canisaries
you should've known the price of evil
Hey there! This is a story I've been working on since October. I'm having some doubts about whether it's worth finishing, so I would really appreciate some feedback, specifically on whether or not you feel for the protagonist and want him to succeed, and if not, what could help change that.
rated teen. no content warnings. enjoy!
I open my eyes, and a million things are wrong.
I see a forest around me, leafy trees and grass, but I see way too much of it. My field of vision includes almost everything around me, giving me a full view to my left and to my right, only a sliver missing behind me. Somehow, my eyes have migrated to the sides of my head.
Or I say 'head', but I don't know if that's accurate. I feel like my head and my torso are the same thing now with my arms coming out the sides. I have no legs, but I do have something else - something like a tail. I can move it about and feel the weight of something it's grabbing.
I take my hand to the mystery object - it seems I also don't have thumbs anymore - and lift it up into view.
I recognize my own face in the golden mask. The face of Jim Owens, husband of Mindy Owens, father of Tina Owens. Age 34, business consultant, avid fisher. But what the hell is he now? And what the hell made him this way?
I take a closer look at my arms. They're black and shadowy and each end in three fingers. Given this and the fact that I seem to be floating, I'm guessing I'm a ghost of some kind. And… people usually turn to ghosts through just one process. Dying.
So I'm dead? What killed me?
I think back to the last things I remember before opening my eyes to these woods. I remember waking up this morning, doing my chores, leaving for work -- no, leaving for Hammerlocke! I had a client there, that's right. I was driving there, in some pretty heavy rain, until… until a lorry lost control and I…
Gods. I really did die.
But I came back! I came back as a ghost! I'm not dead… anymore! I need to -- I need to let Mindy and Tina know! Gods, they must have already been contacted about my death, and they must have been devastated…
…actually, how long has it been since I died? If I'm anywhere near the crash site, some time has to have passed because it's no longer raining and… and the woods around me don't seem wet. Gods, it's still so bizarre to see the world like this…
I place the mask back on the hook of my tail. Okay, what do I do now? Clearly, I have to get back to my family and let them know I’m not dead. Or… that I’ve been reincarnated, anyway. To do that, though, I have to find out where I am. I have to try and find some landmark.
I move forward - and I stop right after. How did I do that? I don’t have any legs anymore, but the motion came as naturally as walking.
Well, I guess I shouldn’t complain. I keep moving forward, sliding through the air, and enter a trail in the woods. I keep following it, hoping it’ll take me somewhere open.
Birds sing as I float on. I recognize the tweets of rookidee and the caws of corvisquire. I spot one of the latter on a low branch. It’s staring at me as I get closer. I feel… something from its direction.
Oh, it must be aura. Ghosts sense aura, of course. I never thought about what that might feel like before. I guess I know now.
I pass the corvisquire, the bird not reacting in any meaningful way, and keep moving on. In a few minutes, I see the trees thin out. I make it out of the woods and into rugged terrain. Yellowish rocks jut out from uneven sandy ground, high enough to block the view of what’s ahead. I try my best to keep my direction as I navigate through the landscape, circling rocks and ridges that obstruct my path. The sky above is partially clouded with the sun shining brightly, though I can’t feel its warmth. I suppose ghosts can’t. I can feel the wind, though. It’s quite gentle.
A few more minutes pass until I come across a large but shallow depression. At its bottom is a sizeable slab-like rock with gray shards on its gently inclined surface. Its vicinity is littered with more shards. It’s far away, but I think I can see… something on the shards. Like patterned grooves.
I float down to the rock to investigate. Up close, I can confirm that the shards - which I think are clay - indeed have grooves in them. The grooves seem to have traces of red paint on them. It looks ancient.
Well, this is cool, I suppose. These shards probably used to be part of one big clay painting stuck onto the rock’s surface. You might still be able to put it together to see what it depicted… but I don’t have time for that. I have to find out where I am and contact my family.
I float on…
…but I stop. I turn around.
I’m probably never going to find this place again if I leave.
Shouldn’t I take a good look while I can?
I hover back to the rock. I look at a large shard on the ground next to it and reach down to pick it up.
As soon as my fingers touch it, a great sense of calmness and clarity comes over me. The feeling only intensifies as I pick it up and hold it in my hand. The shard looks… more beautiful. Images of what it used to look like, how the grooves were traced into the soft, wet clay and painted red back then fill my mind. It feels… important. Full of history.
…What was I doing again?
Oh, right. I was looking around for some kind of landmark. To find out where I am. So that I can make it back home. Back home to my family.
I should put this shard down and get going. But it’s so pretty…
Well, actually, nothing’s preventing me from taking it with me. With the mask on my tail, I have two free hands. I can spare one to carry this thing.
Mind made up, I head away from the rock again, tracing the grooves of the shard with my fingers.
The rocky landscape switches back to a forest not too long after. Some more time passes, possibly thirty minutes or so, and the sound of faraway traffic enters the soundscape. Overjoyed, I continue floating on until I make it out of the woods and onto the side of a motorway. Finally! Human contact!
I hurry to onto the road and wait for a car to appear. As it approaches, I raise my hands and wave them, still holding the shard in one of them. For a moment, I worry that the car won’t slow down for me and consider sliding out of the way before I get hit - would it even do anything to me now that I’m a ghost? - but it actually decelerates and stops before me. I can sense the driver’s aura. It feels… good somehow, even though the driver does not look happy - the opposite, in fact. His eyes are wide open in fear.
Oh, right. I’m a ghost.
But he should get over the initial scare once I start talking. If I can explain that I was human just a while ago, he’ll understand my predicament and help me.
I open my mouth to shout ‘Hey! I need your help!’
“Maah! Mah mah mah… mah…?”
Uhh… what?
“M-mah mah mah… mah.”
…It seems that I can’t talk.
“Mah… mah mah,” I still try. Nope. My lips won’t move the way they should, and my tongue -- I don’t have a tongue. And it somehow feels like I’m not even actually using my throat to make this noise. I mean, do I even have a throat anymore? Have I even been breathing? I don’t think so.
The driver looks confused. His aura also feels a little different now. I must be sensing his emotions.
I deflate. I’m not gonna get anything through to him at this rate. I doubt he has writing utensils in that car, either, and he’s not gonna let a ghost use his phone to type out a message - if I could even manage it with these sausage fingers. I concede defeat.
I slide out of the way and gesture him to go, not that he needs me to tell him to. He stomps his foot on the gas immediately and wooshes past. The sensation of his aura departs with him.
But someone else is coming. In the sky, I see a purple blob approach. A drifloon.
I briefly consider fleeing, not knowing if the mon is aggressive or not, until I feel a burst of aura from its direction.
‘Hey!’ I understand it shouting.
Huh?
It sent a burst of aura… and I understood it.
Oh, of course. Ghosts communicate through aura. I guess I must just naturally know the language now that I am one.
Hey! it shouts again, closer by now. What were you doing just now?
It’s using its words. I guess that means it can’t be that aggressive. I should probably respond.
…But how do I respond? How do I… produce the right aura? I have a feeling that I know how to respond, but I can’t explain it logically. It must be innate somehow.
Is something wrong? the drifloon asks, arriving in front of me.
I guess there’s else I can do than… simply try.
I try to emit that same energy, whatever it means.
The drifloon bobs back slightly. It reacted. I did something. It feels like I just said… ‘aaaaaaaaaaaa’.
I try again, this time changing the… well, changing something. What comes out are different patterns of aura that I understand as mapping to different building blocks of the language, like letters. I slide between them as if tuning an instrument.
Aaallllleeemmmaaarrruuutttaaaoooommmvvvuuueeekkkiiiieeezzzooo.
The drifloon blinks. Are you okay?
The word for ‘yes’ comes to mind. I know what ‘letters’ go in that. Now let’s see if I can say it.
Iiiiiyyyyoooeeeezzzzsss, I try. Yyyyeeezzsss. Yyeess. Yes.
The drifloon tilts its head. Are you sure? You do not sound fine. Or ‘your aura does not sound fine’. The word for ‘sound’ doesn’t refer to regular sound but the sensation of aura.
Uh, okay, how should I explain myself? Iiii… aamm a fffhhuummaaavvvnnn. Hhuumannn. Human, I say, pointing to myself with the shard.
No, you are not, the drifloon says and points at me with its string-like arm. You are a face-bearer. A ghost.
That’s technically true, but not my point. Iii uuussetdd tto ppbbbee human. Bbbut I ddied. Nnovvww I am a kkggghost. A ‘face-bearer’, apparently, at least in the language of ghosts. I don’t know what the Galarish word is, as I’ve never seen a ghost that looks like I do now.
