Disclaimer: I don't own Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends. It is property of Craig McCracken.

phantasm (plural phantasms, also phantsma plural phantasmata)
Something seen but having no physical reality; a phantom or apparition

If anyone can dream up figments that live, breathe and exist…

…then what about 'those that live in the void?'

And since we can't see 'those that live in the void'…

…then that means we cannot see their figments either.

But what if we could somehow see those figments…?

…then what would they themselves do? Knowing we know they exist.

And once we see these figments and give into temptation to tell all…

…would they even believe us?

--

"Are you sure it's down Wilson Way?"

"Right past that weird Foster's place? Yep, definitely."

"Hey, is that a k…HOLY SHIT, WHERE'D HE COME FR…"

"WATCH OUT! THE BRAKES…"

The sounds of automotive metal colliding with automotive metal drew the attention of nearly every occupant within the old Victorian house. The red-haired woman in her early twenties shot up from her bed as she dropped the book she was reading as she both heard and felt something that sounded so hauntingly familiar to her.

Frankie's eyes widened in panic, "That sounded like a car accident…"

She felt her hairs stick on end as she leapt off the bed and darted towards her door.

"Right outside the house!"

She then checked her watch, and saw that it was exactly 3 PM. Now she panicked…

"MAC!"

The large rabbit in the suit and monocle spilled black ink all over his papers upon feelings the shockwaves from the impact sweep through his room, cracking his windows slightly. His monocle fell from his eyes when he appeared flabbergasted.

"Oh good lord!" he exclaimed out loud, before looking out the window, his eyes widening when he saw a small familiar figure stagger towards the door, appearing injured, "Oh dear me, Master Mac."

He then hurried over to the public announcement system and stated, sounding slightly anxious, "Attention, houseguests…there is no cause for alarm. Please remain where you are inside the house and allow the authorities to deal with the situation."

After that he barreled out the room, shouting out loud…

"Madam Foster! Miss Frances!"

Those within the vicinity of the front door dropped what they were doing and to look out the windows, each shocked at what they saw in the middle of the road. Except for a certain blue-haired ghost-shaped imaginary friend currently hell bent on making the caretaker of Foster's life even more grievous

"Holy…did anyone else feel that?" the blue blob cried as he dropped his aerosol cans full of spray paint, half finished with spray painting his name all over the floor of the foyer. He ran into the nearby living room, seeing it's few occupants looking out the windows overlooking the front yard, crying out, "Wilt, Coco, Eduardo! Did you…"

"Yes, we felt it…and we're seeing right now, Bloo," the tall, lanky red-haired amputee imaginary friend cried, "I'm sorry, but we have to do something!"

"Coco co coco!" the bird/airplane/tree hybrid imaginary friend chirped out.

"But, dios mio…me scared we could make things worse, Coco," the large intimidating looking horned purple-furred yet chicken-hearted imaginary friend choked out, "Good thing Senor Mac is not here to see…"

Bloo's eyes widened when he glanced over at the clock, seeing that it was now 3 PM, and Mac was always on time at this hour, which quite coincidentally is when the accident outside Foster's just happened now.

"MAC!"

Amidst the sounds of screaming outside there was a rapping at the door, and Bloo shot over towards it, just in time for Frankie to leap off the stairs and bundle forward with her hand stretched out so that they both had their left hands on the doorknob. They looked at one another worriedly before turning the knob and opening the door, with the rest of the housemates hovering behind them in anticipation

And there stood a eight-year old brown-haired boy in a red shirt and manila colored pants, and the housemates all sighed with relief when they saw that their friend had sustained any physical injury.

Seeing first hand the car accident in the background behind Mac, where a blue van had just collided with a red Porsche and had scattered pieces of metal and (disturbingly) person all over the road, Bloo shouted with joy, "HEY, BUDDY! RIGHT ON TIME AS ALW…eh…buddy?"

"Mac?" Frankie questioned as she crouched before Mac to get a closer look at him, "Are you ok?"

Mac's face had nearly lost all color and he appeared out of breath as he was panting and sweating heavily. He looked as if he was caught in a state of delirium.

He smiled weakly and said, "We're here, Confessor…told you we'd make it…uh!"

"MAC!"

Frankie panicked as she caught Mac in her as he lost unconscious and fell over backwards. He moved her into the house and laid him gently on the floor amidst incredulous and horror-filled stares.

