Imaginary Friend - Stephen Chbosky Page 0,60

I promise we’ll keep your mother safe. No fuss. No muss.”

“How?” Christopher said.

Bad Cat looked left and right. Trying to see out of the TV like looking around a blind corner.

“Oh, gosh. Christopher, I’m afraid we’re almost out of time. I’ll tell you how to keep your mother safe, but I need to ask you one question first, okay?”

Christopher nodded. Bad Cat narrowed his eyes.

“How did you find the skeleton, buddy?”

Christopher’s heart began to pound.

“What?” he said.

“Somebody showed you where the skeleton was, right? Who’s helping you? Oh, gosh, we need to know.”

“Nobody,” Christopher lied.

“I don’t think that’s altogether true. I think somebody told you about that old skeleton. I need to know who told you, buddy. Oh, gosh, I do. Because it’s getting bad in here. She’s so mad right now. My gosh…is she ever mad.”

“Who?”

“Sorry. We’re not allowed to tell you that, buddy, or we’ll get in trouble. She keeps giving people boo-boos to find out who’s helping you. All that screaming really hurts my ears. So, it would sure make things a lot nicer in here if you’d just tell us how you found the skeleton. You can tell old Bad Cat. It’ll be our little secret.”

“Nobody told me. I was digging for treasure.”

“Gee whiz, that is fucking disappointing, buddy. That’s the same lie you told to the sheriff and your mom. You don’t want to be like Pinocchio, do you? Lies made his nose grow. Do you want to know what your lies will do?”

“What?”

“If you don’t tell me who is helping you, something bad will happen to your mother.”

Christopher’s throat closed, like the time he tried to swallow a marble and almost choked. His face turned red.

“What will happen to her?” he asked.

“I can’t tell you, but if you turn up the TV, I can show you. Would you mind turning up the volume on the TV?”

Christopher held the remote and turned the volume up.

“Gosh, no, Christopher. Not on the remote. On the actual TV. Or else it doesn’t work.”

Christopher hesitated, but he had to know what would happen to his mother. He slowly walked to the television.

“That’s it, buddy. It’s okay. I won’t bite.”

Christopher reached out his hand to the volume button. Bad Cat’s eyes glowed. He licked his lips.

“Gosh, we can’t wait to meet you, buddy. She’s going to show you everything.”

Bad Cat started to reach his paw across the screen. Closer to the volume button. Closer to Christopher.

“All you have to do is touch the screen, and we’ll save your mother together. Cross my heart. Hope to dieeeeee.”

Christopher reached out his hand as Bad Cat reached out his paw. They were centimeters away. Their fingers almost touching. The headache began to go away. And Christopher could feel the Zzzz.

“Christopher!” his mother yelled. “What did I tell you about sitting so close to the TV?”

Christopher opened his eyes and turned around. It was his mother. Dressed in her bathrobe. She looked confused. His nose was literally an inch from the television.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he said.

“All right. Well, finish breakfast at the table like a normal person. I didn’t raise an ape.”

Christopher nodded and turned back to the TV. Bad Cat was no longer staring at him. He was being chased by the butler.

“Come back here, Gato!”

“That’s Mr. Gato to you, Raoul,” Bad Cat said. Then, he ran into the sewer, bringing the delicious fish with him.

Christopher sat at the kitchen table and ate his cereal while his mom made herself scrambled eggs. He looked at her, terrified as to what would happen to her. He would have said something, but now he knew something was watching him.

Either that, or he was completely insane.

Christopher wanted to believe that all of this was just a figment—not a Fig Newton—of his imagination. Especially Bad Cat. He hoped that he was just a crazy person like his father. And the blinding headache was just the lightning that used to make “Daddy dance funny.” That’s what Mom used to call it when Dad had seizures. Dad took pills for them, and sometimes the pills would make it so he wouldn’t get out of bed for weeks. Mom took care of him, but she had to work late at the restaurant.

That’s when he died in the bathtub.

Late that night, after his mother turned off Saturday Night Live, Christopher snuck out of the house and went to the Mission Street Woods. He ignored the breath that played hide-and-seek with the wind and sprinted to the tree.

“Are you there?” he asked

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