I’m not sure why I’m writing it down. Maybe because if I ever get committed to an asylum or something then someone somewhere will read this and know what really happened. You know, that I’m not insane or anything. At least, I don’t think I am. Not that I would ever tell anyone where I’m keeping this hidden because then that would only back up the That-Boy’s-Insane theory. However, if by some strange and unfortunate turn of events, some miraculous fluke that forced me into a hospital and you are in fact reading this sentence, then I will first inform you of my life’s profession.

Well, I guess it can’t be called a profession really. I don’t get paid for it. In fact no one really knows about it. Just me and those I help, or sometimes push away. Because sometimes the people don’t want to leave as easily as others. Like my first real challenge, Cahna. Don’t ask me what freak decided to come up with that name, maybe that’s why Cahna was so angry all the time. Then again, if the only person in the world who could see me suddenly grew up I’d probably be angry as well.

OK, this is not a good way to start a story. Oy…

Let’s back up a bit.

My name is Asher Mitcham, which, I guess, isn’t all that much better than Cahna. I’m fifteen, sixteen come December, and I see imaginary friends. Yeah, that’s right, the people little kid’s make up when all the other kindergartener’s laugh at them. It’s sort of like those mediators you hear all about, or ghost whisperers or whatever because I am seeing ghosts. That’s what most people don’t get about imaginary friends, they’re real. They’re all ghosts of children that are so desperate to stay on earth that they leach themselves to a living kid.

My oh-so-wonderful job is to get the imaginary friends to leave. Because as we all should know by now, moving into the afterlife (or whatever is there) is much better than clinging to the living. Of course only the dead who have moved on know this for sure, and apparently we’re not allowed to know why. What kind of rule is that? Would it really tear open the fabric of time and space to just tell some of us? Like me for instance, and all those other people who have to come up with lame excuses on why ghosts should move on.

So, as a fifteen-year-old guy and other than my obnoxious gift, I’m pretty normal. I come from a largish family. I’ve got a single mother, two little sisters and one older brother. My dad died just after the youngest of us was born eight years ago. So, our humble, happy, partially ignorant family lives in southern Oregon of the lovely and freer-than-most-countries US. All my life I’ve known about my special skills because hello, I had an imaginary friend too you know. He just didn’t go away when I decided to ignore him and that’s how it started.

The real trouble started in the beginning of tenth grade. I go to an alternative high school, because I’m way non-conformist. And also because I had the habit of beating the living daylights out of whatever kid decided my nose looked funny. As a result a lot of their noses now look funny.

Anyway, the tenth grade class consisted of exactly twenty students, so everyone knew everyone and their aunt’s high school sweetheart. So when two new students joined the class, naturally and predictably everyone was interested in knowing them. Except me, because the second I looked at Risa and her twin sister Hinata, the lovely Asian transfers, I knew that they had serious imaginary problems. Risa’s little friend followed her like a shadow, silent and faithful and always looking at her like she was the queen. It was Hinata who had the bad problem. Her imaginary friend was a bitch. The little girl swore like a sailor and spent all day poking at Hinata and trying to get her to see her again. This would be the redheaded stepchild Cahna.

Risa and Hinata were supposed to be identical but it was obvious to tell who was who. For one Hinata had gone for the street punk style and had bright purple hair, whereas Risa was a cheerleader in the making. Also, because of Hinata’s obvious – or obvious to me anyway – heartache, she looked pretty depressed. Ghosts can’t physically hurt someone, not if they’re imaginary friends, but the weight of their presence can sometimes pressure the living into a deep gloom. That’s what was happening to Hinata.

Like all new students the twins were introduced to the class and asked to share something about themselves. Risa very happily told everyone that they had just moved into town because their father owned some company or other. I couldn’t really hear what she was saying because her sister’s imaginary friend was screaming the whole time. Hinata said nothing, but gloomily shifted her feet and stared at the class until she could sit down. The sisters didn’t sit next to each other; in fact they sat on opposite sides of the classroom.

“And what about me?” A little voice from behind me said loudly, I turned my head to see Hinata and Cahna. The ghost was standing next to her looking like a particularly ugly doll. “I don’t get a seat anymore is that it Hinie? You don’t care about me, you don’t see me. You used to depend on me and always save me a seat, and now even though you’re in a new school and Risa hates you, you still won’t talk to me!”

