I used to have an imaginary friend. I believe his name was Jeff, or Tom, or something along those lines. For the sake of this story though we're going to call him Tom.
I imagined Tom when I was around the age of six. He had sandy blond hair and brown eyes. He wore black leather, head to toe, and forever wore a smile.
I imagined him to be around the age of thirteen, the noblest and coolest of ages to a six-year-old child. I imagined him to drive a motorcycle, modern laws forgotten in a six-year-old mind. He'd drive that motorcycles all over the one-story farmhouse me, my mom, dad, and sister all lived in at the time. I remember chasing him, giggling in delight as he'd round the bends of hallways and curve through rooms.
My parents used to think it was cute, I and this pretend friend. But things took a turn for the worse in the end.
Much, much worse.
Before I start this story though, I should tell you about my dad. My dad at the time worked for the NYPD. He was away most of the time and left our mother to take care of us. My dad was a buff man. Tall and muscular, well over six and a half feet. He had tan skin, but kind brown eyes.
My mother was fair-skinned. With blond hair and freckles. Every day she'd drive us to school, and then do work on her computer while we were gone. She had a stay at home job.
Anyway, I remember the first time I saw Tom. He was standing in the doorway to my bedroom, looking mysterious, yet edgy in that black leather suit he wore. He was chewing on some gum, popping bubbles as he stares at me, eyes lingering on my every move.
He had certain transparency to him, letting me see my small bedroom behind him. I'd already learned what an imaginary friend was at the time, so I knew he wasn't real. Strangely enough though, when I spoke to him, he spoke back.
"Hi!" I said, my sweet little six-year-old voice ringing out against the harsh white walls of our flat.
Tom waved at me then smiled. He looked away, all cheeky and such, before looking back at me and smiling a snarky grin
"Hey, David," He said, crouching down to my level "I'm Tom. I'm going to be your new best friend."
I cocked my head slightly. I already had plenty of friends at school, including my best friend, Tyron. I didn't need anymore and told him so.
He laughed at that. "Silly David," He said, still smiling "we can never have enough friends, can't we?"
I shook my head and crossed my arms, in a very dramatic way. "No!" I said, still not wanting to be his friend "I have enough friends"
Tom pouted, pretending to seem sad and offended by my words. "But I have no friends. I'm just a poor boy with no friends and you don't want to be my friend either."
My face softened and I turned back towards him. "Ok," I said, finally giving in "I can be your friend, just for a little bit though."
Tom clapped his hands and jumped up in pure joy. "Yay! New friends! I and you are going to be best friends forever, you know that David! Forever and ever and ever!"
"Yes!" I giggled, agreeing with him wholeheartedly. "Forever and ever!"
Tom took my hand and smiled as he tugged me into my room. We made plenty of great memories in that room. Racecars, dance parties with stuffed animals, story readings, and other things.
It was only when he started to push me to do other things when It got bad. So bad it drove me insane. So bad it drove my dad insane. So bad my dad had to pull out his gun and-
We'll get to that later.
My mom found out about Tom when I was around the age of seven. She acted as if it was totally normal, congratulating me on finding such an interesting friend. She asked me the basics, what he looked like, how old he was, etcetera. Whatever I told her she smiled and nodded, encouraging me to continue. I trusted and loved her at that moment.
My dad was a bit different though.
He wasn't really paying attention when I told him. He was on his phone, most likely texting a college or friend while I babbled.
"A motorcycle daddy! He drives a motorcycle!" I said, jumping up and down in excitement. Tom was in my room at the time, most likely sleeping,
"That's nice David." My dad responded, stifling a yawn, not meeting my eye as he spoke.
His eyes were fixated on his phone I continue to brag about my new friend. On and on until finally, my dad looked up at asked me to stop.
My mom was in the kitchen, probably preparing dinner. I went over to her and buried my face in her cooking apron, sad my dad was ignoring me. She cooed, trying to comfort me as I laid there in her arms.
"It's ok," She said, stroking my hair "Daddy's just cranky, ok?"
I nodded as she continued.
That was the last happy memory I ever had with her.
It was all downhill from there.
The next day Tom was sitting on my bed, whistling to himself as he flipped through the pages of one of my books. I sat down next to him and told him about what I told my father, along with his reaction.