Oh! The drifloon perks up. You are a reincarnated ghost! Interesting! I have never met a reincarnated ghost before.
So the drifloon hasn’t met a former human before, but it has met at least one face-bearer. I guess not all face-bearers are former humans, then… in that case, I wonder what the mask of a face-bearer looks like normally. Is it just a random human face, or is it something else? Maybe I can find out when I get home. Go to a library and try to find a book on these face-bearers… if they’ll allow ghosts like me to enter the library. Maybe they will if I go with Mindy.
What is your name? the drifloon asks.
Mmy nname iss… I pause. I can’t say ‘Jim’ in ghost language. There’s no word for it. Itt is a human nname. I ccannott ssay it.
Oh, right, okay, the drifloon says. Then I will simply call you ‘face-bearer’. Hello, face-bearer! My name is Drifter.
Hello, Drrriffterr, I say, because I feel like I should.
They call me that because I tend to drift away from my swarm. Just like now. Drifter deflates a little. I got lost. I do not know where my swarm is.
Thhhat is unnvforrtunnate, I say. I hope that didn’t come off as rude.
Drifter inflates again. But I am fortunate to have met you! We can stick together. We will have better chances of survival that way.
I flinch. Survival? Oh, Gods, Drifter’s right. I need to worry about survival. I know some ghosts eat other ghosts, and I don’t think I’m very far up in the food chain.
Wwe can stickk toggether, I start, but I needd to go home.
Drifter looks down the road. What were you doing with that human?
I was trying to get help… but I guess humans do not want to help ghosts, I say.
You are correct. Humans do not like ghosts.
Yeah. It’s not like I particularly liked ghosts when I was a human. I figured they were dangerous, or at least somewhat harmful the way they like to drain life force. I know I would’ve freaked if I saw Tina playing with one.
I look back at Drifter. It…no, not ‘it’. Hm.
Drifter? I say. Are you… male or female or…
Drifter lets out a new kind of aura pattern. I recognize it as laughter.
Silly, says Drifter. Ghosts are not male or female. Only fleshy things are.
Huh? But ghosts still reproduce.
Ghosts are zzlar or egwi.
As soon as I hear the two words, I understand them. They’re like sexes, but without any characteristics other than the fact that they are opposites. It’s like I… remembered their meaning.
You are zzlar, says Drifter, pointing to me, then pointing to… themselves. That’s how you spoke about genderless pokémon. I am also zzlar. We are not compatible.
I see, I say. I look behind me. Can we start moving? I would like to get home as soon as possible.
Sure! Lead the way.
I begin to float onwards. Drifter swoops to my side and keeps the same pace as me. I’m not sure if they’re intentionally slowing themselves down.
So… what is that shard you are carrying? Drifter asks.
Oh, this shard? I look at it, then show it to Drifter. I found it a while ago. It seemed to be a piece of a broken painting. I just think it is nice.
It does look pretty nice, they say. But are you going to carry it all the way home?
Uh… I do not know. Maybe. If it does not end up being too much trouble.
I see. They’re silent for a few seconds. What is your home like, anyway?
My home? It’s… I pause to think. Well, it is a very nice place. It is a… There’s no term for ‘detached house’ - not one I know automatically, anyway. Actually, there’s no such term for ‘house’, either. Only for ‘building’. It is a white building with a black… No word for ‘roof’, either. A black top. It is back in… And there’s no way to say ‘Postwick’. It is a long ways south from here.
How do you know if we are going south?
I frown. I… do not know, really. I will have to find some kind of sign to tell me where I am.
Okay.
A brief silence follows.
Why are you staying so close to the ground? Drifter then asks. You would see much more from the sky.
I stop to stare at Drifter. I cannot fly.
Why not? they ask.
Because I… Hm. Actually… maybe I can? I’m already floating. Flying can’t be that different.
Do you not know how to? Drifter asks.
I do not. Can you teach me?
Sure! Drifter says, cheerful. But it is not complicated. You must simply move upwards.
Simply move upwards. Sure. Regardless, I try it, attempting to ‘walk’ upwards.
I rise up higher above the ground. I succeeded. Huh. That’s weird.
You did it! Drifter says, flying up alongside me. Now go higher!
I do as I’m told, ‘walking’ further upwards. The ground grows more and more distant. And the more distant it gets… the more I’m afraid of dropping something, either the mask or the shard. While the shard falling would be just a shame, something tells me that damaging the mask is very much something I should avoid.
Drifter? I say to Drifter, who has risen with me. I do not think I want to be so high up. It is… scary. I worry I will drop my mask or this shard.
Oh, says Drifter, deflating a bit. Well, maybe I can fly and look for those signs! Just tell me what to look for!
They’re so helpful… Drifter’s nothing like I thought a ghost would be.
Can you look for a… Damn it. The word for ‘sign’ I used before didn’t actually mean a traffic sign, but just a general sign of something. Can you look for a flat thing standing up which is blue with white… marks on it? That should tell me which location is where.
Got it! says Drifter. Just give me a moment!
Having said that, Drifter begins to ascend. Still unnerved by the altitude myself, I lower myself closer to the ground. I watch Drifter get smaller and smaller in the sky. After about a minute or so, they start coming back down. The suspense is killing me.
I saw a blue thing with white marks over that way, Drifter says, gesturing to the opposite direction we were going. But I can not interpret human marks. You will have to go see it yourself.
That is fine, I say. I am just happy that you found something.
I am happy that you are happy!
I bring a hand to my chin - or where my chin used to be - as we start floating towards the direction Drifter had seen the sign. I have to admit you are not what I thought ghosts were like, I say.
What did you think ghosts were like? Drifter asks.
I realize I’ve put myself in an awkward position. I just hope I won’t offend Drifter with what I’m about to say. I… thought ghosts were selfish. That they just wanted to drain life. You seem… friendly.
That is because I am a floater! Drifter chimes. I understand the word ‘floater’ to mean both drifloon and drifblim. Floaters live in swarms. We are social ghosts. If a floater is selfish, they are punished or exiled. Ghosts that are not social do not have this problem. They tilt their head. You are also friendly, even though you are a face-bearer. It must be because you used to be human.
Right.
We are silent for a moment, only sliding along by the side of the road.
Do you have a swarm of your own back home? Drifter then asks.
A swarm? Uh… well, I have a family, I say. I have a… No, there’s no word for ‘wife’, and there’s no word for ‘daughter’. I think about what I’ll say instead for a moment. I have a mate and a child. A female child. And a female mate, for that matter. I am male. Or I was male.
Only one child? Did the others die?
No, we just… had one child.
Oh, true, I suppose humans have fewer children. Floaters always have many at a time. Or maybe not always, but I have never seen fewer than three at a time. I was born with five siblings. Two have died since.
I am… sorry for your loss.
It is alright. It happens. They pause. What about your siblings?
My siblings? Uh… I have two. Both female, one younger, one older. But we do not see each other very often.
Did they join their own groups?
Yes, they have their own families. We only see each other on some special days, like… Mother’s Day, Father’s Day. The days for celebrating one’s own parents. We bring our children with us.
You have special days where you celebrate things? When are those days?
Uh… I know Mother’s Day is celebrated in March, but I’m not sure when exactly… not that ghosts have a word for ‘March’. Not even ‘month’. They do have ‘moon’, but it’s not quite the same. Actually, wait - if ghosts don’t have a calendar, what kind of answer is Drifter exactly expecting?
I do not remember exactly, I end up saying. Female parents’ day is in spring while male parents’ day is in summer.
I see. We floaters do not have days for celebrating things. We just celebrate things as they come. Like evolution.
How far are you from evolution? I wonder if the kind of pokémon I am can evolve.
Not far. I am one and a half years old, and I have battled my siblings regularly. Drifter twirls in the air. I cannot wait to evolve! Then I will be stronger, and I will have less to worry about.
I guess in the wilderness, you have to think like that. I shrink. How likely is it that I will come across a threat on my journey home?
That depends on how long your journey is, Drifter says, but you will meet one perhaps every other night. They stop. Do you know how to fight?
I stop. I do not think so.
Drifter bobs up and down, their arms swinging around loosely. Then I can teach you! We will battle together!
I wince. Will it… hurt?
It will not hurt! I will be gentle! Come!
They float further away from the road and gesture me to follow. I’m uncertain, but I obey.
I will first teach you to use fhrim, they say, stopping and turning to me. A mental image of a black-purple-red energy surfaces. Oh! ‘Fhrim’ is ghost type energy.
First, focus on your body, Drifter says. Try to feel the energy inside it. What makes it the way it is.
That’s pretty vague… but I’ll try my best.
I place down the shard - part of me feels anxiety at letting it go, as if it’s going to run away or something, but I gather myself and let it rest on the grass below. I stare at my hands.