And it went on. All lesson in fact, I was so sure I would end up with an F because stupid lonely Cahna wouldn’t shut her trap. In the end I took my assignment home so I could work in peace. Technically it wasn’t homework, but I may as well get a good grade even if it was one day late. My real problem was how to talk to Risa and Hinata without looking like a freak. I couldn’t just let them wander around with imaginary stalkers, especially if it was damaging to Hinata’s health. And my academic career.

I didn’t want to do it that day because then it would seem like I was coming onto them or something. Plus, a ton of other guys were coming onto the twins and I definitely didn’t want to look like some generic pervert. So after school got out I went straight to Chichi’s house. Chichi is a psychic, she sees ghosts but not imaginary friends. I met her because she was thirty-eight years old and still had a six year old following her around. Now she’s forty, and one of my closest friends. I know that’s kind of weird, but hey, life’s a funny thing.

Chichi lives on a back road because she doesn’t like company. Except me, she’s always happy to see me. Her house is small with just a bedroom and a guest room, even though she never has anyone over. Except me, but I’ve never spent the night. That would be way too weird. On her door she has a sign that says Welcome To Paradise. She said it’s because whenever she goes on a trip she always likes to think that paradise is waiting for her at home.

“Asher, please come in,” Chichi always opens the door before I can knock yet she still claims not to be clairvoyant. Yeah right.

“Hi Chichi,” I answered, setting down my backpack. The door closed on it’s own. Yes, very Stephen King but the doors usually do that in Chichi’s house. Like I said, she sees ghosts. But not only that, she takes them in like stray dogs, because she believes that spirits on earth should stay on earth unless they want to leave. I asked her one time how many ghosts she had living in the little house and she said there were at least six. At least…it took me a while to get used to it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any cookies to offer you,” Chichi sat down at her kitchen table, “But you already know I can’t cook.”

“You always say that,” I replied, “I know by now that no cookies will be offered.”

Chichi laughed and went to the fridge. She handed me a Coke and sat down again with some iced tea. She’s kind of a typical adult, except for the shaman thing, and being friends with a teenager.

“So, why the visit?” She asked, “You usually call first, has something come up.” Behind her, the fridge opened and closed twice and the faucet turned on and off. Chichi glanced sharply over her shoulder and the disturbances ceased. Again, this is something I’ve gotten used to.

“Yeah actually,” I answered, drinking my Coke, “There’re two new students in class and they both have friends following them. One is more forward than the other and she’s doing some pretty bad damage to her companion.” Companion is the word I use to describe the living person, I’m telling you this because that last sentence may have sounded a bit odd.

“I see,” Chichi ran a finger along the rim of her glass, thinking, “So you want to know what you can do about this, how you can help all the people involved without causing too much commotion. Tell me, are the new students female?” I nodded, “That makes things a bit more complicated. Are they pretty, or attracting a lot of attention from the boys?” I nodded again, “This is a problem,” Chichi looked down, furrowing her brow. She didn’t look at me for a while, and while I enjoyed my Coke I could hear footsteps down the hall.

“Perhaps, if you knew where they lived,” Chichi was thinking aloud I think. She didn’t seem to mind when I didn’t answer, “I’m not sure, Asher. Perhaps it would be best to form a friendship with these girls, they may end up good company.”

“Nah,” I tried not to blush, “They’d just think I was a pervert or something. No guy just becomes friends with girls, there’s always a catch.”

“That’s too bad,” Chichi replied, “I suppose the best advice I can give is to just watch for a while. Observe the girls’ relationship and then decide what to do. Remember you can always come to me for advice.”

“Thanks,”

Chichi offered to let me visit for a while and watch a movie. But I said I had to get home, which I did because homework was already piled up even if it was the first day. Plus I had that extra assignment to do. So I went home and spent the rest of the night in my room. Here’s where the details get hazy. I can’t remember what was said, or who said, or even if I had dinner, I just know I woke up the next morning in my clothes with a book stuck over my face – not a text book mind you, this was my reading book, The Princess Bride – and the words, ‘six-fingered sword’ clearly printed across one cheek.