Buddy felt all funny. His parents were both watching him, smiling. He was not used to being looked at unless he'd done something wrong, and the last time they'd smiled at him had been his birthday.

 

"Is there cake?" he ventured.

 

His mother looked worried, his father confused. Then their smiles bounced back like rubber boxing clowns.

 

"Of course not, my boy. Better!" said his father. He stepped aside, revealing...

 

It was shaped like a person, Buddy-sized, but plastic, covered in blinking lights. It hummed faintly.

 

"Better?" asked Buddy, reaching out to touch it.

 

"HI! I'M PETE! WHAT'S YOUR NAME?" shouted the robot, lights flashing as it danced in place.

 

Buddy wet himself.

 

"Pete will not be pleased," he whispered.

 

* * *

 

It had been Helen who'd first noticed Buddy's imaginary friend Pete, almost a week before. She'd told Vic over dinner. "They were having quite the conversation, very advanced for a four-year-old."

 

"I always said he was bright," said Vic. "Imaginary friend, eh?"

 

"Used to be normal before robot playmates were invented. I read some articles—"

 

"Someone's blog posts, most likely, or straight ad copy," interjected Vic.

 

"Now, really!" objected Helen, who proceeded to defend herself all the more vehemently because he'd been right. After a while she won her point, too.

 

He ordered the robot that night.

 

* * *

 

Vic and Helen's television show was interrupted by a CRASH!!! They rushed upstairs, bursting into Buddy's playroom.

 

Toys were everywhere, but that was normal. What wasn't was the fear on Buddy's face. He was backed into the far corner, staring at the wardrobe across the room. He didn't look away when his parents entered.

 

Helen ran to her son, heedless of the Lego minefield. Vic examined the wardrobe.

 

It was plain, locked, eight feet tall. The sides were smooth. There was no way a child could climb it. Wedged between the top and the ceiling was the little robot, which was making distressed noises in an incongruously cheerful tone of voice.

 

How the hell did that get up there? thought Vic, then How am I gonna get it down?!

 

* * *

 

"He blamed that awful Pete," Helen said, and shuddered.

 

"The robot?" Vic asked.

 

"No, his imaginary friend!" Helen explained. "Oh, how I hate him!"

 

"You almost sound like you've seen this Pete yourself," Vic remarked.

 

"No," she said. "Not seen. But things move on their own, without... without being touched, and there are noises, and... now, with this robot..."

 

Helen began weeping. Vic stared for a moment, then walked out.

 

Buddy was in his playroom. The toys had been cleaned up, and Legos were stacked in a narrow tower that reached to the ceiling. Buddy was working around its base.

 

The robot was wrapped inside a blanket. A faint beeping could be heard from within.

 

Vic stepped inside.

 

"All right, son. Enough is enough. Your mother's downstairs crying, and— This can't continue."

 

Buddy looked at him solemnly.

 

Vic took a deep breath. "Let the robot loose."

 

Buddy looked frightened. "But, Dad! Pete—"

 

"I know. Your invisible friend doesn't like your new playmate's name! So I'll tell you what we're going to do—"

 

Vic's suit coat tightened and drew together at the front. He felt himself being lifted by his lapels and pushed against the wall. His feet dangled above the floor. Oh Christ it's real!

 

He looked at his son, now cowering behind his toys. I can't let it see I'm afraid, he thought, then I can't let Buddy see! He glared at the empty space in front of him.

 

"We're going to have a christening, right now. You don't want to call the robot Pete, that's fine. It's now Re-Pete. Got it? Every time it calls itself Pete, you say..."

 

Buddy peeked up. "Re-Pete?" he asked, a tremble in his voice.

 

Vic nodded. "Re-Pete. Pete and Repeat. Okay?"

 

He waited. The silence stretched. Then, he felt himself being lowered to the floor. His lapels flattened, and he felt a pat on his chest — Pete's brushing off my suit, he thought, trying not to panic.

 

"Right," he said. "That's settled. Now, unwrap Repeat and get back to what you were doing."

 

He turned to walk out, then called over his shoulder, "And stop scaring your mother!"

 

"Okay, Dad."

 

Vic strode manfully into the bathroom, closed the door, and vomited. He stayed there for thirty minutes, shaking.

 

* * *

 

The patient had gone silent about halfway through his recitation. Dr. Caule supposed it was his turn.

 

"Children invent imaginary friends because they're lonely," he said. "It's a coping mechanism. Even robot playmates... He needs real friends, his own age, and he needs his parents."

 

"What — me, down on my knees, playing with Legos?" Vic protested.

 

"Why not?"

 

There was a pause. "I don't think Pete would be pleased," he said in a small voice.