It’s subtle, but I can feel that it’s different from when I was a human. Not just because my body is a different shape - that difference is obvious - but because… well, it’s hard to say. It just feels like it’s made of something other than flesh. I know that ghosts are made of spectral mass. Maybe this is just what it feels like to have a body of spectral mass? Maybe this is what Drifter means by ‘the energy inside’.
I think I have it, I say.
Good! Now, imagine expanding it outside your body.
Expanding it… okay. Vague again, but I can try.
I expand the energy inside my hands, as if spreading the fingers without actually spreading my fingers. A faint dark glow, purplish in hue, emerges from the skin - well, it’s not really skin - and expands, wavering.
Good! You are getting it! cheers Drifter. Now, concentrate it!
Concentrate it? Uh, how? Well, maybe I can try channeling some more energy into it from the rest of my body…
I do it, and the dark glow darkens into black flames with purple streaks. It feels like there’s a lot more power in it.
Now, try throwing it at the ground!
Alright. I raise my hands and, like trying to shake off droplets, I flick them downwards. The energy is flung into the ground as a kind of broad whip, smacking against it and dissipating, leaving behind two regions of flattened, dried up grass.
Yes! Wonderful! shouted Drifter, swaying happily from side to side. Now we can battle!
Wait, I say, should I not practice a little more before we --
But Drifter has already manifested a ball of similar dark energy before themselves. I react only moments before they blast it forward, narrowly avoiding the dark sphere.
The fight is on now. I gather up more fhrim and cloak my hands with its dark flames. If Drifter managed to throw their own energy, then I should be able to do that, too, right?
I push the energy out of my hands and into a swirling ball between my palms, but the moment the flaming mass detaches from my skin, my grasp on it slips. The energy spins out of control and backfires on me, burning my skin with a freezing chill. I scream through aura - apparently by instinct - and recoil.
You have to be careful with it, I hear Drifter say. When you make fhrim, it goes outwards from you. If an enemy casts fhrim into you, or you cast fhrim at yourself, it goes into you, and it hurts. And it does not just hurt. It harms you, and if there is enough, it may even kill you. They bobbed. But I will not use that much fhrim on you. I do not have that much fhrim in me, even.
Well, thank you, I say, but they don’t wait around for my answer, forming another shadow ball - hey, that was a move name, wasn’t it? That must be what it’s called. Nevertheless, Drifter lets the ball go, and I dodge it again.
Okay. Maybe I can’t exactly perform a shadow ball myself. I can still throw the energy. Throw… How about…?
I form a spear of ghostly energy in the grasp of my right hand. As I raise it, memories of practicing javelin throwing for the athletics society at my uni resurface, though this time it’ll be a bit different - I’m throwing at a target rather than as far as I can, and my body is shaped in an entirely different way. I aim the spear, estimating its trajectory, and hurl it towards Drifter. The spear flies over them, not in an arc but in a straight line. It burns itself out into nothingness shortly after. Oh, right. Ghost type energy probably isn’t affected by gravity. I shouldn’t be correcting for that.
Nice attack! Drifter says. You almost hit me! They lean back and open their mouth, drawing in air and expanding. What’re they doing now?
Drifter blows out the air, producing with it streams of white energy and wind zooming right for me. It’s not hard to dodge the majority of, but I can feel a small breeze graze me, leaving behind a cold feeling that soon disappears. That must have been a flying type attack. I wonder if I know attacks of any other types… not that I have any idea how I’d even find out.
I form another spear and hurl it. This time I would have hit Drifter, but they dodged. No free hits, I suppose. Drifter counters with another shadow ball, this time launching it a bit to the left, forcing me to break my pattern of dodging that way and instead sliding to the right.
Before I can feel good about my correct reaction, though, Drifter suddenly zips through the air to me and attacks with a shockwave of purple and blue needles of light accompanied by loud shout of aura. The energy digs into me like, well, needles, and I feel a spike of fear. What move was that? Whatever, doesn’t matter, go away!
I shove formless energy into Drifter, and they recoil. As offense is the best defense, I waste no time creating another spear. This time, though, I feint a throw before the real one and manage to land the hit directly into the drifloon. They make a kind of yelp in aura, transforming my triumph into worry.
Sorry! Did that hurt? I ask.
But Drifter only laughs. Not at all, they say. You are quite weak.
I frown. I only became a ghost today.
Do not take it as an insult, Drifter says. It is simply the truth.
I huff, except that I don’t, because I don’t have lungs.
I think we can stop the battle here, Drifter says. Did you enjoy it?
Enjoy? I pause, bringing a hand to my chin. I do not know, really. I do like that I learned to attack. I blink. Actually, could you teach me how to do those attacks that you did?
Sure! Drifter says, bobbing excitedly, and floats to my side.
Over the course of a few minutes, Drifter explains or attempts to explains how they performed their moves. They start with the needle attack, instructing me to shape and concentrate the fhrim into needles, and allows me to test it out on them. My ‘needles’ start off as few and blobby and I still struggle to maintain control over energy that is no longer connected to me, but after a few tries, I am able to more or less replicate the attack. Drifter explains that this is one of the first attacks that ghosts tend to learn, which admittedly deflates my sense of accomplishment.
The shadow ball, though, just doesn’t work out. I form the ball just fine - at least I think I do - but as soon as the energy is no longer in contact with me, I lose my grasp on it. It feels like it could be possible to keep holding on to it, but for whatever reason, I just can’t make it work. It keeps blowing up in my face.
I think you are simply too weak to learn it now, Drifter says. I could not do it when I was little, either.
Damn. Or, actually… Hey, what do you say in ghost language when something bad or annoying happens?
Prg.
I receive mental images of shrines, priests, talismans. Sacred things. But ‘sacred thing’ is an incorrect translation. It’s too positive. A ’prg’ is a bad thing. Something ghosts hate for the power it has over them.
Prg, I repeat. It does feel kind of good to say. Something liberating.
Well, anyway, Drifter begins, all that fighting made me hungry. How about you?
Hungry? Well… now that they mention it, yeah. It feels a little different, but still enough like hunger to be recognizable as that. Yes, I think I am hungry too.
Then come on over! Drifter says. They float to the edge of the woods where some bushes grow. I fetch the shard from where I left it and follow. Have you drained life before?
No, I have not.
Okay. Well, what you do is… uh… They glance between me and the bush. I do not know how to describe it. You simply do it.
That does not sound very promising.
Just try it. I am sure you will be able to.
Alright, then. I turn to the bush. I feel like putting my palm on it, so I do. I feel some kind of presence from it, separate from aura, which drives me to do… something to it. Something that feels good, refreshing, and like something I should keep doing. It does kind of feel like draining… only it’s slow. Very slow. Like sucking up something through a very thin straw.
I think I am doing it, I say, but is there any way to do it faster?
Not really, says Drifter. You would do it faster if you were stronger, but draining from plants is just slow in general. They live more slowly than animals, so they give off life more slowly, too.
When the alternative is to drain from animals, plants suddenly seem more appetizing.
As I keep draining, Drifter starts draining, too. I think so, anyway. It’s hard to tell with no visual indicator - that is, until a few minutes have passed. The leaves underneath my hand and next to Drifter have slowly turned dry and brownish. It feels a little bad to have caused that, but… well, ghosts have to eat somehow.
Once we're satisfied, we continue on our way. It isn’t long until we reach the signpost Drifter spotted before. It says it’s 60 miles to Motostoke. And Motostoke is maybe 200 miles or so from Postwick. My suspicions are confirmed - it’s a long way home.
Let’s see. If walking speed is three miles per hour and I am floating at roughly walking speed, that means… eighty-something hours. That’s three and a half days of nonstop floating. And if ghosts need rest…
Hey, do ghosts sleep? I ask.
Of course, says Drifter. Like all mon.
I didn't think it was that obvious… How much each day?
Uh…
Right, ghosts don't have timekeeping. Drifter can't really answer that question in hours.
Perhaps a third of the entire day, they answer anyway.
So not actually that different from humans.
I would not know.
Eight hours. I'll need to take eight hours out of each day to sleep. That would make three and a half days into… a little over five days. Better call it six to account for draining breaks and other possible delays. Damn. This will really take a while.
So what does it say? Drifter asks.
Hm?
What do the marks say?
Oh, it says that it is… a long way home.
I thought you already knew that.
Sure, but I did not know how long. Now I know roughly how long it will take. More importantly, it also tells me we are heading in the right direction.
Wow… Drifter stares at the sign. Humans can say a lot through those marks. Who taught you to interpret them? Your parents?
Well, they helped, but humans mostly learn how to interpret those marks in… Great, how do I explain school? In a special learning place. Children go there to learn many things from people that are… Well, there's no word for 'pay', either. Or 'money'. Given valuable things in exchange for their teaching.
