sing with me, now

I'm not real.

And he's hit a low point again. Somehow, he never sees it coming.

I forgot you guys did that, you real secret people.

It doesn't really matter what anyone knows and when they know it.

When you're down the rabbit hole so far you can't see daylight, it doesn't matter what anyone doesn't know. Or does. Eitherwise, neitherwise, norwise, and not.

Great, now I'm inventing words too. It's contagious.

I never see it coming.

I hid in the neighbor's head today. It's dark in there, and comfortable.

I let myself in when he was out dreaming last night. I would lock my doors if he were as mischevious as I am, but he's the trusting sort. I've already nicked a key, just in case he ever smartens up.

I watched his dream on the screen in his head. You'd think it would be a big screen, but it's one of those old floor model sets from the seventies that still has tubes and radiates heat. They say that you really dream in black and white and only remember the dreams in color, but that's an old fashioned idea. More important is whether you dream in digital high definition or in analog.

We're getting more and more obsolete every minute.

He dreamed of a boat trip. Pretty, but boring. The same thing repeated and repeated over in his head. His internal monologue has quite the stutter. Rhymes with butter.

I forgot the butter for my popcorn, but I was too comfy to leave. There's a big couch in there. He didn't dream that one up. I brought it myself, a few months ago. I had to move a few old memories out of the way, but now I have a good place to sit.

I noticed the time on a watch I took from another dream of his. It's kinda big, but hey - free watch. Some part of him must have realized I was in there, because when I looked at it he remembered that he used to have a much nicer watch, a gold pocketwatch, and he dreamed it for me. I switched them.

That was a bit of a mistake, because now he thinks he was given a plastic digital watch as an heirloom from his grandpa back in the early eighties.

"Hey! Do you know what time it is? Wake up!"

He woke up and thought it was funny that he was dreaming about the time, and that he was running late. He thought that at least three dozen times before making it to work. Not only is his internal monologue a stutterer, but it loops complete thoughts.

I took a nap for awhile. The place gets quiet when he's at work.

A walk down the street of a ghost town, for an imaginary ghost, can be dizzying.

When I grew up in Blue Lake, it was already a ghost town. Things don't change.

The world was born haunted. When the first thinking thing slowly rose from the dirt it was already haunted. It's a natural state, and we all succumb to it at some point.

Even if only at 3am.

So I walked the streets then.

The church hasn't changed much, except for the parking lot, and the fact that attendance is nearly non-existent. There was a community there before the days of therapists, mandatory overtime, and credit cards.

I'm no luddite though. The reason the world seems to be going downhill is because we are getting what we ask for without considering the consequences.

The cemetery, the new one, it's much bigger.

There's only one store nowadays.

You wouldn't think a ghost town would need a superhero, but every town does.

I passed a hundred thousand fears on my walk. They've been breeding even faster than usual for the past seven years. It's dangerous. It's nearly to the point where people are becoming afraid of hope.

I put as many of them as I could in an old shoebox I found. They can be quick little things. Most people can't see me any easier than they do the actual fears, but they can still sense us.

Me, there's good reason to fear me, but most of these fears were mass produced. Cheap little things. At least they were made domestically.

After I filled my fear box, I buried it under the big tree out back of the Church. My uncle planted it after the fire. I wouldn't expect most of the people of Blue Lake to understand much about putting away the fear.

Nasty little critters.

Your imaginary friend,

Magda

I came in, quietly he would say. I'm not quiet. He just doesn't listen.

Sleeping, again. Every day. It's a weakness. They say that you'll have time to sleep when you're dead - but if that's the case, you're doing it wrong.

I'm not sure who they are anyway.

If you stay awake long enough, you'll have dreams without the sleep. So I know he doesn't sleep for the dreams, but he says he does. That's okay, I'll get to the bottom of this.

I must investigate. Like a cat. Spend as much time being a cat as humanly possible. You'll be healthier and happier.

I wouldn't know much about being a human, not anymore. I hardly remember it. I think it was a dream I had a long time ago...

I fished the cables through the door. You'd think that he would have caught on to what I've been doing by now, but the neighbor man is not an investigator. He's no cat. He's not healthy or happy.

He just sleeps and dreams. That's what people like him think that cats do.

Mostly.

I put one electrode on each of his temples and turned on the dream-sucker.

It's not easy for an imaginary character like me to get on. It takes more imagination than he puts into it when he's awake.

Most of the dreams, I mix them with red fruit punch. Pretty good. Keeps me fortified.

Take it from your imaginary friend. Be a cat and drink fruit punch. And don't dream only when you sleep.

What a waste.