An imaginary friend should be the one person who never lets you down. Someone to share secrets with, escape the world with, and lean on when life feels too heavy to carry alone. Henry's Ebb takes that comforting idea and gradually turns it against the boy who needs it most. What begins as a refuge becomes something far more possessive, and the result is a psychological thriller that got under my skin because it first found its way into my heart.

We meet Henry running through a forest, one side of his face badly bruised by his mother. Waiting for him is Ebb, the friend he has imagined into existence, with plans for a dream house built for just the two of them. Their conversation has the ease of a lifelong friendship. There is no awkward introduction, no need to explain the hurt. Ebb already understands. Against the cruelty Henry faces at home, that simple acceptance means everything.

Set during summertime in a country town, with what feels like a '90s backdrop, the story places Henry in a world where escape seems possible, but shelter remains frustratingly out of reach. His mother works at a bar and humiliates him when he asks to borrow money. A secret phone call to his father offers potential option to his terrible plight: perhaps he could live with him and his new wife, Phoebe? The answer comes with a little kindness, but a softly delivered rejection is still a rejection. Henry is left searching for somewhere he can belong.

When Henry empties his mother's hidden bottles of alcohol, her rage brings another punishing confrontation. Accusations about calls to his dad escalate into objects thrown and a blow to his face. These scenes are heartbreaking, not simply because of what happens to him, but because of how he manages himself afterward. He must get through the ordeal, gather what remains of his composure, and keep going. Ebb tends to both the wounds and the feelings nobody else seems willing to acknowledge.

At first, Ebb is everything a best friend should be: attentive, loyal, and fiercely protective. When Henry finally takes off on his bicycle, the two head into the woods and claim a little freedom beside a lagoon-like lake. They seal their bond as blood brothers, howl into the open air, and soak in the surroundings. For a moment, the world feels bigger than the house Henry has fled. Those stretches of happiness matter and the joy on his face is so meaningful. They let us see the boy beneath the fear, someone who still wants adventure, companionship, and a place of his own.

Nightfall brings a more intimate exchange. Ebb checks Henry's bruises and shares stories of his own parents, including abuse at the hands of his father. Even this invented companion has a history of hurt, making their connection feel rooted in something deeper than play. Henry's dream of a family game night with his mother and grandmother, interrupted by tragedy, adds another layer to that longing. He isn't asking for an extraordinary life. He wants the ordinary comforts that should never have been so difficult to find.

Of course, freedom doesn't fill an empty stomach. Needing food and matches but lacking money, Henry follows Ebb's encouragement to shoplift from a general store. Chris, a drifter looking for companionship, helps him leave with the stolen supplies and joins him at the campsite. Well…Henry welcomes him. A risky decision, especially in Ebb’s eyes. Chris talks about bicycles, stunts, and stitches before probing Henry's circumstances, and an encounter that initially promises company becomes dangerous. Ebb intervenes, but his growing envy has already complicated the comfort he once offered.

That is where the film's premise becomes especially compelling. Ebb protects Henry, yet he also reminds him that his father doesn't want him. The friend who keeps him moving can just as easily keep him isolated. As Henry considers trying his dad again, the boys’ bond begins to strain, raising an uneasy question: is Ebb helping him survive, or making sure he never needs anyone else?

A bridge jump sharpens that uncertainty. Ebb plunges into the lake, only to appear dry when Henry rushes to find him, then persuades Henry to make the jump himself. Henry surfaces delighted with what he has accomplished, and their friendship seems restored. Yet the moment carries two vastly different meanings: a boy discovering confidence, and a companion whose influence is becoming harder to question. Is Ebb becoming real? Or is Henry losing the distance between what he imagines and what he experiences?

A carnival offers another brief release, with stolen tickets giving the boys access to rides and games. The family whose tickets they took later offers Henry a bath, dinner, and a chance to call his parents. He reluctantly accepts, while Ebb bristles at another intrusion between him and his bestie. Inside their well-kept home, photographs and knickknacks become more than background details. To Henry, they represent a life with roots, evidence that people are wanted and have a place to return to. I initially mistook the mother of the household for the children's grandmother, but the important distinction is the welcome she extends to a boy who desperately needs one. It is instantly heartwarming and you internally cheer for Henry.

That invitation cannot remain uncomplicated with Ebb nearby. His unseen presence begins to frighten Henry, and when one of the girls wakes up screaming about a boy whose description matches his friend, the threat takes on a new dimension. Mayhem tears through the household, costing Henry yet another refuge. With each new connection, Ebb's possessiveness grows more ferocious. The person Henry created so he would never be alone now seems determined to keep him that way.

Henry's Ebb is at its strongest when that psychological tension and its emotional stakes become inseparable. An imaginary playmate turning hostile is disturbing enough; watching it happen to someone with so few trustworthy people in his life is devastating. The film earns its impact through our investment in Henry. I wasn't simply waiting to see what Ebb would do next. I wanted someone, anyone, to give this boy a reason to feel secure.

With nowhere else to turn, Henry calls his mother, who picks him up immediately. Their improved spirits suggest the possibility of a fresh start, and a diner stop for pancakes looks, briefly, like the kind of ordinary family outing he has been missing. Then a misunderstanding becomes another argument, complete with tears and an appalling public outburst. The hope drains out of the reunion as quickly as it arrived. If I could have reached through the screen, I would have wrapped my arms around Henry and given him the safety he has spent the entire film chasing.

A truck ride eventually brings him to his father's house, where Phoebe and her son offer dinner despite his dad's evident discomfort. Henry studies this unfamiliar environment with the guarded hope of someone trying not to ask for too much. He wants to fit in, to be wanted, to call the place home. Ebb's return disrupts that fragile possibility, drawing him into a hidden corner of his mind and presenting an ultimatum. Henry's insistence that he is staying carries real weight. For someone so accustomed to rejection, claiming a place is no small act.

An early-morning conversation between father and son reveals the hardship both experienced with Henry's mother, along with the fact that his parents were barely more than children when he was born. It gives context to the fractured household without making Henry responsible for it. He has carried an enormous burden of guilt, as though his existence caused the turmoil around him. That misplaced responsibility is one of the story's most painful elements. A child should not have to earn love by apologizing for being there.

Kingston Rumi Southwick shines as Henry from his first appearance to the closing moments. His performance feels organic, raw, and unforced, with an expressive face that makes the character's hurt impossible to dismiss. The tentative hope, the discomfort of entering his father's new household, the exhaustion of another disappointment – all of it registers. He makes Henry more than a collection of terrible experiences. There is a person here worth knowing and rooting for, which is why the film's cruelties land so heavily.

Banks Repeta brings Ebb to life with the same importance to the film's success. His character must be believable as Henry's closest confidant before becoming a source of dread, and the friendship gives that transformation its sting. Tenderness gives way to jealousy, loyalty tightens into control, and the need to remain indispensable becomes an obsession. These two 18-year-old actors make a striking impression. Keep an eye on them—I certainly intend to, and I look forward to following where their careers take them.

The ending settles into stillness, leaving something eerie behind even as the story reaches a definitive resolution. That restraint suits a film whose deepest wounds are not always the visible ones. What stayed with me was the painful contradiction at its center: Henry's most dependable source of comfort becomes another force he cannot trust. Bringing that idea to the screen with so much feeling makes this far more than a sinister-imaginary-friend story.