Marilyn Holdsworth

Broken Pieces - Rachel Thompson

Saturday, May 31, 2014

IMAGINARY FRIEND by Troy McCombs #AmReading #Horror #Fiction

Every lonely child has an imaginary friend. Some are silly. Some are shy. Some will talk your ear off. And some will tear you limb from limb.
Nathan’s life was wretched. His dad yelled at him and hit him every night. Kids at school either ignored him or beat him up. Only Max, his imaginary playmate, a friend he’d created when his father had become physically abusive, was his only source of friendship, the only source that gave him a reason to wake up in the morning.
But everyone has their breaking point. Nathan’s broke one night when his father Frank was hitting his old lady with an electrical cord. Below is an except from Chapter 3: Into Reality.
Nathan had finally had enough.
But it was not altogether he who had changed. A vivid image of Max burst into his head. He thought he heard Max tell him to storm down the hall and personally make Frank stop doing what he was doing.
Like a robot sent on a mission, Nathan marched down the hallway and entered his parents’ bedroom. Though the room was dark, he could easily see what was happening—Alice balled up in the corner by the closet door, taking it in the mouth again. The Frank was whipping her with a new weapon: an electrical cord. He hit her with it over and over and over again. Every strike left an instant welt.
Nathan stood nervously in the doorway, unaware that he was so afraid, his pajama bottoms were soaking with urine.
I have to make him stop!
“Stop, please, Frank?” Nathan mumbled.
Nothing. Frank was so involved, he did not see or hear Nathan.
I’m so scared!!
Again, Nathan envisioned Max. Fear not.
“Stop it, Frank!” Nathan spoke a little louder.
Unheard still. Frank continued the whipping, his face as red as cherries, his lips flinging spit as he cursed. Nathanknew that tonight, from some chasm buried deep within his bruised and battered heart, this would be the very last night Frank would ever hurt him again.
No more.
The hard part of the electrical cord thrashed across Alice’s folded arms. She thought she saw Nathan out of the corner of her eye, and, concerned for his safety, didn’t lock eyes with him. She didn’t want Frank to go after him instead.
But Nathan wasn’t budging, not even while his urine dripped onto the ugly orange carpet below. He spoke up against his father again, and this time, Frank heard him.
The whipping stopped as suddenly as it had started. Frank’s head turned like a mechanical-mannequins in a dime-store window. He saw little Nathan: that ugly little thing. The man’s brows lowered and his eyes somehow gleamed even in the gloom. His hand squeezed the electrical cord so tightly, it made a faint leathery sound.
“What’d you say, boy?”
Nathan looked at both of his parents, his jaw lowered and trembling. Frank walked toward him.
“No, Frank!” Alice cried, reaching up for him. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the many welts on her arm. It looked almost muscular.
Frank hovered over the boy like The Reaper himself—a pitch-black, shadowy outline who was breathing heavily, shoulders lifting then falling, lifting then falling. Nathan wanted to turn and run, but couldn’t.
“Frank, leave him alone. I was the one who had the dream—” Alice cried.
Quiet, bitch!”
Frank gazed down at him, through his broken soul.
Alice watched quietly as Frank clenched his fist and cocked back his arm. Nathan imagined being overwhelmed by blackness and waking up in the emergency room, or worse—not waking up at all. The fist came back all the way. It began shaking, ready to fire. The boy shut his eyes and hoped for the best. Alice stared, eyes bulging.
“BAM!” Frank shouted. Nathan started. But no fist made contact. It stopped only an inch away from his upturned nose. The big bully laughed.
All a fake punch to make me more scareder.
“Frank, can we please go to bed?” Alice said.
Frank swung back around, marched over to her, and continued the fight was his old lady.
“You tell me when to go to fuckin’ sleep, whore?!”
“Frannnnnk!” Whack! “Stop!” Whack! “You’re hurting me!” Whack! “You’re hurting meeee!”
Nathan dropped to his knees, helpless, fazed, unaware, too aware. His eyes watered and ran with tears, but the usual defeat he always dealt with time after time, vanished. He stopped trembling, stopped urinating, stood back up, and felt in charge. All the years of being smacked, hit, cursed at, neglected, put down, and laughed at, reached its boiling point and exploded like an atomic bomb.
As Frank raised his makeshift whip again, about to strike Momma Alice for the umpteenth time, he felt something latch onto his wrist. Something invisible. To Nathan, time stood still, lost, unaccounted for. He felt a little lightheaded, but not in a bad way.
Stoooop huwting my moooooooom!”
Light, artificial and faint, began to fill the room from above. Everybody glanced up at the overhead bulb, which dimmed to life by itself. It grew steadily brighter.
Frank looked back at his seized hand, trying to pull away, but not even his large bicep was as strong as this death-grip. Alice watched, confused, stupidly. Nathan sat on the urine-stained carpet, his expression shifting from terror to just-dessert.
“What da fu—“ Frank gasped. “My hand. I can’t move my hand.”
Nathan could see Max as clear as day, as clear as Frank and Alice, and knew that Max was now real. The beast held Frank’s wrist with a webbed hand that was so big, it could have gripped a bowling ball and crushed it into pieces with one quick squeeze.
Frank, like all the others who cause bad, must pay!

The apostles said to Jesus, “Make our faith greater.” Jesus answered, “If you had faith as big as a mustard seed, you can say to this mulberry tree, ‘Pull yourself up by the roots and plant yourself in the sea!’ and it would obey you.”
Tulpa: a materialized thought that has taken physical form.
Eight-year-old Nathan Stevenson is beat by his father, teased by his peers, and has zero friends—except Max, his imaginary friend. Max is a heroic creature he created years ago when the physical abuse became too much to bear. Strangely, every time Nathan imagines him, he becomes more lifelike, more substantial… but nobody could guess what soon happens when Nathan refuses to be a victim anymore.
The barriers of reality break down, and Max becomes real. Only Nathan can see him, but anyone can feel his violent wrath. The monster slays anyone who gets in his creator’s path, and eats the hearts of his casualties in order to obtain strength. There’s only one question: can Nathan learn to control his Tulpa? Or will it break free from his mental restraints to do whatever it desires? Either way, there will be a lot of dead bodies to clean up!
Author’s Note:
This paranormal/splatterpunk horror novel, Imaginary Friend, has been updated with a new cover and has been reedited for a more soothing read. It also contains elements of science fiction and fantasy, but the information about “Tulpas” are based on fact. For adults only!
Buy Now @ Amazon
Genre – Horror
Rating – R
More details about the author
Connect with Troy McCombs on Facebook & Twitter



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