A lonely child

Like most lonely kids, I had an imaginary friend. Rayna and I did everything together, from building castles to going on adventures deep in the jungle to saving lives in the ER. Mom thought Rayna was a nice friend for me, telling me to listen to her and play nicely like a good girl. I was happy to do this, because, quite frankly, she was much better at coming up with games for us to play. I just filled in the details of the worlds we created, but she was the true mastermind. My father, on the other hand, always seemed wary of her. He told me not to trust her and stay on this side of the tree line, never go into the woods. This was fine by me as it was Texas in the summer, and most of my playtime was in the hottest parts of the day. Rayna never asked anyway, other than occasional hint drop that the woods might be fun someday when I was a little bigger.

Rayna often asked about the pictures on our shelves. My family had told me about the stories behind each one since I was in the crib, so I was happy to spin them off from memory for my friend. Mom folded laundry on the couch behind us and filled in details I hadn’t known before or helped boost my 6-year-old memory when I struggled with part of the story. She also liked to keep an eye on us playing, often giving us glances that she certainly thought were sneaky.

On one picture of a family pool day, I looked over at Mom. “Who is the little girl next to Daddy?” Mom finished the shirt she was folding before walking around to the shelf, getting a closer look at what my finger was pointing to.

“You know, I’m not sure, honey. Let’s go ask your Dad.” Mama took my little hand in her big one and together we knocked on the door to Dad’s home office.

He looked up from his computer and gave me a big smile as he opened his arms to me. “Well, hello, munchkin, what sort of problems are you causing today?”

I couldn’t contain my giggles as Dad scooped me up. “I’m not making trouble, I promises, Daddy!”

My mom chuckled and shook her head at us, “We’ve got a question about one of your old photos, honey.”

Dad hauled me back to the living room, me draped over his back making a constant stream of shrieks and giggles. Rayna still sat next to the photos, waiting for us. I wriggled out of Dad’s arms and ran ahead of him to point at the picture in question. “Who is she, Daddy?”

Dad looked at the picture for a long minute before letting out a sad sort of sighing noise. “That’s my little sister, Emily. Emily was a great kid, but she disappeared when we were little. I never did find out what happened to her.”

Now, I don’t personally know any cats that curiosity has killed, but I was sure it was about to kill my young brain. “How did she disappear?”

My mother tried to shush me, but my father interrupted her. “It’s ok, honey. Munchkin, she, well, we weren’t very nice to her as kids. You know how close your uncles and I are. We didn’t know how to play with a little girl, and frankly, we didn’t care to learn. Emily was often left playing on her own. She loved going into the woods nearby, always coming back with stories of fairies and castles and other impossible things. I thought they sounded like girly lame stuff and mostly ignored her.”

“But, Dad, fairies and castles are awesome!” Rayna nodded beside me in solidarity.

Dad chuckled. “I know that now, but I wasn’t a very nice little boy when I was your age. One day, when she was maybe just a year or two older than you, she went out to play again while my brothers and I played war in our backyard. When your Meema called us in for dinner, she didn’t come in. It got dark and there was still no sign of her. We all went out and looked for her for hours, for days, for weeks, always hoping to find her. We never did, only a piece of paper with one word scribbled on it in Emily’s messy cursive.”

Rayna’s eyes were wide, “What was the word?”

“Anyar, whatever that…” He never finished that sentence. Instead, Rayna’s eyes filled with fire as she screeched. She scrambled to grab me, and my mind was filled with terror as she started to haul me off towards the back of the house, to the back door, to the woods. I had always thought she was about my age, but now she seemed so much bigger and stronger than any adult I had met. It hurt so much, and I screamed until I was hoarse. My father and mother ran after us, catching my outstretched hands and pulling me back toward them. Rayna let out one last terrible wail and turned into smoke as we watched. All three of us looked at each other. Words couldn’t begin to describe what we were feeling. Shortly after, we moved away from that house, and never spoke of Rayna or the question she had somehow asked my dad again, or of the scar now on my left shoulder from where her claws had tried to pull me back into the woods with her.

I write this now as I sit next to my son’s crib. His sleeping face is so peaceful, so small, so trusting. Whoever, or whatever, Rayna was, she seems to prey on the lonely children of my family. Jonathon, I hope your life is filled with many friends and so much love so you never, ever have to rely on Rayna, or whatever she calls herself next. Don’t follow her into the woods, and always remember Anyar.