I don't remember much about my imaginary friend, and things I do remember, my parents told me about. I live on a fairly secluded farm in the middle of nowhere, with the nearest neighbors living half an hour drive away.

I'm married to an amazing woman, with whom I had a son. Tristan is currently 4 years old.

It started about 4 months ago, I noticed Tristan playing and laughing on his own, which isn't unusual for children his age, but is unusual for Tristan. He's an attention seeker, he can't have fun without either his mommy or daddy. So while I was glad he finally decided to play on his own, it was also a little weird.

I walked up to him with a big grin on my face. "Who are you playing with Tristan?"

He looked at me, his expression showing a hint of confusion, then he looked away, nodded at something, and looked back at me. "With my friend!" He exclaimed proudly.

I remember thinking that maybe an Imaginary friend isn't such a bad idea for him. "Oh really? what's his name?"

"He doesn't want me to tell you." Tristan responded, still playing with his toys. I shrugged it off.

"Alright, have fun." I said and walked off into the kitchen.

"Well?" My wife asked me. "Imaginary friend." I smiled at her, we highfived. All this meant was we had some more time on our hands since Tristan decided to play with himself, or his imaginary friend.

And while it was innocent and sweet at first, things began getting weird.

One day I heard something shatter in the direction of Tristan's room. When I got there my wife was already scolding Tristan. "Why would you take the glass and shatter it?"

"I didn't!" Tristan was crying.

"Then who did?" My wife asked.

"My friend!"

"Oh really? Where is he now?"

Tristan took a quick glance at the doorway, and then shrugged. I walked up to my wife and put my hands on her shoulders. "It's alright, we'll clean this up." "And Tristan, if your friend does something like this again, we won't let you play with him anymore, got it?" I tried to play the mediator. Tristan nodded profusely.

But that wasn't the end of it, things just kept happening around Tristan, and each time he'd blame his friend with no name.

"Okay so what is your friends name?" I was getting upset, angry almost.

"He doesn't want me to tell you!" Tristan shouted in between sobs.

"Well I want you to tell me!" I shouted back, feeling bad right after.

Tristan began sobbing even louder. My wife gave me a look.

"Why are you so hellbent on finding out some imaginary's friends name anyway?" My wife whispered to me while Tristan was sleeping on her lap.

"Because I had an imaginary friend too when I was his age."

My wife gave me a questioning look, like how is that relevant to now?

"I also used him as an excuse for misbehaving." I rubbed my neck, feeling a little embarassed.

"And did he have a name?" My wife asked.

"Boo." I replied. I watched as my wife's face dropped and she glanced at Tristan.

"Everything okay?" Her expression was worrysome.

"His friend's name is Boo.." She said slowly.

"How do you know?" I asked her, feeling a slight tremble at my finger tips.

"I overheard Tristan refering to his friend as Boo."

We both sat in silence for what felt like hours.

"How did you get rid of him?" My wife finally asked.

"I don't remember. I think I just grew out of it."

She was looking at Tristan with so much care and worry, and Tristan was in deep slumber, completely oblivious to it.

"Want me to call my parents and ask?"

"Please." She looked up at me.

"Alright."

I called them the next day and they were surprised that I brought up Boo, after a short conversation they agreed to come over for dinner and to talk about it.

We made sure Tristan was occupied and wouldn't overhear our conversation by letting him eat dinner first, and then go play with his grandpa.

"You know you used that damn imaginary friend as an excuse for everything." My mother giggled at the memory, but then her expression grew serious.

"And a lot of disturbing things happened, things that we knew you never could of done."

"Like what?" My wife asked. Even I couldn't remember what it was.

"I woke up one night, you were six, Aarlon." She gazed outside as she spoke.

"I was thirsty and walked to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. As I was walking through the hallway, I noticed the front door wide open."

My wife was listening in intently. Meanwhile I was somewhat distracted, my attention on the sounds of my father and my son playing in the other room. Their laughs and giggles warmed my heart.

"I was too tired to think on why it was open, so I just walked over and wanted to close it, but then I noticed the stable gate wide open. I began walking to the stable and heard noises- giggles. It was your voice Aarlon."

I explored my memory, trying to find the moments she was describing, but it was all blacked out, as if erased from existence.