"MAC!" Bloo exclaimed, "What's wrong with my pal?"

Frankie looked up at Wilt, who bit his lip and asked, "Should we get help?"

The redhead appeared exasperated and cried up at him, "Would you? MR. HERRIMAN? GRANDMA? ANYONE HELP!"

Phantasm

An artist is a creature driven by demons. He doesn't know why they choose him and he's usually too busy to wonder why.
- William Faulkner (1897-1962) American novelist and short-story writer.

Mac groaned painfully as he rubbed the back of his sore head, feeling a bump growing slightly on it as he found himself lying amongst some turned over garbage cans and covered in some of the stuff. He spat out a gum wrapper and tried to stand up, feeling woozy as he used the brick walls as leverage. He turned himself around and leaned against it, trying to fight off the effects of a concussion, and to clear his vision.

He had no idea that leaning right beside him against the wall was a tall individual in a black leather trenchcoat, belt, boots, broad hat with a bandanna covering his mouth and nose, leaving only his orange colored eyes and facial skin visible.

The mysterious individual breathed loudly and asked, "I assume you haven't hurt yourself badly."

Mac looked over at his side and shrieked with fright, immediately leaping backwards onto the empty sidewalk out of the alley. He shivered slightly as the mysterious individual turned his head to see him lie there, before stepping out the alley and standing before him. He peered down at the boy with those eyes of his, studying him silently.

"Well?"

Mac regained his composure, believing this stranger to be of no harm, "Um…no, I'll live."

"I believe you were startled by my presence," the individual said as he stretched his hand and Mac accepted it, and was pulled up to his feet, "And I only asked if you knew the way to Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends?"

Mac's eyes widened, "Huh? F…Foster's'?"

"You fled into the alley and knocked over several cans of rubbish…"

Mac nodded and rubbed his still aching head, "Yeah, I know. Sorry…"

He then looked at the tall figure, this time taking the time to study and observe him more closely. The way he spoke, which sounded like a windy echo, sent shivers up and down Mac's spine, and which made his hair stand on in slightly. The way the stranger's eyes looked through him filled him with much dread, suspicion and understandably fear for his life.

Mac had to inquire, "Are you really an imaginary friend?"

The figure appeared to chuckle, "I know…I do not have an extra limb or appendage or more than ten times the size as you. I was made in the image of my creator. But tell me…"

He pulled off his glove to reveal the Ying-Yang symbol tattooed on his palm, and which appeared to be magically swirling about in his hand in an almost entrancing matter. Mac mouth was agape when it registered in his brain that he wasn't human…or at least he wasn't in a biological sense, but rather in an imaginary sense. That is, if he was human at all.

"…tell me, how many humans have the living symbol of good and evil embedded in his hands?"

Mac shook his head, "None, I guess."

He then pointed up the street.

"I was just going to Fosters," Mac stated, then smiled with slight apprehension, "I'm sure Mr. Herriman will let you stay there."

"Would you mind leading the way?"

"Alright…I suppose."

Mac then breathed in gently and looked down the street which would pass by the park, and then from their Fosters would be in slight.

He thought to himself, sounding a bit sly, 'If Mr. Herriman gave me a new car for turning in that pint-sized figment, wonder what I'll get this time for turning in.…er…'

He then looked back at the figure.

"What's your name?"

The figure looked down at him, almost puzzled, "I do not have a name. I go by my title."

Mac was curious, "What's that?"

"The Confessor," the figure finally identified himself, "My master wished for someone to talk , or better yet confide in, when he was cast out of the Church. Quite an injustice, really, since he was five years old at the time."

Worry crossed the boy's face when he asked, "Why did he abandon you, then?"

"He did not abandon me," the Confessor said, "I had left him. I felt it was time he founded his own path through life. I would only be in his way, so I took the necessary steps. Now I must find somewhere to live out the rest of my existence or until another has need of me."

Obviously Mac took some time to comprehend what this mysterious Confessor had just said, and the way he said it made him feel more than a bit cautious around him. He couldn't remember the last time he had met such a mysterious, strange and complicated imaginary friend.

"May I ask what your name is, Fleshling?" the Confessor asked.

Mac was distracted from his thoughts. He stammered, "Uh…oh, I'm Mac."