What kinds of valuable things? Food? Water?
No, not quite. They are given… paper and metal that has value in trading.
So they can be traded for valuable things?
Yes.
Why is that?
Well… because humans agreed they could.
Drifter frowns. So… humans just decided it was valuable? It had no use on its own?
Yes.
But what if humans decided it did not have value anymore?
Humans would not do that. The entire trading system would break.
Drifter throws their stringy arms in the air. You built your entire trading system around something that is worthless?
It is not worthless. It has agreed upon worth.
But it is useless if you are alone!
I shrug, though I don't actually know if Drifter knows what a shrug means. The value-paper is useless if you are alone, that is true. But we are rarely alone. We live in a large community, very large, and that community will always have humans in it that need certain things, and they need value-paper to trade for those things.
Why not trade what they already have?
Not everyone will accept what they have. But everyone will accept value-paper.
Where do they get that value-paper, then?
By working. Humans give value-paper to other humans to do work for them.
Did those humans also get their value-paper from working for others?
Yes. That, or by trading what they have for value-paper.
Did you have value-paper as a human? Did you work for it?
I smirk, though again, I don't know if that means anything to Drifter. Yes, I had quite a lot of value-paper. I did something that gave me a lot of value-paper.
What did you do?
Well, I told other humans how to use their value-paper wisely.
Drifter seems almost angry. You were given value-paper for that? Are humans that stupid?
I raise my palms. You underestimate how complicated value-paper processes can get. There is a lot I did not explain, and it gets difficult. I helped other humans figure out those difficult things.
I guess that makes more sense, Drifter begrudgingly admits.
I laugh - through aura, which feels strange. You remind me of my child. Always asking questions and getting upset when things seem not to make sense.
How old is your child?
They are nine years old.
How long does it take for a human to mature?
Eighteen years. Or some say twenty-five.
Then they are like… Drifter quiets. Like a drifloon who is one year old.
I do not know if floater and human ages are comparable like that, I say. When do floaters usually learn to speak?
We know how to speak from birth.
Really? Full sentences and all?
Well, no, it takes a summer for them to learn to speak like you and me.
Oh, interesting. That takes a few years for humans. I scratch the back of my head - well, body. I guess it is roughly the same, then.
How old do humans get before they die? Drifter asks.
Around eighty years, I answer, at least in this… region. How long do floaters -- oh, right. Ghosts do not die of old age.
That is correct. Ghosts do not get weaker with age like mon or humans. But if a ghost - well, at least a floater - gets to be too old, they are killed by the swarm.
I flinch. What?
Spirits must die and be reborn regularly. Otherwise, they go bad. They turn into demons.
Demons?
Yes. A being that eats spirits. The spirits it eats die permanently. They can never be reborn again. They are lost. So we have to make sure we do not let any new demons come to be.
And you do this by… killing floaters that get too old? How are they… killed?
With fhrim, Drifter says. The whole swarm attacks the old floater at once, and they keep going until the old floater is dead.
...Does the old floater ever fight back?
No. Or if they did, they would be very selfish. They have lived for far longer than most ghosts ever get to, after all. It is their turn to die and forget themselves and be reborn.
I don't respond. I'm too busy wondering if this reincarnation business actually works like that, or if it's just the belief that floaters tend to hold.
So… what about me? How long do I have before I have to worry about turning into a demon?
Drifter tilts. I do not know, they say. It is probably different for face-bearers than floaters. Some creatures live for a hundred years or more without turning into demons, after all. Floaters only have ten.
Do you know anyone who has met a demon?
Yes. One of my grandparents met one once. Barely escaped. Good thing that was far away from here. There are no demons in this region. They pause. I hope there never will be.
What do these demons look like?
My grandparent said they can look like many things, but the one they saw had one eye and two arms and a big mouth on its belly that it tried to eat them with.
I can’t think of any mon like that, at least off the top of my head, so I can’t tell whether or not that might have been something actual or just a tall tale. Or a ditto in disguise.
We have other things to worry about, though, says Drifter. Like grinners. That means the gengar line. When they eat you, you will still be reborn, but you will still die. And I still want to live as myself for a few more years. You probably do too.
Oh, yes, I say. I cannot let myself die before I have come home and told my mate and child that I… Hm. There isn’t a word for ‘love’, per se, but there is a word that means the bond between family. That I have dakal with them.
Would they not know that already?
Well, I guess dakal is not the right word, then. I mean a human word that means a strong sense of affection.
You would tell them that you like them very much? Would they not also know that?
I smile bittersweetly. I very much hope they would.
Drifter stares at me. I do not get it.
It just means a lot to humans to say it and to hear it every now and then.
Ah. Human thing. That is why it is strange.
The conversation ends, and we continue on our way. Every now and then, Drifter asks something more about me, and I answer them, explaining more about my own life and humans in general. They respond by explaining more about themselves and ghosts. We both learn much that is new to us, and have a nice time while talking. It helps pass the time, too.
Eventually, the sun makes it to the horizon and we get tired. Drifter leads me off the road and a little bit into the woods, saying that it’s safer to sleep there. We drain some more life from the vegetation around us before deciding on shifts to sleep in. Drifter generously lets me go first.
I try to say goodnight, but find that ghost language doesn’t really say ‘goodnight’ the same way - it’s more like ‘good night’, a greeting the way ‘good morning’ or ‘good day’ is, which makes sense when you think about how ghosts are active during the night. But, hey, hold on. If that’s the case…
Hey, Drifter, should we be sleeping during the daytime rather than the night?
Should, says Drifter, but I am as bad at sleeping regularly as I am bad at sticking with my swarm. Maybe in a season I will find myself sleeping during daytime again.
I see, I say. A skewed sleep schedule is something a ghost may have just as well as a human, it seems. Well, sleep well, then. Once you get your shift, I mean.
You sleep well, too.
I descend to the grass and lie down on my side, closing the eye against the ground. I feel gravity pull me down more heavily against the earth - I must have stopped floating. The grass isn’t particularly soft, but somehow it seems less uncomfortable to lie on it in this body than a human one. Maybe it’s the lack of bones and muscles.
With the wind rustling the trees and the occasional car passing by on the nearby road, I close my other eye and relax.
My alarm blares out, and I open my eyes.
Like always, I reach out to turn it off and sit up. Something is different, though. I feel like I’m forgetting something…
Oh Gods. Now I remember. The drive, the rain, the lorry, waking up as a ghost -- I died. But now I’m human. So that didn’t happen? That was all a dream?
Next to me, Mindy stirs. She sits up and yawns. "Good morning," she says groggily. Despite her tired eyes and frizzy bedhead, she's the most beautiful sight I could possibly see right now.
Before she can get out of bed, I lunge at her, throwing my arms around her and hugging her tight.
"Whoa, what's up?" she asks, cautiously answering the hug.
"I had an awful, awful dream," I say, shaking my head. "I'm so glad it wasn't real."
"Oh, I see," she says and leans into me. "Well, it's over now. Everything's alright."
I sigh in relief. It sure is.
After staying in the hug for a while, I break out of it and get out of bed. "I need to see Tina," I say.
"Don't scare her," Mindy says. "You gave me a startle already."
I nod as I leave the room. "I'll be gentle."
I walk over to the door to Tina's room and open it, expecting the sight of my beloved little girl sleeping soundly in her soft and comfortable bed.
There's only black.
A dark, featureless void stretches out to infinity behind the door.
I step in, panic settling in. "Tina?"
Nothing answers me but an echo.
I turn around to ask Mindy where Tina is, but the door and the rest of the building is gone, replaced by more black.
"Mindy? Tina? Anyone?" I shout, but no one answers. Of course they don't. I'm alone. Slipped into some crack between dimensions where no one can hear my call.
I can't get out. There's nowhere to go. I'll never see my family again. I'll never --
Wake up!
I jolt, suddenly finding myself lying on my side with a field of vision all too wide and a body structure entirely different. I try to shout, but I have no throat or lungs.
Oh, right.
I get up, somehow floating again. Drifter is hovering beside me. The woods around us are dark, but I can still see.
It is your shift, Drifter says, and my turn to sleep.
Right, I say. Go ahead and sleep. I will keep watch.
Thank you. Drifter lowers themselves onto the grass and closes their eyes.
I sigh, except that I still don't because I have nothing to breathe with, and start glancing around. This will be a long night.
rated teen. no content warnings. enjoy!
---
The Way Home (working title)
Synopsis:
After a traffic accident takes his life, business consultant Jim Owens wakes up in the middle of nowhere in the body of a yamask. He seeks to return home to tell his family he's still alive, but the road is long and there are bigger, hungrier ghosts around searching for prey.
