tree house and saw that his body was still there. To the deer, it looked like he was still in the tree house on the real side. Just a little boy playing alone.
But in here, he was invisible.
“The more time you spend in the imaginary world, the more powerful you will become,” the nice man had told him. “But the power will come at a price.”
Christopher waited for the deer to move on, then he quietly opened the card. He hoped to find a note from the nice man, but all he saw was the caption that came with the card…
WHEN YOU CAN’T SEE THE LIGHT…
JUST FOLLOW YOUR NOSE!
Christopher began to walk.
He moved out of the clearing and into the woods. He found the footpath, clean and smooth. He followed it until he reached the hollow log near the billy goat bridge. There, he saw the man wrapped inside like a pig in a blanket. The man was asleep. His eyes twitching. Whimpering like a child:
“Please make it stop. I’m not helping him.”
Christopher looked around to see if the hissing lady was near. But he couldn’t see anyone. So, he quietly backed away from the man in the hollow log and took off running. He rushed out of the Mission Street Woods, his boots slapping the muddy trail, until he reached the cul-de-sac in front of his house.
Christopher scanned his street, looking for a clue. In the fading daylight, his street looked like the old negatives from the picture of his dad. It was his neighborhood. But the left was right. And the right was left. And the sun was a lightbulb after a long stare, leaving traces of itself behind.
He was looking at the world from the other side of a one-way mirror.
He saw Mary Katherine running through his backyard. She was panicked.
“CHRISTOPHER!” she screamed. “WHERE ARE YOU?!”
Mary Katherine is…watching the deer.
Mary Katherine doesn’t know…the deer are watching her.
Mary Katherine raced into the Mission Street Woods past the deer. Christopher turned back to the street and saw the man in the Girl Scout uniform. The man was sleepwalking, turning around and around like water leaving a drain. His body twitching, whimpering:
“Please make it stop. I’m not helping him.”
Christopher didn’t know where to go or what to do. The daylight was fading. Mary Katherine would find him. He was running out of time. He opened the Christmas card again.
WHEN YOU CAN’T SEE THE LIGHT…
JUST FOLLOW YOUR NOSE!
He looked up and saw the clouds drifting. For a moment, he remembered a handsome pretty face made of clouds. Christopher felt the wind in his hair. And under the wind, barely detectable, was the smell of grilled cheese sandwiches.
WHEN YOU CAN’T SEE THE LIGHT…
JUST FOLLOW YOUR NOSE!
It was coming from the log cabin across the street.
Christopher turned to the cabin and saw the old lady in the attic. He walked up the driveway. Cautious as a mouse. He didn’t know if he would find a clue or a trap or the hissing lady, but an instinct kept his feet moving. He opened the front door. The family was having an early dinner on the real side. He could smell tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches browning in the pan.
“Do you think Mom wants some?” the wife asked.
The words flooded into Christopher’s mind. He staggered. The itch was far more powerful on the imaginary side. Like a dentist’s drill wrapped in sandpaper.
He instantly understood that the husband hated his wife’s mother. The man wanted her to die just so they could have a life again. He was not a bad man. But he wondered what would happen if he only pretended to feed “the thing in the attic.” He would never do it, of course. But sometimes while he watched a Steelers game, he wondered how long it would take his mother-in-law to starve and give them some peace.
“Do you think Mom wants some?” the wife repeated, frustrated.
“I’m sure she’s hungry,” the husband said. “You want me to take her up a plate?”
“No. I’ll do it, just like I do everything else around here,” the wife huffed.
I offered. What the fuck do you want from me? the husband thought in silence.
God, why doesn’t he just ask me to do it with him? the wife thought in silence.
The wife went to the kitchen. Christopher quietly moved upstairs to the attic. The old lady was turned to the window in a wicker chair. Rocking back and forth and back and forth. Like a metronome on a