He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You know what I think? We should get him back!" He lept off the bed at that statement, prancing around the room excitedly.
I pondered this for a moment before I spoke. "I don't think daddy would like that, somebody might get hurt!" I shrieked, worried about what my father might do to me if I said, or did something bad.
He waved his hand dismissively. "No, he loves you! He wouldn't get mad if he loved you right!"
Me, being the naive six-year-old I was decided to go along with it.
What could go wrong right? Right?
Everything, everything went wrong.
Toms Idea was to fasten some safety pins and tacks to some tape and place it on his chair. It sounded like fun to me so, we did it.
Tom smiled as he stared at me maliciously. My six-year-old hands fumbling clumsily with the tacks.
"Let me help you." He said, taking a tack from the pile next to me. Instead of placing it on the tape though, he drove it deep into my hand.
My mom was at the store at the time, so she wasn't there to help me as I screamed and thrashed. Yanking the tack out of my flesh. Blood pooled around me and stained the carpet beneath my feet.
I cried, and wailed, and yelped for help. My screaming drowning out Toms's laughter behind me.
My mom eventually came home to find her son covered in blood, so thick it wan black down my hands. When she asked me what happened I gave her the same answer I would for the next six years.
"It was Tom, Tom made me do it."
And nobody believed me.
Would they believe me in seven years?
While a gun was pointed at my head, my father screaming at me, to tell the truth?
Would they believe me then?
The answer was no, no they wouldn't
I asked Tom why he did it that night. He said it was an accident.
It was always an accident.
These things went on for a while. My parents would find broken glass embedded in my skin, cuts from razors, bald patches where my hair was missing.
And every time was the same.
"Tom made me do it."
"It was Tom"
"Tom did it."
I was being made fun of at school. No one believed in imaginary friends anymore. I was a freak, a looser.
Tom was my only friend.
I could tell both of my parents were fed up with the whole Tom act. Especially since by the time I turned thirteen, I should have grown out of it.
I wish I did.
My dad at that point was fed up with it. He was sick and tired of the 'Tom excuse'. We were arguing all the time. Both my mom and my mother hated it. But one day, it escalated too far.
I woke up that morning with bruises all over my arms and legs. My dad had woken me up, so he noticed them quite quickly.
"How'd you get those." He asked, leaning up against my bed nonchalantly. He was ready for work, so naturally, he was in uniform.
I shrugged. "Tom," I explained.
My dad shook his head. "Enough with the time excuse. You're too old for this." He said, each syllable holding a little more malice than the previous one.
I sat up in bed. "It really is Tom dad, I swear!" I explained, already sensing the fight that was brewing between us.
He shook his head and pounded his fist on the wall angrily. "Tom! Give me a real explanation right now young man!"
My mom and sister were awake at that point, so they ran to the door to see what was going on.
"It is the truth dad!" I said, exasperated.
My dad smiled sarcastically. "How can an imaginary friend hurt you?" He asked, snarky.
"I- I don't know" I stammered nervously.
He'd been drinking earlier, I could smell it on his breath as he moved closer.
"You never know the answer, do you?" He asked. He whipped out the gun and pressed its cold hard metal to my forehead. "You know what we do with people who don't give us answers at my job? We eliminate em." He laughed at that as if killing his only son was some type of joke.
"Put that gun down!" My mother shrieked hysterically, pulling my younger sister behind her protectively."
My father whipped around, gun still in his hand. "This has got to stop! The kids got to learn!" He spit viciously at my mother.
My mother screamed, shaking with fear as she spoke. "Please honey, violence is never the answer!"
He ignored her and turned back too me.
"Now tell me, David. What's wrong with you and your sick mind!"
I decided to tell him the truth. "Dad," I started "I swear I don't know! I-"
"Makeup one more lame excuse and I swear I'll shoot!" My father bellowed. My mother shrieked behind him. He ignored her once more.
The echoing of a gunshot.
My mothers screams.
Toms face as he smiles at me from hell.
"You belong here." He whispers.
Authors note: Writer's block. Sorry guys, Didn't know what to write. It's bad and it's almost midnight as I write this but I promise better stuff next week!