My son had been acting strange for a while now. Since his father left, he changed. Ravenswood was a small town, away from the madness of the city. I thought it would be best for us, a new start. I couldn't bare to spend any more time in London. Everything just reminded me of him. Even Jacob. Yet I was so glad I still had a part of my husband with us. Although his same pearly blue eyes sunk into the sockets of my child. I still loved him. “Yes I know, things are getting weird in this town...” Jacob whispered into the dark. After a few seconds of silence, he muttered something quietly and followed up with a quiet giggle. An imaginary friend, but perhaps not the best kind as I've come to find out. It unsettled me at first. I know it was normal for kids to have one of these but I couldn't understand it. I've never had an imagination so vivid. Even as a child. I loved my husband for that reason, he was so creative and deep thinking I was almost jealous. It's a shame that it led to his demise. How could he have been so selfish though? leaving me behind, with a child? Over the next few weeks, after finding out my son had a new best friend. I noticed he began acting up, playing with the hob whilst I was cooking, leaving traps for me in the bathroom in the form of Lego bricks, once id even prepared a cake for his 9th birthday and pushed the whole thing onto the floor. It was upsetting to see him have it out for me. I grabbed him by his shoulder on his birthday, asking why he threw it. But only a smirk remained. after that day though it became worse, he grew... Distant. “Jacob, what's wrong?” Silence. Perhaps he was angry with me, embarrassed even. So I left him, days went by and even his teachers were calling home saying he hardly speaks and spends a lot of time alienating himself from the class. Then one evening, the sun dipping low below the horizon. I saw it. An old man sat on his chair in his room. A scraggly white beard, no hair, blotchy pale skin and eyes without pupils. He sat almost naked in pants and every wrinkle and blemish on his skin looked alive. As though it was it’s own being. "Who are you?" I implored, my voice trembling with a mix of curiosity and unease. Silence filled the room for a fleeting moment before a hushed reply seemed to drift from the shadows. "I am a friend," the disembodied voice murmured, its tone carrying an otherworldly resonance. I pressed further, determination overriding my fear. "What do you want with my son? Why do you keep yourself hidden?" The response was cryptic, laced with an eerie enigma. "I am here to guide him, to show him a world beyond his wildest dreams. But my true nature is one that cannot be comprehended by mortal minds." Then he disappeared before my eyes. My son looked at me in a still gaze. “I don’t know who I should listen to mummy, my best friend, or you.” I trembled as those words shook threw me. Even as I write this I can feel the hair standing up on my arms. I then found myself torn between my love for my son and the enigmatic force that held him captive. Was he an evil spirit, a guardian of some kind intent on nurturing his potential. Wasn’t that my job? Wasn’t I meant to be the one to nurture and guide him. Till this day I’m not sure. I went to priests, psychologists, counsellors and doctors. No one could help me. So I left it, hoping that maybe it was a good spirit. Or that I was dreaming, no, I couldn’t have been dreaming. It felt too real. My son is 34 now. A successful artist, entrepreneur and life coach. I’m not sure how he did it, but deep down I think I know exactly how. It seems he picked his best friend over me. The saddest part about it, is that he is happier than I could ever imagine. Has a beautiful wife, children, a lucrative career. I couldn’t be happier for him. Although, I’ll always remember that day when the sun dipped low below the horizon. The day when I lost my son to his best friend.