{ EU } There are foster homes for imaginary friends and even teen created monsters . But what the public does n't know is that there 's a high security facility that contains the nightmarish imaginations of the schizophrenic and the mentally ill .

Rain hammered down on the cloth top of the black Piedmont as the two agents sat slumped inside the sedan. The car had just rolled off the line in Lynchburg, and the unlikely pair had only driven it a fair piece up the coast to Rhode Island, at the chief's behest, to check into a disturbance caused by a young man whom the department had been monitoring. 
 
 Providence had n't been much of a sight-seeing town, but the two had a job in front of them that would go on to set the department on a course it would follow for years to come. When James Whitley, the senior agent, and Riley Walters, the rookie, had arrived to stake out their quarry, they had seen no signs of what would be the department's most challenging case to date. 
 
 They had sat in their car, quietly watching the thin young man through the window of his home which, until her recent demise, had been his mother's. He had n't left the house all day, except to mail a large stack of heavy letters. Now, after a meager dinner, he had finally settled down at a writing desk. 
 
 `` Here we go,'' Whitley intoned, the large, bushy mustache on his upper lip crawling like a monstrous caterpillar as he spoke. His deep, Scottish baritone jostled his junior partner out of what had been a daze. 
 
 `` What? What's that, James?'' said Walters. 
 
 `` Look yonder, lad,'' Whitley said, pointing. 
 
 The storm clouds had darkened and shadows played at the edges of the young man's home. Slowly, as he wrote, the shadows of his mindscape began to coalesce. 
 
 `` You, eh... You've read the file on him, have n't you, James?'' 
 
 `` Everyone at the department has read his file, lad. He's half the reason we do what we do in the first place. Those bloody night gaunts that his mind created as a boy were one of the first cases I was assigned to, did you know that?'' 
 
 `` You mean you... you've seen them?'' Walters said, looking pale. 
 
 `` Seen them? Where do you think I got this little memento then, eh?'' Whitley pulled up the right leg of his trousers slightly, and Walters blanched at the sight of the wooden leg beneath. 
 
 `` Of course, he was just a boy then, was n't he? A wee lad of... oh, ten or eleven years. And the department was in its infancy. I was n't much older than you are, lad, when I got assigned to him the first time. 
 
 `` Bloody horrible it was, too. Aye, we'd fought night terrors and things before. Wee gremlins and boggarts often as not. But this'n was something altogether different. 
 
 `` Those... things of his... They carved through some of our best and brightest like butter when we first made contact with them.'Course, these did n't work as well then, did they?'' Whitley said, strapping a pair of purple-tinted spectacles onto his face. His young partner, his hands shaking, did likewise. 
 
 `` And the bloody traps we had to use then were... primitive at best.'' He reached under the seat of the Piedmont, withdrawing a wooden box with black, runic writing on the top. His partner looked sunken as he realized that his first field mission was about to become a reality. 
 
 The shadows deepened around the young writer's house as the two pulled their glasses down over their eyes. As the purple lenses filtered their vision and the horror became revealed, the young agent fainted almost at once. Whitley's mustache quivered as his jaw dropped open. 
 
 A writhing mass of tentacles and eyes, reaching almost into the sky, swirled above the young man's home. Lightning illuminated the shadowy colossus as James Whitley, a veteran with the Department of Imagined Horrors of more than twenty years, wet himself. His sanity had almost cracked upon seeing the eldritch horror in all its malevolence, but his body betraying him had snapped him back from the abyss. 
 
 `` B-bloody hell, Howard... What have you unleashed?'' His hands fumbled with the steering wheel of the Piedmont as he started the engine and sped away as fast as he could. His right hand reached for the rotor for the wireless transmitter built into the dash as he careened around turns, trying to put as much space between himself and that... thing as he could. 
 
 Someone at headquarters finally answered as his words spilled into the handset. 
 
 `` This is Senior Agent James Whitley! We're going to need more agents here, NOW! This case has been upgraded to Status Five, do you hear me?! The Lovecraft boy's about to unleash something the likes of which the department's never seen!''
