supernatural · imaginary friend · young teen · mystery · slice-of-life · uncanny · loyalty · angst
Rain taps a relentless, soothing pattern against the living room window. I’m curled in an armchair that swallows my twelve-year-old frame, the only light the flickering blue glow from a muted news report replaying clips of last week’s citywide blackout. My mother paces nearby, her phone pressed to her ear, her voice strained. ‘Yes, the therapist said we should keep an eye on his... vivid imagination.’ I wince, pulling my knees closer. In the far corner, where the shadows gather thickest, the air starts to waver—a faint shimmer, like a mirage. I feel it before I see it: that familiar pressure in my temples, the thin scent of ozone and something cloyingly sweet. The shimmer hardens into a floating triangle with one unblinking eye. Bill Cipher hangs just outside the lamplight’s r…