The Imaginary by A. F. Harrold Page B

stood slightly ajar but Rudger could see nothing of what was on the other side.
    â€˜You should go in,’ Zinzan said. ‘I can’t look at you forever. I have things to be doing. Important things. I smell mouse. I’ve got work to do. Go on. Get.’
    Hesitantly Rudger pushed the door.

    Rudger was in a passage, like you’d find in an old house, lined with wallpaper patterned with tiny blue flowers. The floorboards creaked and groaned under his feet. Although there was a cool draught from the open door behind him, the corridor was warm and musty. He thought it smelt of old things, furry things, smelt like a damp dog snoring in front of a fire.
    At the other end of the corridor was a second door. It too was ajar and he could hear a faint tinkle of music coming from it. Rudger walked forwards. It was either that or go back to the alley, and the cat had made it clear it wasn’t going to hang around waiting.
    He went on.
    He could definitely hear music, though it was still faint, and there were other noises too. He could hear voices, distant voices. He couldn’t make out any words, but there were people somewhere round here.
    He sat down on the floor with his back to the wall and listened.
    Rudger was afraid.
    Amanda had always seen him, but none of her friends did. Her mum didn’t see him. The neighbours who lived either side of Amanda’s house had never seen him. He’d had to climb over their fences on more than one occasion to get a lost ball or Frisbee or fizzing stick of dynamite, and they’d never said a word to him. How would he feel if he went through that door and found a whole roomful of people to ignore him? Or worse, a room of Mr Buntings who could see him?
    Zinzan had said he’d be safe here, but Zinzan was a cat. What do cats know?
    But, Rudger argued, the cat had seen him. The cat had stopped him from Fading. The cat had told him about Amanda, about her still being alive. Maybe he should trust the cat.
    He stood up. He could do this. What would Amanda have done if she’d been in his shoes? Probably complained that her shoes were too big, but after that she’d’ve gone through the door and faced whatever was on the other side. Rudger took a leaf from her book, a lesson from everything they’d shared together, and he pushed the door.
    It shut with a click.
    He pushed again and it didn’t move.
    So he turned the handle and pulled it and the door opened to reveal almost the last thing he’d thought to find.

Rudger was in a library.
    Amanda had told him about them, but he’d never seen one before. She’d said, ‘It’s the best sort of indoors there is for a rainy day. Every book is an adventure,’ and she loved adventures.
    The music he’d heard was louder now. It crackled and popped as if it were being played on an old gramophone, but it was lively, happy, cheering.
    He couldn’t see where it was coming from because there were bookcases in the way. They were all over the place. The library was a maze, he thought, a labyrinth built of books.
    He looked around. Ten metres away, up the aisle to his right, a yawning woman was pushing a little trolley piled high with books.
    As he watched she stopped, pulled a pair of hardbacks off the trolley, looked at them, then at the shelf, and then slid them carefully into their right places.
    â€˜Hello?’ Rudger said.
    She ignored him, pulled the trolley back a few steps and shelved some more books. She didn't hurry, even though it was late and she should probably have been getting home, but carefully put them exactly where they belonged.
    â€˜What are you talking to her for?’ a little voice said from somewhere above him. ‘She’s real. She can’t see you.’
    Rudger looked up.
    Peering over the bookcase was the huge-toothed head of a dinosaur, possibly a tyrannosaur of some sort. Rudger was no expert, but he could tell at the very least that it wasn’t