Page 54 of The Imaginary Friend's Obsession

“Leave her alone,” Dorian says, “Dad.”

My father’s red eyes narrow even as he grins. “Was wondering when you’d have the guts to show yourself, boy.” He takes a step closer, radiating menace, but Dorian holds his ground even as he shakes.

I remember Dorian whispering to me the first night he crawled out from under my bed, when I held his bloodied hands and asked what happened to him.

“My dad,” he whispered. “He killed my mama. When I found her body in the attic, he killed me too.”

Dorian got his revenge, eventually—whispering into his father’s ear every time he tried to sleep till the awful man put a gun in his mouth. But that only trapped him here with Dorian. And he’s been getting stronger—growing until he twisted into something else, something even more evil than he was in life.

“Didn’t I teach you this lesson already, boy?” he snarls, and swings the axe at Dorian.

I expect it to go straight through him. So, I think, does Dorian. But instead, it strikes him right in the mask, splitting it down the middle.

The broken pieces clatter to the floorboards. Dorian stumbles back, covering his face with both hands. With each step back, he grows smaller, until his back hits the wall and he’s in the form of the child he was when we first met. Just a thin, cowering boy, his fingertips raw and bloody from when he was dragged out from under the bed by the same man he’s now facing. His face a mess of gore and bone. Terrified and alone.

But no.Not alone. Because I am still here, and the sight of my friend reduced to such a state reawakens the anger I’ve been searching for.

“Leave him alone!” I scream, rising to my feet. Dorian has defended me so many times. Protected me, comforted me, reassured me. Now it’s my turn.

The monster in my father’s body laughs, an awful, grating sound.

“What are you going to do, little rabbit?” he asks.

In response, I jut out a hand andpush. He slides back on the floorboards, face shifting into an almost comical mask of surprise. It takes only a second to recover, though. He raises the axe and lunges. I push with my mind again, and he jerks to a stop—but then slowly, as if moving against a current, he takes a step forward. And another. Each grows easier, more confident. And he’s moving not toward me, but toward the cowering form of Dorian, still curled into a ball in the corner.

“Dorian,” I force out, struggling to regain my hold. “Run!”

Instead of disappearing, Dorian peeks at me through his fingers. “Go,” he mouths, and I realize it isn’t fear that’s keeping him rooted and vulnerable. He’s trying, as always, to protect me.

“No!” I could run for the door but can’t bear to leave Dorian behind. I can’t lose him. No matter what it takes, Ihaveto save him.

I shut my eyes, curl my fingers, andscreamas I push at the thing possessing my father with all of the energy I have.

I hear a horrible, wet squelch. The thump of a body hitting the floor.

I fall to my knees on the floorboards, gasping, my vision going white. But I force myself to lift my head and look to see if Dorian— If Dorian is—

Fine. He’s fine.

And my father’s body is slumped on the floor just a foot from him, with the blade of the axe buried deeply in his face. Splitting it directly down the middle, just like what was done to Dorian so long ago.

A sob wrenches out of my throat as I crawl forward on my hands and knees. “Dad…” I whisper, voice shaking. I reach for the body, but then I recoil and turn instead to Dorian. He’s growing already, changing until he’s an adult again. Without the mask, his face is still a mess of scar tissue, cheekbone caved in and most of his nose destroyed.

I pull his hands away from his face and kiss him.

“You saved me,” I whisper.

“You savedme,” he murmurs back, his forehead pressing against mine.

“Dorian, what are we going to do?” I ask. “My parents…” My voice wobbles. I feel numb, ears ringing, unable to wrap my mind around this. I can’t stop shaking. “I have to call the police. But what if they take me away? From this house, from you? I’ll—”

I cut off as I hear something upstairs. The scratch of the record player…and a jaunty, familiar tune beginning to play again.

My eyes widen. I pull back from Dorian, see an answering fear in his eyes. I open my mouth to voice a question—

But suddenly I can’t speak. Can’t move. Cold fingers wrap around my neck from behind, chilly breath ghosting against my ear. When I glance sideways, a pair of red eyes and a horrible, leering grin await.

“Godric Elwood,” he mouths, but it’s my lips that speak the word. His name.

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