Kris Ashton

Sci-Fi Lampoon is about to drop its latest issue, a themed anthology with the unforgettable title, The Fuckening.

What is The Fuckening? Sci-Fi Lampoon describes it thus: We’ve all seen the memes about “The Fuckening”—when your day is going too well and you don’t trust it and some shit finally goes down. Ah, there it is: The Fuckening.

It’s a clever theme for an anthology and among the stories in it is my weird tale, ‘Imaginary Murder’. It’s about a kid who conjures up an imaginary friend, Tricksy, that encourages him to do naughty and anti-social things… things that escalate as the kid grows older.

Here’s a little taste:

His mother’s camera clicked, its false lightning turning the church’s timber walls white for an instant. Dale blinked a few times, thinking the flash had somehow burned an image on his retinas. A man now sat beside him on the pew. He wore a pinstriped navy suit and shoes polished to a high sheen, topped off with a black bowler hat. Licks of orange hair escaped the brim, like flames. Although he appeared to be forty or fifty, his legs were no longer than Dale’s. His feet dangled several inches shy of the dusty floorboards.

He grinned at Dale. “Bored son?”

Dale glanced at his parents. They were still moving through the church like brolgas searching for frogs in a shallow swamp and appeared not to have heard the man’s voice, which reminded Dale of his late grandfather’s. “Pack-a-day smoker’s voice,” his mother had called it.

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Tricksy.” He put out his hand and Dale shook it firmly, the way his father had taught him to when introduced to an adult. The hand was warm and papery, as if someone had left it too long in a tumble dryer. “Helping bored young men is my specialty.”

“Really?” Dale said. Eight was old enough to question whether this could be happening, but young enough not be alarmed. And at that moment Dale would have entertained the devil himself had he promised to alleviate his crushing boredom.

“Really,” Tricksy said. “I have an idea I think you might like.”

Dale looked over his shoulder again, feeling guilty for some reason. If his parents had heard him speak, they showed no interest.

“Don’t worry about them,” Tricksy said. “They can’t hear me or see me. This conversation is just between you and me.”

“Okay,” Dale said, whispering now.

“Your mum and dad were so excited about this tedious old place they forgot to lock the car, did you know that?”

Dale shook his head, eyes wide.

“They did. And do you know what your dad left in the console?”

“No.”

“The matches.”

I had tremendous fun writing this one and I hope you enjoy it, along with all the other terrific stories contained in The Fuckening‘s 250 pages. Grab your copy here.