The phony enthusiasm that usually coated Hobag’s words had vanished. In its’ place was the raw, brutal honesty of a camp director who, to my ten year old brain, might as well be a god.

  “I know swimming lessons can be scary, especially for a boy your age, but your behavior was very inappropriate!”

  “Lecture me all you want, woman.” I growled, deepening my voice low as it would go. Though mostly I sounded like a grumpy Chihuahua. “I’ll never break!”

  She cocked an eyebrow, and I swear the edge of her mouth curled up ever so slightly. But only for a millisecond, then she was back to business. “I wasn’t going to hurt you, Watterson. I was just going to remind you to walk more slowly around the pool. You could have slipped and seriously injured yourself!”

  “So can I go now?” I muttered. “I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be painting a paper-mache balloon right now.”

  “Not yet” She sighed. “Jeremy says you’ve been talking to yourself at night.”

  “So I talk in my sleep. Big deal!”

  “Watterson, we need to talk about Hilda.”

  “HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT NAME, DEMON!?” I screamed at the top of my lungs.

  “Your Mom told me.” She replied.

  I sat there, jaw slack, heart frozen.

  My own Mother.

  The woman who promised to keep all my secrets.

  The woman who always let me stay at the museum until closing.

  The woman who, even after all these years, still sang me lullabies while she checked under my bed for monsters

  Had sold me out.

  The world got just a little darker.

  Nothing was sacred anymore.

  Then Ms. Hobag did the strangest thing. She got down on one knee so that her nose came dangerously close to touching me, and whispered in my ear

  “Can I tell you a secret, Watterson?” Pleasant, but with an edge, like a pastel pink Barbie knife.

  I thought about saying no, then yes, because maybe she expected me to say no and throwing her off guard might be a good idea. Don’t remember how long I spent mulling the decision, but it was long enough she decided to spill the beans anyway. Which probably meant I played right into her bony old hands.

  While I cursed to myself, she continued.

  “Your Mom didn’t want me to tell you this, Watterson, but she’s worried about you. Because you’re ten years old and still talk to an imaginary friend.”

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  “…”

  “And I just want to say, it’s great that you have an imagination! So many kids rot their brains out on video games and comic books. But when your Mother explained her to me, I started to notice a pattern: Hilda always seems to show up whenever you get in trouble.”

  I wanted to say ‘okay’ or ‘sure’ or whatever, but my voice kept getting gummed up in my throat. Maybe it was anger. Maybe it was guilt. But none of that changed what happened next.

  “You’re ten years old, Watterson. Almost a teenager! Far, far too old for making up scapegoats! One of these days- and I know you don’t what to hear this- you’re going to have to realize there is no other person making trouble. You cannot escape your problems, Watterson, because there is only you!”

  If someone else were in the room with us, they might have heard a faint buzzing noise. That was my brain popping a fuse trying to process all the fancy pants philosophy stuff.

  “And,” she continued “apparently you still believe in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. That’s… worrying.”

  Now, I like to think of myself as an open minded, tolerant guy, but there’s only so much bullcrap a ten year old can take!

  “Because they’re real, you dumb, cruel, stupid, weenie dingleberry MEANIE BO BEENIE FUDGENUGGET!”

  Bet you didn’t expect me to use the M-word, did you? But I, like my longtime idol George Washington, am chronically allergic to lying.

  “No, Watterson,” She groaned, shaking her head like I was the dumb one! “It’s just your parents leaving gifts. You should have realized that by now.”

  “YOU’RE GOING TO HELL FOR BLASHEMY AGAINST OUR LORD AND SAVIOR, WHORE!”

  I screamed, reciting what Dad told my brother when he forgot to bless the Philadelphia Eagles during the Thanksgiving grace.

  Hobag sighed. “Watterson, the only one lying here is you. And believe me, I understand. Growing up is tough! Real life isn’t exciting, or interesting, or emotionally fulfilling…”

  For a moment, her eyes glazed over and she stared right through me. But only for a second before she continued

  “…and I know you’re going through stuff at home, but we have to face reality. You can’t just make believe your way through college!”

  Then she babbled some other stuff about social interaction and crap, but I just kind of phased it out. Because as much as I hated to admit it, Hobag kind of had a point. It WAS weird that Santa had given me I.O.Us for the past six years instead of that pet velociraptor I always asked for.

  “…Which is why, young man, you are going to have a time out!”

  My eyes lit up. “So I’ll be stuck here?”

  “Yes. You can have a good think about what you’ve done!”

  “Alone?” I prodded.

  “Of course!”

  “By myself?”

  “For sure!”

  “In the only air conditioned room in the whole camp?!”

  “Yes!”

  “No hikes or swim sessions with the other campers?!”

  “Indeed!” She chirped, dragging my chair down the hall until at last, we arrived at a dark, unlit room. An old T.V., perched atop a wheeled cart, cackling static and stinking of mothballs, greeted us as we entered. Too late did I realize my solitude might be just a little too good to be true.

  “Now, I know you might get a bit bored in here, so I’m going to put on a fun show to teach you about friendship. You like dinosaurs, right?”

  With that she left, the door creaking slowly behind her before the lock clacked into place.

  The T.V. flickered to life.

  For the last twenty years I’ve tried to forget what occurred in that room. No words can properly describe it, but I will say one thing: the purple nightmare that appeared onscreen ain’t no dinosaur of this planet or elsewhere, no matter what anybody else tells you. Its’ head was like a theropod’s but with broad flat teeth useless for ripping flesh. Its’ purple skin would have been useless for camouflage in the forests of the Mesozoic. It DRAGGED its’ tail in a way that should have made it topple over. But despite being an abomination against both God and the laws of physics, the screen was full of children, mindlessly flocking and smiling around this perversion of nature made manifest! Then it spoke. Dear lord, it spoke!

  I love you, you love meeeeee…

  I screamed.