Fitchy!

Fitchy..

Eva’s favorite time of day was when she got to play with Fitchy. He was her best friend—no, he was more than that. He was her world. Every afternoon, after school, she’d rush upstairs to her bedroom, fling open the door, and there he’d be, waiting for her with that wide smile and gleaming eyes, already moving to the music only they could hear.

“Come on, Eva,” Fitchy would say, holding out his hand. “Let’s dance!”

And they would. Around and around, they spun together in the tiny room, the floor creaking beneath their feet. Fitchy was so graceful, always guiding her with a gentle touch, twirling her like a ballerina, making her laugh until her sides hurt. His laughter mixed with hers, soft and melodic, echoing off the walls. She loved the way his deep voice filled the room, making her feel like she was never alone.

Eva would collapse onto her bed afterward, breathless and giddy, as Fitchy flopped down beside her, his legs sprawled out, his hair messy and wild. He’d grin at her, and she’d grin right back.

“Can we stay like this forever?” Eva would ask, curling into his side, her small hand brushing against his arm.

“Of course,” Fitchy would reply, his voice soothing, wrapping her in warmth. “We can do whatever you want, Eva.”

She loved him. She really did. It wasn’t the kind of love she had for her mom or her dad or her teachers—it was different. Special. Fitchy understood her in a way no one else did. He never got mad when she cried, never scolded her when she was too tired to talk. He’d just be there, quietly laying beside her, brushing the hair from her face with those cool fingers of his, humming her favorite song.

Some days, Fitchy would tell her stories—wild, exciting tales of adventures in places she couldn’t even imagine. Dark forests where the trees whispered secrets, or deep oceans filled with glowing creatures that sang to the stars. Eva would listen, wide-eyed, captivated by the way he painted those worlds just for her. Sometimes, he’d tell her funny stories, too, and she’d laugh so hard her stomach hurt.

Together, they'd sneak out to the backyard, even when her mom was too tired to take her to the park or anywhere fun. Fitchy would grab her hand, and they'd run through the grass, giggling like the world belonged to jusy the two of them.

At night, when the house was quiet, Fitchy would lie down with her again, holding her close. His presence was comforting, especially on the nights when the wind howled outside or the shadows on the walls seemed to shift and move. He’d whisper into her ear, soft and gentle, calming her until she drifted off to sleep.

He was always there. Always.

One evening, Eva's mom called her downstairs for dinner, and as usual, Fitchy followed. They sat together at the table, Eva chattering away, telling him about her day at school, about how the kids were loud and how she didn't like it when they pushed her around. Fitchy listened, nodding, his expression serious.

But then her mom asked, “Who are you talking to, sweetie?”

Eva stopped mid-sentence, blinking. “Fitchy,” she said plainly, as if her mom should know that. “He’s sitting right here.”

Her mom froze, her fork hovering in the air. “Eva… honey, there’s no one there.”

Eva frowned, glancing at Fitchy, who was smiling calmly at her from across the table. She pointed. “He’s right there, Mom. Don’t be silly.”

Her mother’s face paled. “Eva,” she said, her voice trembling. “You’re the only one at the table. There’s no one named Fitchy.”

A cold chill ran down Eva’s spine.