"Well, Mackey," the Confessor said, hand stretched down the road invitingly, "Shall we?"

--

"Hey, you finished with red yet?"

"I'm almost done…pass me the green, would ya'?"

"Alright…alright, goddamn."

Two youths denim wear, protective goggles and hoods found the only way they could ever pass time was by vandalizing the nearest plain brick wal. They made sure they were obscured away from the road and out of the public eye, with death metal music blaring out of the headphones of their MP3 players. They were busy spray painting a large red fiery skull that was outlined with green on the wall, with a box full of other spray paintcans nearby.

"Yo T.C!" one of them nudged the other as he removed his goggles, finished with what he was doing, "Reckon the guys back at the Coven will piss their pants when they see this?"

His companion known as T.C. shrugged looked at him as he shook an orange spraycan and responded, "We'll drag their asses here tonight and see for ourselves, Dogshit."

The youth affectionately known as 'Dogshit' frowned, "My name sucks."

T.C. smirked and begun spraying, "Live with what we give you, Lawrence Junior."

'Dogshit''s face fell flat, "Suddenly my dad gave me the greatest first name in human history."

"You wish…eh?"

T.C. swore saw the flames behind the skull flicker slightly.

"D…did you just say that?" T.C. shouted, pointing at the flame.

"See what, Timothy Calton?" Lawrence quipped, as he looked the other way as he checked his cellphone, deciding to take a cheap shot at him.

"The flames…they just moved."

"I thought you said were you gonna lay off the shit!"

"No seriously, I…AH…"

Lawrence rolled his eyes and looked up, and felt himself unable to cry out in shock when the muscles in his throat closed up in fright. Mouths agape, they dropped their cans, which cluttered to the cement fround, and stepped away from the brick wall, backing up against the wooden fence which separated them from an alleyway leading out on the street. They could see the skull appeared alive, with hellfire animating behind it as it smiled and giggle, before it erupted into laughter.

"FLESHLINGS!" the skull roared with malice, and in a sensual female tone of voice, "NOW WE DRAG YOUR SOULS INTO THE SHADOWS!"

The skull opened his mouth, where two pairs of boney, flaming arms emerged from it and slowly writhed towards the punks. They screamed with horror as they tried to make a dash towards the street on their right…

--

"Mackey?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you mind if I call you Mackey?"

"Er…yeah. Why ask?"

"You seem to be feeling uncomfortable right now."

Mac stopped walking, finding himself before a convenience store window, and looked around, wondering why at this hour the whole town seemed to be shut up. No cars drove by on the road and no passerby's went by on the sidewalk, there was only himself and the mysterious Confessor. He looked at himself in the window of the store and noticed how his eyes were extremely bloodshot, as if he was coming down with something.

He then felt a slight pain hit him and he rubbed his temple, looking down at his feet for second, closing his eyes as he felt sick. When he looked back up at the window and opened his eyes, he saw what appeared to be dark shapely female ghoul like creature resembling the worst H.R. Giger creature ever conceived standing behind him. Her tongue was slivering out of her mouth in a hungry like manner and her sharp claws extended and ready to strike.

"WHAT THE…? ARGHHH!"

Mac's eyes widened and spun around, heart beating against his chest painfully.

Nothing. There was nothing behind him save for the Confessor, who was now looking at him oddly.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

"I…I thought I saw something about to grab me," Mac responded, trying to calm and convince himself that all was all right, "It looked like a monster or something like that."

The Confessor appeared intrigued, "Did this creature resemble a Succubus– A female demon?"

Mac's eyes widened, where he begun to panic, "How'd you know?"

The Confessor's eyebrows raised in interest, 'Interesting.'

But before the Confessor could answer, they heard the sounds of young teenage boys screaming as they fell out of alleyway and tried to claw their way from it. They appeared terrified and were missing their pants, prompting Mac to quickly close his eyes and look away.

"HELP, HELP!" T.C. screamed, "MONSTERS ARE CHASIN' US! OH FUCK…SOMEONE HELP!"

Mac was aghast, "Monsters?"

He turned back to the see the youths get back onto their feet and run onto the road, then they mysteriously vanished into thin air. Mac's felt his heart beat faster in panic and felt more nauseous, stepping backwards and bumping into the Confessor.

"What…what's happening?" the boy demanded softly, "What's going on?"