Genre:
Drama, Tragedy
Status:
Ongoing
Length:
TBD (projected to be two parts)
---
Part One
---
The Way Home (working title)
Synopsis:
After a traffic accident takes his life, business consultant Jim Owens wakes up in the middle of nowhere in the body of a yamask. He seeks to return home to tell his family he's still alive, but the road is long and there are bigger, hungrier ghosts around searching for prey.
Genre:
Drama, Tragedy
Status:
Ongoing
Length:
TBD (projected to be two parts)
---
Part One
---
I open my eyes, and a million things are wrong.
I see a forest around me, leafy trees and grass, but I see way too much of it. My field of vision includes almost everything around me, giving me a full view to my left and to my right, only a sliver missing behind me. Somehow, my eyes have migrated to the sides of my head.
Or I say 'head', but I don't know if that's accurate. I feel like my head and my torso are the same thing now with my arms coming out the sides. I have no legs, but I do have something else - something like a tail. I can move it about and feel the weight of something it's grabbing.
I take my hand to the mystery object - it seems I also don't have thumbs anymore - and lift it up into view.
I recognize my own face in the golden mask. The face of Jim Owens, husband of Mindy Owens, father of Tina Owens. Age 34, business consultant, avid fisher. But what the hell is he now? And what the hell made him this way?
I take a closer look at my arms. They're black and shadowy and each end in three fingers. Given this and the fact that I seem to be floating, I'm guessing I'm a ghost of some kind. And… people usually turn to ghosts through just one process. Dying.
So I'm dead? What killed me?
I think back to the last things I remember before opening my eyes to these woods. I remember waking up this morning, doing my chores, leaving for work -- no, leaving for Hammerlocke! I had a client there, that's right. I was driving there, in some pretty heavy rain, until… until a lorry lost control and I…
Gods. I really did die.
But I came back! I came back as a ghost! I'm not dead… anymore! I need to -- I need to let Mindy and Tina know! Gods, they must have already been contacted about my death, and they must have been devastated…
…actually, how long has it been since I died? If I'm anywhere near the crash site, some time has to have passed because it's no longer raining and… and the woods around me don't seem wet. Gods, it's still so bizarre to see the world like this…
I place the mask back on the hook of my tail. Okay, what do I do now? Clearly, I have to get back to my family and let them know I’m not dead. Or… that I’ve been reincarnated, anyway. To do that, though, I have to find out where I am. I have to try and find some landmark.
I move forward - and I stop right after. How did I do that? I don’t have any legs anymore, but the motion came as naturally as walking.
Well, I guess I shouldn’t complain. I keep moving forward, sliding through the air, and enter a trail in the woods. I keep following it, hoping it’ll take me somewhere open.
Birds sing as I float on. I recognize the tweets of rookidee and the caws of corvisquire. I spot one of the latter on a low branch. It’s staring at me as I get closer. I feel… something from its direction.
Oh, it must be aura. Ghosts sense aura, of course. I never thought about what that might feel like before. I guess I know now.
I pass the corvisquire, the bird not reacting in any meaningful way, and keep moving on. In a few minutes, I see the trees thin out. I make it out of the woods and into rugged terrain. Yellowish rocks jut out from uneven sandy ground, high enough to block the view of what’s ahead. I try my best to keep my direction as I navigate through the landscape, circling rocks and ridges that obstruct my path. The sky above is partially clouded with the sun shining brightly, though I can’t feel its warmth. I suppose ghosts can’t. I can feel the wind, though. It’s quite gentle.
A few more minutes pass until I come across a large but shallow depression. At its bottom is a sizeable slab-like rock with gray shards on its gently inclined surface. Its vicinity is littered with more shards. It’s far away, but I think I can see… something on the shards. Like patterned grooves.
I float down to the rock to investigate. Up close, I can confirm that the shards - which I think are clay - indeed have grooves in them. The grooves seem to have traces of red paint on them. It looks ancient.
Well, this is cool, I suppose. These shards probably used to be part of one big clay painting stuck onto the rock’s surface. You might still be able to put it together to see what it depicted… but I don’t have time for that. I have to find out where I am and contact my family.
I float on…
…but I stop. I turn around.
I’m probably never going to find this place again if I leave.
Shouldn’t I take a good look while I can?
I hover back to the rock. I look at a large shard on the ground next to it and reach down to pick it up.
As soon as my fingers touch it, a great sense of calmness and clarity comes over me. The feeling only intensifies as I pick it up and hold it in my hand. The shard looks… more beautiful. Images of what it used to look like, how the grooves were traced into the soft, wet clay and painted red back then fill my mind. It feels… important. Full of history.
…What was I doing again?
Oh, right. I was looking around for some kind of landmark. To find out where I am. So that I can make it back home. Back home to my family.
I should put this shard down and get going. But it’s so pretty…
Well, actually, nothing’s preventing me from taking it with me. With the mask on my tail, I have two free hands. I can spare one to carry this thing.
Mind made up, I head away from the rock again, tracing the grooves of the shard with my fingers.
The rocky landscape switches back to a forest not too long after. Some more time passes, possibly thirty minutes or so, and the sound of faraway traffic enters the soundscape. Overjoyed, I continue floating on until I make it out of the woods and onto the side of a motorway. Finally! Human contact!
I hurry to onto the road and wait for a car to appear. As it approaches, I raise my hands and wave them, still holding the shard in one of them. For a moment, I worry that the car won’t slow down for me and consider sliding out of the way before I get hit - would it even do anything to me now that I’m a ghost? - but it actually decelerates and stops before me. I can sense the driver’s aura. It feels… good somehow, even though the driver does not look happy - the opposite, in fact. His eyes are wide open in fear.
Oh, right. I’m a ghost.
But he should get over the initial scare once I start talking. If I can explain that I was human just a while ago, he’ll understand my predicament and help me.
I open my mouth to shout ‘Hey! I need your help!’
“Maah! Mah mah mah… mah…?”
Uhh… what?
“M-mah mah mah… mah.”
…It seems that I can’t talk.
“Mah… mah mah,” I still try. Nope. My lips won’t move the way they should, and my tongue -- I don’t have a tongue. And it somehow feels like I’m not even actually using my throat to make this noise. I mean, do I even have a throat anymore? Have I even been breathing? I don’t think so.
The driver looks confused. His aura also feels a little different now. I must be sensing his emotions.
I deflate. I’m not gonna get anything through to him at this rate. I doubt he has writing utensils in that car, either, and he’s not gonna let a ghost use his phone to type out a message - if I could even manage it with these sausage fingers. I concede defeat.
I slide out of the way and gesture him to go, not that he needs me to tell him to. He stomps his foot on the gas immediately and wooshes past. The sensation of his aura departs with him.
But someone else is coming. In the sky, I see a purple blob approach. A drifloon.
I briefly consider fleeing, not knowing if the mon is aggressive or not, until I feel a burst of aura from its direction.
‘Hey!’ I understand it shouting.
Huh?
It sent a burst of aura… and I understood it.
Oh, of course. Ghosts communicate through aura. I guess I must just naturally know the language now that I am one.
Hey! it shouts again, closer by now. What were you doing just now?
It’s using its words. I guess that means it can’t be that aggressive. I should probably respond.
…But how do I respond? How do I… produce the right aura? I have a feeling that I know how to respond, but I can’t explain it logically. It must be innate somehow.
Is something wrong? the drifloon asks, arriving in front of me.
I guess there’s else I can do than… simply try.
I try to emit that same energy, whatever it means.
The drifloon bobs back slightly. It reacted. I did something. It feels like I just said… ‘aaaaaaaaaaaa’.
I try again, this time changing the… well, changing something. What comes out are different patterns of aura that I understand as mapping to different building blocks of the language, like letters. I slide between them as if tuning an instrument.
Aaallllleeemmmaaarrruuutttaaaoooommmvvvuuueeekkkiiiieeezzzooo.
The drifloon blinks. Are you okay?
The word for ‘yes’ comes to mind. I know what ‘letters’ go in that. Now let’s see if I can say it.
Iiiiiyyyyoooeeeezzzzsss, I try. Yyyyeeezzsss. Yyeess. Yes.
The drifloon tilts its head. Are you sure? You do not sound fine. Or ‘your aura does not sound fine’. The word for ‘sound’ doesn’t refer to regular sound but the sensation of aura.
Uh, okay, how should I explain myself? Iiii… aamm a fffhhuummaaavvvnnn. Hhuumannn. Human, I say, pointing to myself with the shard.
No, you are not, the drifloon says and points at me with its string-like arm. You are a face-bearer. A ghost.
