We'd lived in the house for over 11 years now. My first memory was that night I slept all by myself in my bedroom on my 4th birthday. The house seemed to come to life with massive straining creaks. Shapes in the darkness drew in around me, and moved closer. The horror was building in my mind, then for the first time, my imaginary friend appeared. He calmed me down, and we spent the rest of the night talking. From then on we would explore the house for countless hours, and he told me stories of the past. He was my best friend, and I never wanted another.

My family seemed to think I was strange for not having friends, but I did. He was always there for me, more real to me than anyone else. As I grew older, I talked less about him to my family, but he was just as real, I started to worry that no one else had ever seen him.

Though, he would never tell me his name, I don't think he could remember it, but I knew it; there was a single name carved into the lamppost out front.

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