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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/ferrisaspheck on 2024-11-15 16:44:09+00:00.

It started with a simple question. “Mommy, can imaginary friends be real?”

I glanced up from my laptop. My seven-year-old daughter, Lily, stood in the doorway of my home office, clutching her stuffed bunny. I smiled. “Of course not, sweetheart. That’s why they’re called imaginary.”

Her lips pursed. “But what if they know things?”

I frowned. “What kind of things?”

Lily shrugged, her gaze darting away. “Just stuff. Never mind.” She shuffled out before I could press further.

At the time, I didn’t think much of it. Kids have wild imaginations, right? But then… the accidents started happening.

The first time, it was a fire at our neighbor’s house.

The night before, Lily came to me looking pale. “Mommy, Olivia says Mrs. Carter’s house is going to burn down.”

I paused mid-sip of my coffee. “Who’s Olivia?”

“My friend,” Lily said simply, as if that explained everything.

“She’s your imaginary friend?” I asked, smiling.

Lily hesitated, then nodded. “She doesn’t like being called imaginary.”

“Right,” I said, humoring her. “Why does Olivia think Mrs. Carter’s house will burn down?”

“She just knows,” Lily said. “She knows lots of stuff.”

I reassured Lily it was just her imagination, but the next morning, sirens blared down our street. Flames consumed the Carter house, black smoke billowing into the sky. Luckily, Mrs. Carter was unharmed—she’d gone out for groceries minutes before the fire started.

When Lily heard, she didn’t seem surprised. “I told you,” she whispered.

Two weeks later, Lily mentioned Olivia again.

“Mommy, Olivia says to stay away from the bridge tomorrow.”

I froze. “Why?”

“She says it’s going to fall.”

My stomach knotted. The bridge was part of my daily commute. “Lily, that’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking,” she said earnestly. “Please don’t go.”

Against my better judgment, I worked from home the next day. Around noon, I got a news alert: Massive Bridge Collapse Leaves Five Dead, Dozens Injured.

I stared at my phone, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. The bridge Lily warned me about had collapsed during the morning rush hour. If I’d ignored her, I might’ve been on it.

When I confronted her, she just shrugged. “Olivia told me.”

“Who is Olivia?” I demanded.

“She’s… my friend,” Lily said, her voice trembling. “She says bad things are going to keep happening.”

From then on, Olivia’s predictions became a regular occurrence. A car crash at an intersection. A storm that uprooted trees. A freak accident at the grocery store. Every time, Lily would relay Olivia’s warnings, and every time, I brushed them off—until they came true.

I tried everything to understand. Was Lily hearing things? Seeing something I couldn’t? I even took her to a therapist, who chalked it up to coincidence and a vivid imagination. But it didn’t feel like coincidence.

One night, I decided to push. “Lily, what does Olivia look like?”

“She’s pretty,” Lily said softly. “But her eyes are black, like the night.”

The hair on my arms stood up.

“Where does Olivia live?” I asked.

Lily pointed to her closet.

I laughed nervously. “In your closet?”

“She doesn’t live there,” Lily clarified. “But that’s where she comes from.”

That night, I locked Lily’s closet door.

A few days ago, Lily came to me crying. “Olivia says you’re in danger.”

I felt a chill. “From what?”

“She won’t say,” Lily sobbed. “But she’s scared.”

The last time Olivia predicted danger, it saved my life. So, I started taking precautions. I stayed home, avoided sharp objects, and double-checked every lock. Nothing happened.

Then, yesterday, Lily’s room went cold.

I was tucking her in when she whispered, “She’s here.”

“Who’s here?”

“Olivia,” Lily said, her voice shaking. “She says… it’s too late.”

The lights flickered. I spun toward the closet. The locked door creaked open, though I hadn’t touched it.

“Mommy…” Lily’s voice was barely audible.

Something stepped out of the shadows.

I don’t know how to describe it—long limbs, skin stretched too tight, and eyes like endless voids. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t anything I could explain.

“Leave her alone!” I screamed, throwing myself in front of Lily.

The thing tilted its head, as if studying me. Then, it smiled—an impossibly wide, jagged grin.

“You can’t stop what’s coming,” it whispered, its voice a rasp that chilled me to the bone.

And then, it was gone.

Now, Lily won’t speak. She just sits in her room, staring at the closet door. She won’t eat, won’t sleep, and flinches whenever I get too close.

The worst part? I’ve started hearing things—soft whispers at night, scratching from inside the walls.

Last night, I woke up to find Lily standing over me, her eyes unfocused.

“Olivia says it’s your turn,” she whispered.

I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m scared. Whatever Olivia is, she’s not imaginary. She’s real—and she’s not done with us.