The Chronicles of Henry

~Chapter One~

A Ferret Named Weasel

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A Cherished House and a Cheery Churro

It was a rather large house, on Eighth and Main, New York, the windows with crooked shutters and a whispering hallway. No one lived there anymore; no one knew why, but it was empty and had been for two weeks since the Piston family vanished to God knows where. The only one left (and the only one nobody knew about) was Mr. and Mrs. Piston's son, Henry—or Henry the Steam-train for long. He had been utterly forgotten, but, to his much indifference, Henry felt fine. Who needed parents anyway? He was five years old, had his red, light-up kicks, blue, oversized sweat-pants, yellow crew-neck sweater, and was ready to take on the world one street shop at a time.

"Uhhhhhhhh...no. HEY! BILL," Henry's shrill, child voice streaked from across the living room. He was yelling at one of his imaginary friends, Bill, who was only one of ten imaginary friends. There was (excluding Bill) James, Fred, John, Harry, Clifton, Richard, Ralph, Christine, and Paul Richards-Francine the Second, Queen of England. Bill was the first one though, Henry's first imaginary friend, and he would never let Bill fade into the background. Granted, Bill had been spawned into the universe of Henry the day Henry realized his parents were gone. It was like a coping mechanism, but at the same time, it wasn't. Why did it need to be justified? Henry liked friends and he hadn't found any real ones yet so he made his own.

"What! I didn't do nothin'" Bill shouted back. He was a full-grown adult, like 18. He had scars along his back and over his eye—mementos from his pirating days.

"I saw you! You ate my last cookie! I wanted that!"

"Now now, listen here young master!"

"Gone," the boy yelled and watched as Bill shrugged into a dissipating mist. It was better this way, Bill had kept getting himself into trouble lately. Just yesterday, he had broken the fan and it no longer worked; he knew that Henry got hot!

"Woah. So fast. What a short life," said Clifton, his cleft chin whipping up and down audibly as he spoke.

"He had to go. Sharing is caring but I don't wanna caring," Henry said delightfully, his tiny legs swinging back and forth as he sat on his dad's old, squeaky, leather recliner. He didn't know what to do with his arms so he kept them locked at the edge of the seat and watched as all of his imaginary friends started to waddle in. Fred bumping Clifton out of the doorway, John and Harry walking in side by side, Richard following Ralph, James preoccupied with Christine, and Paul-Richards-Francine the Second, Queen of England, standing on a soap box. They all looked dashingly distinguishable.

"Hello," Felix said with a cheery smile.

"Hello," Fred-Clifton-John-Harry-James-Richard-Raplh-Christine-and Paul Richards-Francine the Second, Queen of England, said in unison.

"So, Bill is no longer with us today."

"Sorry Bill," they all said together again.

"He ate my cookies, broke my stuff," Henry said and counted off his fifth finger, "laughed at nothing funny, and was really boring. HE. JUST. SAT THERE."

"Sorry Henry," altogether again.

"It's okay."

"Thank you Henry."