That’s technically true, but not my point. Iii uuussetdd tto ppbbbee human. Bbbut I ddied. Nnovvww I am a kkggghost. A ‘face-bearer’, apparently, at least in the language of ghosts. I don’t know what the Galarish word is, as I’ve never seen a ghost that looks like I do now.
Oh! The drifloon perks up. You are a reincarnated ghost! Interesting! I have never met a reincarnated ghost before.
So the drifloon hasn’t met a former human before, but it has met at least one face-bearer. I guess not all face-bearers are former humans, then… in that case, I wonder what the mask of a face-bearer looks like normally. Is it just a random human face, or is it something else? Maybe I can find out when I get home. Go to a library and try to find a book on these face-bearers… if they’ll allow ghosts like me to enter the library. Maybe they will if I go with Mindy.
What is your name? the drifloon asks.
Mmy nname iss… I pause. I can’t say ‘Jim’ in ghost language. There’s no word for it. Itt is a human nname. I ccannott ssay it.
Oh, right, okay, the drifloon says. Then I will simply call you ‘face-bearer’. Hello, face-bearer! My name is Drifter.
Hello, Drrriffterr, I say, because I feel like I should.
They call me that because I tend to drift away from my swarm. Just like now. Drifter deflates a little. I got lost. I do not know where my swarm is.
Thhhat is unnvforrtunnate, I say. I hope that didn’t come off as rude.
Drifter inflates again. But I am fortunate to have met you! We can stick together. We will have better chances of survival that way.
I flinch. Survival? Oh, Gods, Drifter’s right. I need to worry about survival. I know some ghosts eat other ghosts, and I don’t think I’m very far up in the food chain.
Wwe can stickk toggether, I start, but I needd to go home.
Drifter looks down the road. What were you doing with that human?
I was trying to get help… but I guess humans do not want to help ghosts, I say.
You are correct. Humans do not like ghosts.
Yeah. It’s not like I particularly liked ghosts when I was a human. I figured they were dangerous, or at least somewhat harmful the way they like to drain life force. I know I would’ve freaked if I saw Tina playing with one.
I look back at Drifter. It…no, not ‘it’. Hm.
Drifter? I say. Are you… male or female or…
Drifter lets out a new kind of aura pattern. I recognize it as laughter.
Silly, says Drifter. Ghosts are not male or female. Only fleshy things are.
Huh? But ghosts still reproduce.
Ghosts are zzlar or egwi.
As soon as I hear the two words, I understand them. They’re like sexes, but without any characteristics other than the fact that they are opposites. It’s like I… remembered their meaning.
You are zzlar, says Drifter, pointing to me, then pointing to… themselves. That’s how you spoke about genderless pokémon. I am also zzlar. We are not compatible.
I see, I say. I look behind me. Can we start moving? I would like to get home as soon as possible.
Sure! Lead the way.
I begin to float onwards. Drifter swoops to my side and keeps the same pace as me. I’m not sure if they’re intentionally slowing themselves down.
So… what is that shard you are carrying? Drifter asks.
Oh, this shard? I look at it, then show it to Drifter. I found it a while ago. It seemed to be a piece of a broken painting. I just think it is nice.
It does look pretty nice, they say. But are you going to carry it all the way home?
Uh… I do not know. Maybe. If it does not end up being too much trouble.
I see. They’re silent for a few seconds. What is your home like, anyway?
My home? It’s… I pause to think. Well, it is a very nice place. It is a… There’s no term for ‘detached house’ - not one I know automatically, anyway. Actually, there’s no such term for ‘house’, either. Only for ‘building’. It is a white building with a black… No word for ‘roof’, either. A black top. It is back in… And there’s no way to say ‘Postwick’. It is a long ways south from here.
How do you know if we are going south?
I frown. I… do not know, really. I will have to find some kind of sign to tell me where I am.
Okay.
A brief silence follows.
Why are you staying so close to the ground? Drifter then asks. You would see much more from the sky.
I stop to stare at Drifter. I cannot fly.
Why not? they ask.
Because I… Hm. Actually… maybe I can? I’m already floating. Flying can’t be that different.
Do you not know how to? Drifter asks.
I do not. Can you teach me?
Sure! Drifter says, cheerful. But it is not complicated. You must simply move upwards.
Simply move upwards. Sure. Regardless, I try it, attempting to ‘walk’ upwards.
I rise up higher above the ground. I succeeded. Huh. That’s weird.
You did it! Drifter says, flying up alongside me. Now go higher!
I do as I’m told, ‘walking’ further upwards. The ground grows more and more distant. And the more distant it gets… the more I’m afraid of dropping something, either the mask or the shard. While the shard falling would be just a shame, something tells me that damaging the mask is very much something I should avoid.
Drifter? I say to Drifter, who has risen with me. I do not think I want to be so high up. It is… scary. I worry I will drop my mask or this shard.
Oh, says Drifter, deflating a bit. Well, maybe I can fly and look for those signs! Just tell me what to look for!
They’re so helpful… Drifter’s nothing like I thought a ghost would be.
Can you look for a… Damn it. The word for ‘sign’ I used before didn’t actually mean a traffic sign, but just a general sign of something. Can you look for a flat thing standing up which is blue with white… marks on it? That should tell me which location is where.
Got it! says Drifter. Just give me a moment!
Having said that, Drifter begins to ascend. Still unnerved by the altitude myself, I lower myself closer to the ground. I watch Drifter get smaller and smaller in the sky. After about a minute or so, they start coming back down. The suspense is killing me.
I saw a blue thing with white marks over that way, Drifter says, gesturing to the opposite direction we were going. But I can not interpret human marks. You will have to go see it yourself.
That is fine, I say. I am just happy that you found something.
I am happy that you are happy!
I bring a hand to my chin - or where my chin used to be - as we start floating towards the direction Drifter had seen the sign. I have to admit you are not what I thought ghosts were like, I say.
What did you think ghosts were like? Drifter asks.
I realize I’ve put myself in an awkward position. I just hope I won’t offend Drifter with what I’m about to say. I… thought ghosts were selfish. That they just wanted to drain life. You seem… friendly.
That is because I am a floater! Drifter chimes. I understand the word ‘floater’ to mean both drifloon and drifblim. Floaters live in swarms. We are social ghosts. If a floater is selfish, they are punished or exiled. Ghosts that are not social do not have this problem. They tilt their head. You are also friendly, even though you are a face-bearer. It must be because you used to be human.
Right.
We are silent for a moment, only sliding along by the side of the road.
Do you have a swarm of your own back home? Drifter then asks.
A swarm? Uh… well, I have a family, I say. I have a… No, there’s no word for ‘wife’, and there’s no word for ‘daughter’. I think about what I’ll say instead for a moment. I have a mate and a child. A female child. And a female mate, for that matter. I am male. Or I was male.
Only one child? Did the others die?
No, we just… had one child.
Oh, true, I suppose humans have fewer children. Floaters always have many at a time. Or maybe not always, but I have never seen fewer than three at a time. I was born with five siblings. Two have died since.
I am… sorry for your loss.
It is alright. It happens. They pause. What about your siblings?
My siblings? Uh… I have two. Both female, one younger, one older. But we do not see each other very often.
Did they join their own groups?
Yes, they have their own families. We only see each other on some special days, like… Mother’s Day, Father’s Day. The days for celebrating one’s own parents. We bring our children with us.
You have special days where you celebrate things? When are those days?
Uh… I know Mother’s Day is celebrated in March, but I’m not sure when exactly… not that ghosts have a word for ‘March’. Not even ‘month’. They do have ‘moon’, but it’s not quite the same. Actually, wait - if ghosts don’t have a calendar, what kind of answer is Drifter exactly expecting?
I do not remember exactly, I end up saying. Female parents’ day is in spring while male parents’ day is in summer.
I see. We floaters do not have days for celebrating things. We just celebrate things as they come. Like evolution.
How far are you from evolution? I wonder if the kind of pokémon I am can evolve.
Not far. I am one and a half years old, and I have battled my siblings regularly. Drifter twirls in the air. I cannot wait to evolve! Then I will be stronger, and I will have less to worry about.
I guess in the wilderness, you have to think like that. I shrink. How likely is it that I will come across a threat on my journey home?
That depends on how long your journey is, Drifter says, but you will meet one perhaps every other night. They stop. Do you know how to fight?
I stop. I do not think so.
Drifter bobs up and down, their arms swinging around loosely. Then I can teach you! We will battle together!
I wince. Will it… hurt?
It will not hurt! I will be gentle! Come!
They float further away from the road and gesture me to follow. I’m uncertain, but I obey.
I will first teach you to use fhrim, they say, stopping and turning to me. A mental image of a black-purple-red energy surfaces. Oh! ‘Fhrim’ is ghost type energy.