"I sneaked over to the stables and peeked inside. You were sitting on the ground, your legs crossed, you were pointing with your finger and giggling at something. Then I saw a knife just floating towards you, I didn't know how the fuck it was possible, but the knife just flew right into your hands. And you laughed even harder, when I walked in to take you back home, I saw two of our horses, dead on the ground, stab wounds all around their bodies."

My heart dropped and I got the chills. I noticed my wife's gaze, she was looking at me, really looking. "You don't remember any of this?" She asked.

"He can't." My mother explained.

We both looked at her with confused expressions, asking to elaborate further.

She sighed. "We promised ourselves we'd never tell you this, but we knew this might happen if you had a child."

For some reason right then and there, I felt betrayed, I felt hurt. They knew? And still decided to stay silent?

"You wrote us a list of rules to follow when you were six and a half. It was a very strange list, including a lot of disturbing things written down. One of the supposed rules even described a ritual we were supposed to perform every day. And what was the consequence if we didn't follow these rules? At the bottom of the page, written in red crayon, it said: Boo will take"

"What?" I was in disbelief. Boo will take? Take what? Me? My son?

"Of course we didn't follow those stupid rules, instead we brought you straight to a priest. However even a priest couldn't help. He had no clue what we were dealing with. It was a punch in the gut and we were ready to give up. However luckily enough we mentioned this thing to one of our close friends, and she knew exactly what to do. Make you forget. Because it seemed like all the power Boo had, was gotten from you. Because you believed he was real."

After a long, silent pause, my mom continued. "So that's what we did. That's why you can't remember."

My wife opened her mouth to speak, maybe ask something, but she was interrupted by a loud shout coming from our son. "Boo!" And then my father screaming bloody murder. We shared quick worried glances and rushed over to the room where they were playing. Tristan had a smile on his face. "Look I scared grandpa!" He pointed to my dad, laying on the ground, his hand clutching his chest.

"Call an ambulance!" My mom said and my wife sprung into action.

"What happened Tristan?" I asked him.

"I was playing with grandpa.." His smile was gone now and he had tears welling up in his eyes.

"And then what?"

"I wanted to scare him.." He said.

"So you said Boo?"

"Yeah.."

"And he fell over because he was scared?" Tristan nodded. I sighed.

The ambulance arrived after about 35 minutes and took him to the hospital. My mom went with him but told us to stay with our son and that she'd update us. It was a heart attack.

We put Tristan to bed and then started cleaning up the kitchen.

"Do we erase his memories too?" My wife asked.

For some reason I really hated that idea, I really hated my childhood being taken away from me, just erased like that, and I'm sure Tristan would hate that too. But at the same time what else can we do?

I shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well we have to do something, before this.. thing does something to our son too."

I nodded.

We went to sleep shortly after.

"But I don't want to."

"Uhuh."

"No he won't make you go away."

"He's my daddy."

"Yes."

"Okay."

"No I don't want to!"

I opened my eyes groggily, I saw a small silhouette standing over me, looking at me.

"No!" I heard Tristan's voice shout.

I got up in bed. "Tristan? What's up?" My eyes were still adjusting to the darkness. He was clutching something in his left hand. He took a step backwards.

"I'm sorry." He said under his breath. "I'm sorry." He repeated a little louder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He kept saying and saying. "Hey, it's okay, come here." I motioned for him. I heard something metal clank on the ground, and realised that he dropped whatever he was holding. I noticed the glint of something metal on the ground. It was a knife. I got the chills. Tristan ran into my arms and began sobbing, still apologising.

For some reason I looked at the door of my bedroom. I saw something dark, a shadowy silhouette peering inside our room. My heart dropped. I kept looking at it, trying to examine it, but it was too dark to see. It hadn't noticed that I noticed it. I looked at Tristan for a moment, consoling him, and then back at the door. It was gone.

I don't know how my wife stayed asleep during all this, but she was surprised to see Tristan in our bed in the morning. And horrified to find the knife at the foot of our bed.

It is the morning now as I'm writing this, my mother still hasn't called us. Tristan has been awfully quiet all day today, just clinging either to me or his mother.

This thing clearly tried to make Tristan murder me last night. And I am so, so, so proud of him because he didn't.

We need to make him forget, as much as I don't want to erase his childhood. I will update you all once I know more about my father's wellbeing, and once I figure out how we're erasing his memories of this so called imaginary friend.