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After waking early from his nap, little Flint wrestled his way out of his sleeping father's grip and toddled over to the toy box. The boy with red hair was sitting on the carpet, and Flint was eager to show him the little wooden horse his grandfather, and namesake, carved for him. He opened the lid easily, though it was quite heavy for a boy his size, and rooted through the box before pulling out the hand-made figure. He made his way to the other boy, squealing with delight.
From the moment of his being, the boy was always there. Ususally he would make himself known to Flint when his father was sleeping, watching over him until he fell asleep or, as he did now, sit on the carpet and play toys with him. At this point in his life, Flint did not question his presence, or why no one else seemed to pay attention to this friend. This person's visits were just another part of the three-year-old's day.
Today, Flint handed the tiny carved horse to the boy. As objects usually did, it passed through his hand and onto the floor. The boy just smiled sadly, first at the floor, then at Flint. Flint just went to pick up the little horse.
"Dadada, horsie..." he babbled, repeating in his own way what his father would sing when he bounced him on his knee.
"Dadada..."
The routine repeated a few more times, with Flint attempting to place the horse in the boy's hands and it passing through. Eventually he abandoned this game, simply laying on his back and gazing at the boy with bright blue eyes."You look just like him, you know that?" the boy spoke. Flint just giggled and rolled back and forth on the carpet.
"Do you know who I am?"
Flint stopped and looked at him quizzically before nearly rolling into his lap. "Buddy!" he squealed.
The boy chuckled. "Well, yes. We've been buddies for a long time haven't we?"
The three-year-old snapped up to his feet again. "Buddy!"
"Buddy it is."
---
Lucas cracked another egg into the pan and let it sizzle. He had overslept a bit on his nap and was surprised to find his son curled up on the floor. He had checked for bruises, but it seemed he had ended up there on his own instead of falling. Now he leaned back on the counter to watch Flint enthusiastically roll a ball back and forth. Though he was managing it himself, he seemed to be having a good time anyway. He and his wife did their best to attend to him, and soon he wouldn't be an only child any more, but at times like this Lucas wondered how he didn't get too lonely just playing at home. He seemed to be perfectly content, as if he were playing with someone else.
"Buddy!" Flint squealed as he rolled the ball.
Lucas had to wonder who he was talking to. Was this something he picked up from one of the other kids in the village? He was about to check when the smell of burning filled the air.
"My omelettes!"
---
Flint's parents tucked him in and kissed him good night. Dad told a funny story about three bears, and Mom sang a pretty song about little horses. When they turned out the light and left the room, Buddy moved out of the corner to sit on his bed.
"Nothing's going to scare you as long as I'm here."
Flint squeezed his teddy bear. "Love you Buddy," he mumbled as he drifted off to sleep.
---
Flint rushed home from his friend's house excitedly, a piece of folded paper clutched in his hand.
"Can I see that?" Lucas asked the boy.
"Ya!" he shouted excitedly, handing off the paper. He rushed off to play the ball game again.
---
Lucas didn't look at the paper until much later, before he went to sleep. He wished he hadn't done it then. After a glance, the paper fell to the floor and his hand trembled.
"What's wrong?" asked his wife as she slid into bed next to him.
He handed her the paper, his hand still trembling.She let out a gasp. "How would he know?"
"I don't know."
"So this is Buddy?"
She flattened the paper so the two of them could get a better view. It was a crayon drawing of Flint and his family. Flint and his father's blond hair were scribbled onto oblong heads with yellow crayon. The heads were attached to stick bodies. His mother was done up in a similar fashion, a round shape in the middle with a smaller stick body inside. Their names were written above their heads in neat script, probably by his friend's parent.
FLINT
DAD
MOM
BABY
BUDDY
He was drawn like all the rest, round head, stick body, messy hair. It was drawn in orange crayon in a mess similar to Lucas.
"It could just be an imaginary friend," his wife suggested.
"I guess," he sighed, putting his head in his hands.
"He could be psychic," she grinned.
Lucas shot his wife a glance at that comment, but as he let the thought settle, it began to make more and more sense.