The Confessor sighed, "This is what my creator went through?'

What stepped out of the alley in pursuit of the now disappeared street punks were two creatures, where words could almost not describe how monstrous they appeared to the human eye. If they could be described at best, it would be they resembled skinned blue torsos wrapped in red and blue veins and they moved about using their large muscled arms. Their square heads were bald and the irises in their eyes were blood red, complimenting their black pupils.

'Damnation,' the Confessor thought bitterly as he looked down at Mac and his wide, frightened eyes, 'Not another one.'

The two muscled creatures grunted, with one of them saying in a gritty voice as they looked across at the empty street, "Oi, they're gettin' away!"

"They saw us, you idiot!" the other creature clipped him over the ears, "We we're meant to reveal themselves to us after we drag their souls to the Shad…hey!"

The two creatures looked straight at Mac and appeared puzzled, before the one on the left glared.

"That little brat can see us!" it exclaimed, "He can see us."

The creature on the right pounded his left fist into his flat right palm, "Let's make sure he can't anymore. TAKE HIS EYES!"

The two creatures roared and charged down the sidewalk towards Mac and the Confessor. The boy gasped and stepped back, causing the blue-muscled creatures to smile wider. The Confessor stepped in front of Mac and stretched his right palm forwards in a stop 'motion.'

"Halt, demon-figments!"

The creatures stopped just before the Confessor and Mac, whom was hiding behind him. They appeared flat faced before looking angry at the Imaginary Friend.

"Outta the way, Imaginary Friend," one of the creatures exclaimed, "This has nuthin' to do with you."

"Oh, I think it does," the Confessor retorted, "You know you cannot harm any Fleshling who can see you, and therefore cannot be surprised by you."

Mac eyes widened at that statement, 'Fleshling?'

The creature on the left gave a crooked smile, 'Yeah. But if the little snot is scared of us, then we can feed of it and take him anyway. And you're little friend is filled to overflow with that precious fear."

The Confessor looked over his shoulder to see Mac petrified, not believing the horrific demon-like creatures standing before him, and he believed that using the Confessor as a shield was below someone of his maturity. But nevertheless, he was still a child, and therefore can still be scared.

The Confessor sighed, "Yes, you are right."

He then balled his hands into fists.

"And therefore comes my intervention."

He then stretched his flat palms forward. The Yin-Yang symbols in his hands swirled more intensely and as if a he had summoned a massive gust of wind out from behind him, he sent the two muscled creatures flying backwards yelling and smacking into building behind them. Instead of the brick wall cracking under their combined weight, they simply slid down it onto the ground, and both looking livid and ready to kill.

Mac was amazed at the Confessors handling of the too creature, but didn't have time to absorb that fact into his distraught, concussed mind for long as the Confessor hooked him with his right arm over his waist and bounded upwards into the air, the wind immediately assaulting Mac's senses. They landed on top of the convenience store away from the two ghastly torso creatures, which looked up at them and snarled.

Mac finally asked as the Confessor let go of him, "Wh…what's going on? What are those things?"

The Confessor crossed his arms, "Other imaginary friends…which you are not suppose to be able to see."

Mac rubbed his eyes, "How…can I then?"

As the Confessor was about to answer the two torso-creatures climbed their way up both ends of the store and appeared on opposite ends of the Confessor and Mackey. The creatures flexed their bulging muscles, before using their hands to move themselves towards the boy and his Imaginary companion. Mac edged closer towards the Confessor, feeling like he was about to throw up.

'I…I didn't hit my head too hard back in that alleyway, did I?' Mac mentally asked himself.

"Oi, trenhcoat!" one of the creatures bellowed, "You should've just let us kill that little Fleshling and walk away. Now we're gonna pound you into imaginary dust as well."

The Confessor looked at them oddly, "You really fear this Fleshling that much?"

"If he can see us without us knowing, then he's expendable."

Mac rubbed his forehead and asked, "What have I ever done to you?"

The torso-creatures growled louder, "You're kind used, abused and dumped us on this here plane once you became bored with us."

"What 'kind?'"

"Creators," one of the creatures exclaimed angrily, before stretching his arms wide, "And look what's happened to us?"

The Confessor sounded miffed when he shot back, "And you kill those who can see you without you having to try to take their souls, just like what you did to my James?"