First, focus on your body, Drifter says. Try to feel the energy inside it. What makes it the way it is.
That’s pretty vague… but I’ll try my best.
I place down the shard - part of me feels anxiety at letting it go, as if it’s going to run away or something, but I gather myself and let it rest on the grass below. I stare at my hands.
It’s subtle, but I can feel that it’s different from when I was a human. Not just because my body is a different shape - that difference is obvious - but because… well, it’s hard to say. It just feels like it’s made of something other than flesh. I know that ghosts are made of spectral mass. Maybe this is just what it feels like to have a body of spectral mass? Maybe this is what Drifter means by ‘the energy inside’.
I think I have it, I say.
Good! Now, imagine expanding it outside your body.
Expanding it… okay. Vague again, but I can try.
I expand the energy inside my hands, as if spreading the fingers without actually spreading my fingers. A faint dark glow, purplish in hue, emerges from the skin - well, it’s not really skin - and expands, wavering.
Good! You are getting it! cheers Drifter. Now, concentrate it!
Concentrate it? Uh, how? Well, maybe I can try channeling some more energy into it from the rest of my body…
I do it, and the dark glow darkens into black flames with purple streaks. It feels like there’s a lot more power in it.
Now, try throwing it at the ground!
Alright. I raise my hands and, like trying to shake off droplets, I flick them downwards. The energy is flung into the ground as a kind of broad whip, smacking against it and dissipating, leaving behind two regions of flattened, dried up grass.
Yes! Wonderful! shouted Drifter, swaying happily from side to side. Now we can battle!
Wait, I say, should I not practice a little more before we --
But Drifter has already manifested a ball of similar dark energy before themselves. I react only moments before they blast it forward, narrowly avoiding the dark sphere.
The fight is on now. I gather up more fhrim and cloak my hands with its dark flames. If Drifter managed to throw their own energy, then I should be able to do that, too, right?
I push the energy out of my hands and into a swirling ball between my palms, but the moment the flaming mass detaches from my skin, my grasp on it slips. The energy spins out of control and backfires on me, burning my skin with a freezing chill. I scream through aura - apparently by instinct - and recoil.
You have to be careful with it, I hear Drifter say. When you make fhrim, it goes outwards from you. If an enemy casts fhrim into you, or you cast fhrim at yourself, it goes into you, and it hurts. And it does not just hurt. It harms you, and if there is enough, it may even kill you. They bobbed. But I will not use that much fhrim on you. I do not have that much fhrim in me, even.
Well, thank you, I say, but they don’t wait around for my answer, forming another shadow ball - hey, that was a move name, wasn’t it? That must be what it’s called. Nevertheless, Drifter lets the ball go, and I dodge it again.
Okay. Maybe I can’t exactly perform a shadow ball myself. I can still throw the energy. Throw… How about…?
I form a spear of ghostly energy in the grasp of my right hand. As I raise it, memories of practicing javelin throwing for the athletics society at my uni resurface, though this time it’ll be a bit different - I’m throwing at a target rather than as far as I can, and my body is shaped in an entirely different way. I aim the spear, estimating its trajectory, and hurl it towards Drifter. The spear flies over them, not in an arc but in a straight line. It burns itself out into nothingness shortly after. Oh, right. Ghost type energy probably isn’t affected by gravity. I shouldn’t be correcting for that.
Nice attack! Drifter says. You almost hit me! They lean back and open their mouth, drawing in air and expanding. What’re they doing now?
Drifter blows out the air, producing with it streams of white energy and wind zooming right for me. It’s not hard to dodge the majority of, but I can feel a small breeze graze me, leaving behind a cold feeling that soon disappears. That must have been a flying type attack. I wonder if I know attacks of any other types… not that I have any idea how I’d even find out.
I form another spear and hurl it. This time I would have hit Drifter, but they dodged. No free hits, I suppose. Drifter counters with another shadow ball, this time launching it a bit to the left, forcing me to break my pattern of dodging that way and instead sliding to the right.
Before I can feel good about my correct reaction, though, Drifter suddenly zips through the air to me and attacks with a shockwave of purple and blue needles of light accompanied by loud shout of aura. The energy digs into me like, well, needles, and I feel a spike of fear. What move was that? Whatever, doesn’t matter, go away!
I shove formless energy into Drifter, and they recoil. As offense is the best defense, I waste no time creating another spear. This time, though, I feint a throw before the real one and manage to land the hit directly into the drifloon. They make a kind of yelp in aura, transforming my triumph into worry.
Sorry! Did that hurt? I ask.
But Drifter only laughs. Not at all, they say. You are quite weak.
I frown. I only became a ghost today.
Do not take it as an insult, Drifter says. It is simply the truth.
I huff, except that I don’t, because I don’t have lungs.
I think we can stop the battle here, Drifter says. Did you enjoy it?
Enjoy? I pause, bringing a hand to my chin. I do not know, really. I do like that I learned to attack. I blink. Actually, could you teach me how to do those attacks that you did?
Sure! Drifter says, bobbing excitedly, and floats to my side.
Over the course of a few minutes, Drifter explains or attempts to explains how they performed their moves. They start with the needle attack, instructing me to shape and concentrate the fhrim into needles, and allows me to test it out on them. My ‘needles’ start off as few and blobby and I still struggle to maintain control over energy that is no longer connected to me, but after a few tries, I am able to more or less replicate the attack. Drifter explains that this is one of the first attacks that ghosts tend to learn, which admittedly deflates my sense of accomplishment.
The shadow ball, though, just doesn’t work out. I form the ball just fine - at least I think I do - but as soon as the energy is no longer in contact with me, I lose my grasp on it. It feels like it could be possible to keep holding on to it, but for whatever reason, I just can’t make it work. It keeps blowing up in my face.
I think you are simply too weak to learn it now, Drifter says. I could not do it when I was little, either.
Damn. Or, actually… Hey, what do you say in ghost language when something bad or annoying happens?
Prg.
I receive mental images of shrines, priests, talismans. Sacred things. But ‘sacred thing’ is an incorrect translation. It’s too positive. A ’prg’ is a bad thing. Something ghosts hate for the power it has over them.
Prg, I repeat. It does feel kind of good to say. Something liberating.
Well, anyway, Drifter begins, all that fighting made me hungry. How about you?
Hungry? Well… now that they mention it, yeah. It feels a little different, but still enough like hunger to be recognizable as that. Yes, I think I am hungry too.
Then come on over! Drifter says. They float to the edge of the woods where some bushes grow. I fetch the shard from where I left it and follow. Have you drained life before?
No, I have not.
Okay. Well, what you do is… uh… They glance between me and the bush. I do not know how to describe it. You simply do it.
That does not sound very promising.
Just try it. I am sure you will be able to.
Alright, then. I turn to the bush. I feel like putting my palm on it, so I do. I feel some kind of presence from it, separate from aura, which drives me to do… something to it. Something that feels good, refreshing, and like something I should keep doing. It does kind of feel like draining… only it’s slow. Very slow. Like sucking up something through a very thin straw.
I think I am doing it, I say, but is there any way to do it faster?
Not really, says Drifter. You would do it faster if you were stronger, but draining from plants is just slow in general. They live more slowly than animals, so they give off life more slowly, too.
When the alternative is to drain from animals, plants suddenly seem more appetizing.
As I keep draining, Drifter starts draining, too. I think so, anyway. It’s hard to tell with no visual indicator - that is, until a few minutes have passed. The leaves underneath my hand and next to Drifter have slowly turned dry and brownish. It feels a little bad to have caused that, but… well, ghosts have to eat somehow.
Once we're satisfied, we continue on our way. It isn’t long until we reach the signpost Drifter spotted before. It says it’s 60 miles to Motostoke. And Motostoke is maybe 200 miles or so from Postwick. My suspicions are confirmed - it’s a long way home.
Let’s see. If walking speed is three miles per hour and I am floating at roughly walking speed, that means… eighty-something hours. That’s three and a half days of nonstop floating. And if ghosts need rest…
Hey, do ghosts sleep? I ask.
Of course, says Drifter. Like all mon.
I didn't think it was that obvious… How much each day?
Uh…
Right, ghosts don't have timekeeping. Drifter can't really answer that question in hours.
Perhaps a third of the entire day, they answer anyway.
So not actually that different from humans.
I would not know.
Eight hours. I'll need to take eight hours out of each day to sleep. That would make three and a half days into… a little over five days. Better call it six to account for draining breaks and other possible delays. Damn. This will really take a while.
So what does it say? Drifter asks.
Hm?
What do the marks say?
Oh, it says that it is… a long way home.
I thought you already knew that.
Sure, but I did not know how long. Now I know roughly how long it will take. More importantly, it also tells me we are heading in the right direction.
