Toys in Cross: An Imaginary Friend


Not all friends are worth your time.

Happy Watts drifted into Cross from Boston, and, as his name implies, he was happy. I never saw the boy without a smile, and while I heard rumors that he talked to himself, I didn’t see much of an issue with it.

When asked who he was talking with, Happy invariably responded, “Thomas.”

No one could get Thomas’ last name from Happy, and they eventually attributed “Thomas” to an overactive imagination.

I wish someone had told me about his imaginary friend, and that friend’s name.

As it was, no one did. No one bothered to tell me that Happy was making himself known to the professors at the Cross Branch of Miskatonic University. He impressed them with the questions he asked regarding dead languages and ancient incantations. His knowledge of blood rituals was, as one survivor told me later, particularly curious.

I punched the professor when he told me that and knocked three teeth out of the damned fool’s head.

Happy Watts’ imaginary friend wasn’t imaginary.

Thomas Erasmus had lived during the late eighteenth century, and I had put him in the ground myself. How the bastard had gotten back into this plane of existence is a question I would have liked answered.

On a Saturday night, Happy and his imaginary friend went into the chapel at the university. Once there, Thomas had told what Happy what sigils to inscribe upon the altar, and how much blood to use.

A trio of professors discovered Thomas, and at that moment, I think something went wrong with the incantation

A hole was torn open in the altar, and Thomas attempted to get out. He was not alone, however, and, much to his chagrin, I’m sure, he was not first in line.

I suspect Happy realized at the last minute that something wasn’t right, and he sacrificed himself to close the hole. The child’s body was never found, and I can only hope that he died quickly.

 When inspecting the scene, I came upon a small knife, one I knew to have been Thomas’. I think he had attached himself to it. If he ever makes it back, I’ll ask him, right before I gut him with his own blade.

#horror #monsters #supernatural #death

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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