"All Fleshlings are meant to be able to see us," the creatures yelled, "Those who can are too few and reject us on sight. Little pricks like that deserve to die."

Mac was taken back at being called an expletive, and for the first time he heard the Confessor growl slightly, which caused him to nearly jump in surprise. So far in the past quarter of an hour he's known him the Confessor had been soft spoken and formal, and now it would seem that the Confessor was able to do some damage one way or another.

The boy shook his head and glared, no longer feeling scared but instead feeling angry, "I wouldn't have hated you on sight if you hadn't tried to attack me. I would've told you about some place you can stay until someone decided to adopt you."

The torso-creatures shook their heads, with one saying, "They all say that…then we smash them."

The creatures then lunged at both 'fleshling' and imaginary friend, with Mac not feeling scared, but instead stood his ground. This prompted the Confessor to quickly push Mac to the left out of arms way, before extending his middle and index fingers from both hands and extended his arms from both sides of him. Mac looked up from the ground and saw that both torso-creatures from either side of the Confessor had his fingers impaled through both their skulls. Looks of fear, pain and anguish were seen on their distorted faces.

"Anything to say now, you demonic thoughts?" the Confessor inquired, "Or are you ready to return to the Shadows permanently?"

Both torso-creatures shook their heads slowly and sadly. The Confessor pulled his fingers out from both their head and immediately they turned into pixilated ash and the wind scattered them into the air and gradually disappeared from existence.

Mac shook his head and rubbed his eyes again, once again trying to comprehend what he was seeing. That the Confessor had managed to kill the two seemingly unstoppable-looking torso-creatures using nothing but his fingers, and he had said something about sending them back 'to the Shadows.' The Confessor interrupted his thoughts…

"Mackey."

…as he stepped over towards him and helped him onto his feet.

"You…you pushed me," Mac whined, "You shoved me out of the way."

"Yes, I should not have," the Confessor agreed conspicuously, then quickly added, "They could not have hurt you anyway since you did not show any fear."

Mac dropped to his knees as the full effects of a concussion struck home. The Confessor bent over and scooped the boy up in his arms, cradling him gently.

"I have no need for your directions," the Confessor said, "I know where Fosters is."

He then sounded smirk.

"It is interesting you live just a few blocks from it, and yet your school is somewhere near the other end of town."

Mac's eyes widened with the Confessor implying he knows where he lived. Before he could open his mouth he passed out.

--

The Confessor continued to carry Mac as he made his way through the still deserted town, walking down the middle of the road, not expecting any sort of vehicular contact of any kind. His eyes darted around cautiously, as if knowing he was being watched. Soon he was walking down Wilson Way towards 1123.

Out of the corner of his eyes could see dark shadow-like creatures emerging from the asphalt of the road in front of hi. He paused, before turning around to see another shadow creature emerge from the ground behind him. The Confessor calmly crossed over to the sidewalk on the opposite end of the road away from Foster's and continued walking, not appearing bothered in the least of the creatures.

More of the shadow creatures emerged from the road, the grass, the tree and the houses and they slowly converged on the Confessor and Mac. The imaginary friend sighed and held his ground, allowing the creatures to all surrounded him. He looked around himself and saw a nearly a hundred shadows crowding around him.

The Confessor exhaled out of his nose, then asked plainly, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Hand over the fleshling, Holy Figment," the shadows all responded together, "We demand his eyes."

"What do you want with his eyes, my fellow imaginary figments that come from the Shadows?"

"You know the answer to that, Holy Figment," the shadows blurted out gruffly, "Give him up, or join us in the Shadows."

The Confessor surprisingly chuckled, "I have already been to the Shadows. There is no way I can ever return."

The shadows suddenly all shrieked loudly, then cried out, "Then you must die like the rest of them."

The Confessor held Mac over his shoulder with one arm as the creatures all moved in on him. With his free hand he snapped his fingers, which let off a loud echo that pierced the eardrums of all the shadow creatures. They all shrieked in pain and bounded backwards away from the Confessor, who then closed his eyes tightly, muttering some sort of incantation in a language incomprehensible to humans and even other Imaginary Friends.

