled-up poster under his bed that his dad had given him (for an old film entitled The Pirates of Octopus Island) and he and the Gorblimey stuck it up over the words on the wall.

  But it didn’t change the fact that someone had written them.

  Ben hadn’t slept a wink by the time the seagulls began their morning racket. The Gorblimey had spent the night curled up asleep on top of Ben’s wardrobe but it wasn’t the monster’s loud snoring that kept him awake – Ben’s mind raced with questions. Everything had taken a turn for the strange since he’d unimagined the Gorblimey but there was one thing Ben was sure of: he wasn’t about to give up the first real friend he’d ever had.

  “You need to be at school in thirty minutes, Ben Bunsen,” said Ben’s mum, poking her head up through the attic door. “How’s the new addition to the family?”

  “He snores,” replied Ben with a yawn. “A lot.”