Wow… Drifter stares at the sign. Humans can say a lot through those marks. Who taught you to interpret them? Your parents?
Well, they helped, but humans mostly learn how to interpret those marks in… Great, how do I explain school? In a special learning place. Children go there to learn many things from people that are… Well, there's no word for 'pay', either. Or 'money'. Given valuable things in exchange for their teaching.
What kinds of valuable things? Food? Water?
No, not quite. They are given… paper and metal that has value in trading.
So they can be traded for valuable things?
Yes.
Why is that?
Well… because humans agreed they could.
Drifter frowns. So… humans just decided it was valuable? It had no use on its own?
Yes.
But what if humans decided it did not have value anymore?
Humans would not do that. The entire trading system would break.
Drifter throws their stringy arms in the air. You built your entire trading system around something that is worthless?
It is not worthless. It has agreed upon worth.
But it is useless if you are alone!
I shrug, though I don't actually know if Drifter knows what a shrug means. The value-paper is useless if you are alone, that is true. But we are rarely alone. We live in a large community, very large, and that community will always have humans in it that need certain things, and they need value-paper to trade for those things.
Why not trade what they already have?
Not everyone will accept what they have. But everyone will accept value-paper.
Where do they get that value-paper, then?
By working. Humans give value-paper to other humans to do work for them.
Did those humans also get their value-paper from working for others?
Yes. That, or by trading what they have for value-paper.
Did you have value-paper as a human? Did you work for it?
I smirk, though again, I don't know if that means anything to Drifter. Yes, I had quite a lot of value-paper. I did something that gave me a lot of value-paper.
What did you do?
Well, I told other humans how to use their value-paper wisely.
Drifter seems almost angry. You were given value-paper for that? Are humans that stupid?
I raise my palms. You underestimate how complicated value-paper processes can get. There is a lot I did not explain, and it gets difficult. I helped other humans figure out those difficult things.
I guess that makes more sense, Drifter begrudgingly admits.
I laugh - through aura, which feels strange. You remind me of my child. Always asking questions and getting upset when things seem not to make sense.
How old is your child?
They are nine years old.
How long does it take for a human to mature?
Eighteen years. Or some say twenty-five.
Then they are like… Drifter quiets. Like a drifloon who is one year old.
I do not know if floater and human ages are comparable like that, I say. When do floaters usually learn to speak?
We know how to speak from birth.
Really? Full sentences and all?
Well, no, it takes a summer for them to learn to speak like you and me.
Oh, interesting. That takes a few years for humans. I scratch the back of my head - well, body. I guess it is roughly the same, then.
How old do humans get before they die? Drifter asks.
Around eighty years, I answer, at least in this… region. How long do floaters -- oh, right. Ghosts do not die of old age.
That is correct. Ghosts do not get weaker with age like mon or humans. But if a ghost - well, at least a floater - gets to be too old, they are killed by the swarm.
I flinch. What?
Spirits must die and be reborn regularly. Otherwise, they go bad. They turn into demons.
Demons?
Yes. A being that eats spirits. The spirits it eats die permanently. They can never be reborn again. They are lost. So we have to make sure we do not let any new demons come to be.
And you do this by… killing floaters that get too old? How are they… killed?
With fhrim, Drifter says. The whole swarm attacks the old floater at once, and they keep going until the old floater is dead.
...Does the old floater ever fight back?
No. Or if they did, they would be very selfish. They have lived for far longer than most ghosts ever get to, after all. It is their turn to die and forget themselves and be reborn.
I don't respond. I'm too busy wondering if this reincarnation business actually works like that, or if it's just the belief that floaters tend to hold.
So… what about me? How long do I have before I have to worry about turning into a demon?
Drifter tilts. I do not know, they say. It is probably different for face-bearers than floaters. Some creatures live for a hundred years or more without turning into demons, after all. Floaters only have ten.
Do you know anyone who has met a demon?
Yes. One of my grandparents met one once. Barely escaped. Good thing that was far away from here. There are no demons in this region. They pause. I hope there never will be.
What do these demons look like?
My grandparent said they can look like many things, but the one they saw had one eye and two arms and a big mouth on its belly that it tried to eat them with.
I can’t think of any mon like that, at least off the top of my head, so I can’t tell whether or not that might have been something actual or just a tall tale. Or a ditto in disguise.
We have other things to worry about, though, says Drifter. Like grinners. That means the gengar line. When they eat you, you will still be reborn, but you will still die. And I still want to live as myself for a few more years. You probably do too.
Oh, yes, I say. I cannot let myself die before I have come home and told my mate and child that I… Hm. There isn’t a word for ‘love’, per se, but there is a word that means the bond between family. That I have dakal with them.
Would they not know that already?
Well, I guess dakal is not the right word, then. I mean a human word that means a strong sense of affection.
You would tell them that you like them very much? Would they not also know that?
I smile bittersweetly. I very much hope they would.
Drifter stares at me. I do not get it.
It just means a lot to humans to say it and to hear it every now and then.
Ah. Human thing. That is why it is strange.
The conversation ends, and we continue on our way. Every now and then, Drifter asks something more about me, and I answer them, explaining more about my own life and humans in general. They respond by explaining more about themselves and ghosts. We both learn much that is new to us, and have a nice time while talking. It helps pass the time, too.
Eventually, the sun makes it to the horizon and we get tired. Drifter leads me off the road and a little bit into the woods, saying that it’s safer to sleep there. We drain some more life from the vegetation around us before deciding on shifts to sleep in. Drifter generously lets me go first.
I try to say goodnight, but find that ghost language doesn’t really say ‘goodnight’ the same way - it’s more like ‘good night’, a greeting the way ‘good morning’ or ‘good day’ is, which makes sense when you think about how ghosts are active during the night. But, hey, hold on. If that’s the case…
Hey, Drifter, should we be sleeping during the daytime rather than the night?
Should, says Drifter, but I am as bad at sleeping regularly as I am bad at sticking with my swarm. Maybe in a season I will find myself sleeping during daytime again.
I see, I say. A skewed sleep schedule is something a ghost may have just as well as a human, it seems. Well, sleep well, then. Once you get your shift, I mean.
You sleep well, too.
I descend to the grass and lie down on my side, closing the eye against the ground. I feel gravity pull me down more heavily against the earth - I must have stopped floating. The grass isn’t particularly soft, but somehow it seems less uncomfortable to lie on it in this body than a human one. Maybe it’s the lack of bones and muscles.
With the wind rustling the trees and the occasional car passing by on the nearby road, I close my other eye and relax.
---
My alarm blares out, and I open my eyes.
Like always, I reach out to turn it off and sit up. Something is different, though. I feel like I’m forgetting something…
Oh Gods. Now I remember. The drive, the rain, the lorry, waking up as a ghost -- I died. But now I’m human. So that didn’t happen? That was all a dream?
Next to me, Mindy stirs. She sits up and yawns. "Good morning," she says groggily. Despite her tired eyes and frizzy bedhead, she's the most beautiful sight I could possibly see right now.
Before she can get out of bed, I lunge at her, throwing my arms around her and hugging her tight.
"Whoa, what's up?" she asks, cautiously answering the hug.
"I had an awful, awful dream," I say, shaking my head. "I'm so glad it wasn't real."
"Oh, I see," she says and leans into me. "Well, it's over now. Everything's alright."
I sigh in relief. It sure is.
After staying in the hug for a while, I break out of it and get out of bed. "I need to see Tina," I say.
"Don't scare her," Mindy says. "You gave me a startle already."
I nod as I leave the room. "I'll be gentle."
I walk over to the door to Tina's room and open it, expecting the sight of my beloved little girl sleeping soundly in her soft and comfortable bed.
There's only black.
A dark, featureless void stretches out to infinity behind the door.
I step in, panic settling in. "Tina?"
Nothing answers me but an echo.
I turn around to ask Mindy where Tina is, but the door and the rest of the building is gone, replaced by more black.
"Mindy? Tina? Anyone?" I shout, but no one answers. Of course they don't. I'm alone. Slipped into some crack between dimensions where no one can hear my call.
I can't get out. There's nowhere to go. I'll never see my family again. I'll never --
Wake up!
I jolt, suddenly finding myself lying on my side with a field of vision all too wide and a body structure entirely different. I try to shout, but I have no throat or lungs.
Oh, right.
I get up, somehow floating again. Drifter is hovering beside me. The woods around us are dark, but I can still see.
It is your shift, Drifter says, and my turn to sleep.
Right, I say. Go ahead and sleep. I will keep watch.
Thank you. Drifter lowers themselves onto the grass and closes their eyes.
I sigh, except that I still don't because I have nothing to breathe with, and start glancing around. This will be a long night.
---
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