When he opened his eyes again a minute later, the shrieking had all stopped. The shadow creatures had all disappeared and life seemed to have returned to the planet Earth, as vehicle were now driving on the road in front of the old Victorian house. Some people were walking on the footpaths, and were oblivious to the fact that Imaginary Friend was still standing there with the boy he still carried in his arms

--

It didn't seem a few seconds later when Mac woke up to find himself on his feet on the sidewalk just across the Fosters. He shook his head gently, still feeling concussed and the feeling he was going to pass out again. He checked himself, remembering he had left his school bag in that alleyway, only now it was on his back. The torso-creatures were nowhere in sight, along with the mysterious Confessor.

But most startling and upsetting was that the street and the road were still devoid of any life. Mac exhaled painfully and begun to walk across the street, hearing the faint sounds of traffic despite seeing no cars travelling along the road. He swore he heard a two cars smash on impact just right beside him, and the shockwave generated by the impact swept over him.

He reached the gate into the front yard of Fosters, immediately seeing a tall shadow rise from behind him. Mac felt so stuffed in the head that he didn't feel like being startled or even turning around. Instead he played it calmly.

"Confessor?" Mac asked groggily as the both of them walked up to the front door of the old Victorian house

"Yes, Mackey?"

"Why did James get booted out of the Church?"

The Confessor sounded glum when he replied, "He could somehow see the imaginary friends dreamt up by demons that inhabit another plane of existence, thus sending him into a state of delirium, where what only existed was himself and the demons he could see. Those simple minded fools thought he was the spawn of the Devil, and they got what they had coming soon after he left, unable to see the creatures that lived in the church and warn them of them."

"What happened to them?" Mac dared ask.

The Confessor sounded like he was smirking when he responded, "Their souls were dragged into the Other World, leaving only husk sthat now lie in hospital beds strapped to machinery that feeds and breaths for them."

"The…Other World?"

The Confessor smiled behind his mask, "I will tell you more some other time…provided you wake from this delirium with your mind intact, which I seriously doubt you will."

"Where is James now?" Mac asked his final question.

The Confessor's eyes downcast as he somberly responded, "He died eight years ago."

And with that the Confessor took his hand and with it rapped on the door for him. Mac didn't bother to turn his head to see him disappear out of sight just as the door opened and an ecstatic Bloo greeted him.

"HEY, BUDDY! RIGHT ON TIME AS ALW…eh…buddy?"

Mac simply smiled back amidst wondrous stares, noticing Frankie's mouth moving but couldn't hear what she said. He said nearly oblivious to his mental state, "We're here, Confessor…told you we'd make it…uh!"

He then passed out on his feet…

"MAC!"

…but not before feeling Frankie's warm, comforting arms envelope him gently.

--

Mac felt himself stir some time later, and found himself on one of the couches in the living room of Foster with a blanket over his small body, a pillow over his head and a moist cloth just above his eyes. He could hear the sounds of sirens and other emergency services outside, as well as the screams and cries of those that had been caught in the accident, which to Mac didn't even appear to happen.

Frankie who was sitting nearby, could see the red and blue lights from outside shine on Mac, sat up and went over to the windows and drew the curtains some, then turned to Mac.

"Hey Mac," she said warmly as she stepped to the crouch and kneeled beside it, "How are you feeling?"

"F…Frankie?" Mac grumbled wearily, "W…where am I?"

"You're at Fosters," Frankie answered softly, then added, "I think you would have known, since you practically slept-walked all the way here."

"Huh?"

"Hey…is he awake? MAC, BUDDY!! HE'S AWAKE!"

Mac groaned in pain when Bloo practically sprung from nowhere and hugged him around the neck, squeezing him gently. He would have stopped if he had realized he was hurting Mac, but the little blob was so ecstatic and joyful that it took Frankie to pry Bloo of his creator.

"Bloo!" Frankie grunted as she held the struggling figment in her arms.

Mac adjusted himself so that the moist cloth was on his forehead and left it to once again sooth his still throbbing head. Gradually Wilt, Coco and Eduardo came into view, each one smiling fondly at him, relieved that their friend was (fairly) well.

"Senor Mac," Eduardo was the first to blurt out enthusiastically, "You live through automotor accidente? How you feel?"

"Coco co co coco!" Coco exclaimed, making Eduardo jump slightly.

"Yes, Eduardo, she's right," Wilt agreed, "We should let him rest until his mum arrives?"

"My…mum?" Mac inquired.

"Oh don't worry," Wilt shrugged him off smiling, "I don't think Terrance will be around."

