Mr. Cherries

Two hours after abandoning his dying friend, Ed found the wheatfield. He hurried past the barn. Up the rotted porch steps to the place he once called home. He bit back a whimper as he shoved the key into the old familiar lock.

Most children’s invisible friends leave when the child outgrows them. Ed’s never did. The 33-year-old bank teller used a flashlight app and grabbed the sharpest knife he could find in the kitchen. Then he went to the basement and sat before the shrine.

“Mr. Cherries, please accept my sacrifice.”

Somewhere deep within the pitch-black firebox, something stirred.

Ed squeezed the knife. “Tell me where to cut.”

“I will handle the sacrifice,” said Mr. Cherries.

Ed needed to distract himself from whatever pain was about to come. Instead he thought of the last time he’d abandoned a dying loved one: his own mom. He’d been too afraid to sit by her side as she lay dying in the hospital that cursed day.

Liquid heat jolted Ed from the memory, pain lancing his body until his legs shook from the fried nerve endings. He tried to stand, but collapsed almost instantly, knife clattering to the floor. Ed heard the dull thump of something hitting the ground behind him.
A mist poured forth from the fireplace. Before his eyes, the fog settled into a shape he knew well. Hope spread warmth throughout his body.

“Mom,” he whispered. Then, louder: “Mom! Something really bad happened and I…I don’t know what to do.” Ed swallowed and the thunder rolled. “I’m so sorry I left you that day. But—you’re here now. You came back for me.”

There was no mistaking the gentle smile spread over Ed’s phantom-mother’s face. But something was off. “I’m sorry, dear. Do I know you?”

Ice shot straight through Ed’s heart. “It’s Eddie. You know that.” He meant to give a reassuring chuckle, but half-choked on pain. Why was his leg on fire?

“Well then. Can I get you some cheese and crackers?”

Ed’s heart broke at the mention of his favorite childhood snack. He caught it then, what was off: it was the eyes. They looked cold, distant, other. A second before the mist evaporated, sucked back into the depths of the fireplace, he thought he saw a hard, knowing glint in one of those black eyes.

Then his mom was gone. Again.

In her absence, the pain of the world bore down on Ed’s shoulders.

But a different pain rocked him full-force, demanding his undivided attention. Finally, Ed looked back at the leg that was burning. Lying in a long shadow, way back by the wheelchair, was Edward Pierce’s right foot. He was no longer attached to it.

Ed was utterly and completely broken. Only one person could fix it.

He hauled himself to the wheelchair, dragging his footless leg behind him like a scarecrow. “All right Mr. Cherries,” he panted, sweat pouring from his brow. He picked up the knife. “Tell me where to cut.”