Lucky Day Of Doom: A Collection Of Short Stories

Mr. Welck

I ran out of bed as I heard my four-year-old son babbling incessantly, only to find him sitting up in his bed, staring to at his closet.

"No, I'm not going to tell him that you–" My son noticed me standing at the foot of his bed.

"Hey buddy. Who are ya talkin' to?"

"Mr. Welck. He's my friend."

"Oh, so he has an imaginary friend," I thought. "Hey, Tyler. Can you stop talking to Mr. Welck until tomorrow?"

He nodded. "Ok daddy."

I walked out of his room and went back to sleep, but was soon awoken once again.

My wife shook me. "Anthony. Anthony."

"What?" I got up groggily.

"Look." She pointed at our doorway, and I saw what had made her so startled.

Tyler was standing in the doorway. Just, standing there. He wasn't moving at all.

"Tyler? Hey, buddy. What woke you up?" I asked, but received no answer.

"Tyler!" My wife yelled.

He shook and seemed to come out of his trance. "Hi mommy." And then he walked right back to his room and began his muttering again. I just ignored it and fell asleep again.

I made blueberry pancakes for breakfast, and even went as far To asked if Mr. Welck wanted any. It turned out that Mr. Welck wasn't sitting at the table with us, and that he was at the hardware store instead.

"Wow, Tyler has such a vivid imagination." I thought to myself.

The day went as most Sundays go. I did the yard work and took Tyler to soccer. Then things started to get a little weird.

While I was driving him home from his soccer game, Tyler made me go to the hardware store to see if Mr. Welck was still there

"Ok, but only for five minutes, ok buddy? I don't want to be late for dinner." I said

"Ok. He's still at the store." He replied

"How do you know?"

He pointed out the window. In the parking lot, there was a wrecked van with bullet holes all over it, and what look to be a blood stain

"Oh my God!" I turned the car around and drove straight home. Tyler cried for the whole ride, but I didn't care. I just wanted to get back to my house.

I told my wife about the incident, and we agreed to talk to Tyler about his imaginary friend.

"It's ok to have an imaginary friend," I said to him. "But he has to stay imaginary, ok? That means I can't make an extra breakfast for him, or check if he's still at the hardware store. You got that, buddy?"

"What does imaginary mean?" He asked

"It means that it, or in this case, he doesn't exist."

He stared at me for a moment. "Mr, Welck isn't imaginary!" He stormed out of the den and into his bedroom.

"Honey, um... what the hell was that?" My wife asked.