Mac narrowed his eyes and softly retorted, "Oh joy."

All imaginary eyes rolled over towards Frankie, who was now showing concern for her little friend.

"Er…Mac?" Frankie asked, "Do you remember what happened to you?"

Mac looked at her oddly, then rubbed his forehead again and closed his eyes tightly. To him things didn't seem real at the moment, so what he would say would seem very perplexing, and especially to him.

"I…I don't really know," Mac answered, making sincere eye contact with Frankie.

Bloo didn't catch what he said right away, and reacted naturally to it. And with the azure blob still fretting over the mortality of his creator/best friend, his natural response was very abrupt, and startled everyone in the room.

"What d'ya mean you don't know?" Mac practically screeched in Mac's face hysterically, "You walked out into the middle of the road and caused two Hondas to slam into each, creating a hundred dollars worth of scrap metal…!"

Mac's eyes widened in fright, "What?"

"BLOO!" Frankie shouted, pulling him away from Mac, who was now frightened over that little revelation.

Then came the familiar thumping of feet as Mr. Herriman entered the room, "Master Blooregard! You were given specific instructions to not reveal details of the accident to Master Mac, since it cannot be determined if he was in his right state of mind when he walked across the road."

"Huh?" Mac cried out as he tried to get up, but a sudden head pain forced him back down, "Ow!"

Frankie looked down at Mac worriedly and made sure he was comfortable again, readjusting his pillow, "Mac…the cops were asking about you about five minutes ago. We told them you were out of it so they wouldn't try to step all over you the second you woke up."

She then looked over Herriman, looking more concerned by the second.

"They're not serious about making Mac take the blame, right?"

"Of course not, Miss Francis," Herriman answered, "However, they wish to inform all of you that they will still want to question Master Mac over the events of this afternoon and about his state of mind regarding the incident in question."

He then peered down at Mac, his steely gaze making him feel more uncomfortable.

"Anything you wish to state, Master Mac?"

"Er…"

"C'mon Mac," Bloo shouted impulsively, "Let's sweep this under the rug and get on with our lives."

Wilt glared over at Mac's continued impulsiveness, then looked down at Mac and getting down on one knee. He said supportively, "We'll stick by you, Mac. No matter what happens."

"Huh?"

"Sí, amigo," Eduardo nodded as he stepped up to Mac, "We right behind you."

"Coco," Coco said, sounding as if she pledged her full support.

Mac then felt Frankie pat his shoulder gently and catch a glimpse of her warm smile, "You can tell us, Mac. We're ready to believe anything you have to say."

Once again he was feeling overwhelmed. First by those dark imaginary friends and now by the support of his friends and their pledge to believe anything he had to say. Now he couldn't help but begin to doubt himself.

"You guys," Mac said quietly, "I'm not sure what the heck happened. I'm not even sure if I'm awake or not…OW!"

Bloo suddenly pinched him on the arm, making him wince.

"Felt that?"

"Duh!"

"Then you're awake," Bloo stated impatiently, "Now let it out!"

Mac glared at him, then continued, "Like I said…I don't know if it was real."

Frankie narrowed her eyes in confusion, "What wasn't real, Mac? What are you trying to spell out?"

As Mac laid there on the couch, he half-expected the Confessor to appear by his side any moment now. After about five minutes of peaceful silence, he phased that possibility out and reasoned that he was going to bother him again, and neither were the torso-creatures that had attacked him this afternoon. He couldn't be sure if Bloo, Frankie or the other Imaginary Friends believed him when he told them what happened, but he did a curious look upon the caretaker's face as if she had been familiar with something.

The boy snuggled under his blanket a bit more as he continued to think. Was this the last he would see of those creatures that the Confessor described as the imaginary figments of demons and other unseen spirits from another world? And if that was true, how many of these dark figments inhabited the Earth? It was those figments that feed upon the souls that they steal from those they can surprise and torment.

Was he still in danger? Was all those whom he loved and cherished in danger as well? Is there some way of knowing that they would be safe? Would he ever encounter these creatures again? And what of the Confessor…what was really his story?

And most troubling of all: Did everything that had happened was even real? Or was it just a concussion-induced delirium and everything he had just witnessed were all just mere phantasms?

What he knew for certain that once he told them the whole story, things would never will be the same.