A pen sat on the table, by the crisp sheet of paper, and the old clunky laptop humming away. It was a simple ballpoint pen, with clicky button action, and a plastic ridged grip. The point faced towards the man at the table, Linh.
A hand reached out, Linh's hand. It gripped the tip and lifted, and the pen stood on its button. A press down and the hand grip slid to the plastic grip, index one side, middle finger the other.
Click-click. The pen went, point extended. And Linh twisted his fingers. A flex, and the pen spun into the standard grip. The point tapped the paper twice, at the latest line.
Tech support it read. Comma, then a company. The pen touched paper and stained it black—two dates, month and year, written afterwards. Underneath, in looping cursive, a list of skills it displays in scrawl half elegant.
Linh let his pen sit motionless, as he looked over his half-remembered, half-recreated resume again. He looked at the black ink, and the white space, and how the second dwarfed the first. Then his gaze turned to the laptop, where a muted video played. The championship match of Unova, '22. A moment of awe at the Pokémon's power, before Linh forced himself to look back at the incomplete paper.
"C'mon mate, I've done this before." Linh told himself, then immediately felt silly. He didn't need to speak out loud to know he barely remembers what he had on his old resume.
The pen touched paper. Then separated. Then touched again. It hung in the air motionless, in thought, then glided across white. Ink rolled across the fibre.
Software engineering intern, one date. A summer's work. Three copies more, naming different companies and times.
University lab demonstrator, two dates. The length of three semesters.
Linh nodded, then set the pen down. A little too harshly, as it rolled across the table. Linh watched it with slight disappointment as it reached the edge, and tipped over. Landing on the wooden floorboards. Larry's floorboards.
Linh lifted the paper up, holding it so the light from the living room's (his bedroom, currently) window could shine through, paper thin and faintly backlit. "I can work with this." He declared to the air, "No references, no proof of any of this, I don't even have an identity, yet. According to Larry. But I can work with this." He continued, voice a bit tight.
Suddenly, the table before him thumped and jolted to the side. Something impacting one of its legs. Linh startled and dropped his paper. He looked down, under the table.
There, crawling across the ground, was a koala. Except not really. Koala's are not that brilliant shade of blue, they don't carry a heavy log with them. And they actually have their eyes open when they move. Komala.
Komala crawled into Linh's leg, and it felt a bit like a bowling ball slowly rolling against his foot. The Pokémon was densely furry, and the hunk of wood he carried did not help.
"Hello Komala." Linh said, smiling. "How can I help you?"
Komala made no sound, but he did rear back where he layed, and bumped forwards. a sleep-headbutt. Komala breathed in and out, with snoring snorts.
"Hungry?" Linh asked the comatose koala. And Komala's sleepy grumbles became positive. "Well—lemme just—" Linh closed the computer, set his resume under it so it wouldn't go anywhere, and looked around the floor for his dropped pen.
"Uh," he stood back up, confused. "Oh!" There, on the table, was the pen. And by its side was a single, long, grey-white hair. "Oh." Linh gave it a suspicious side-eye, but when Komala reared back to give him a balance-upsetting tackle again, he had to move on.
With Komala on his shoulders, hanging from his neck, Linh made the way to Larry's kitchen.
On the feedbag up in the drawers was a sticky note.
Today's medicine day. Make sure Tauros takes the pill this time.
Dudunsparce should have more iron.
Usual for everyone else.
- Larry
Linh hummed, then shoved the note in his pocket. Larry had asked him, while he's crashing there, to feed the Pokémon staying there. With pay, even. Simple enough.
The hard part is how to rephrase it professionally in writing; not the clatter as Komala's food bowl is set out, or the rustle as the dry kibble-like Pokéchow is poured.
Komala crawled out of Linh's arms, and sat in front of the bowl with a sleepy, baby-like pose. Tiny legs half-bent and ahead of him, tiny arms with pudgy fists shoving the food into his mouth. He ate reflexively, without thought.
Linh shifted both slightly, to be further away from the edge of the counter. And then he added the rest of Komala's meal. Leaves plucked directly from the potted tree by the windowsill (A bovine snout left condensation on the glass) and a half-lemon's juices, squeezed and soaked into the chow.
A thump against the window, Linh looked. Tauros was there, begging with soulful eyes out of place on a massive bull. He opened the window by a crack and Tauros's tongue reached through, seeking the Oran berries hanging from the potted tree.
"What's that, you want something?" Tauros moo'd pathetically, barely reaching the branches. "I don't recall Oran berries being on your food plan." Linh scratched his head to hide his smile.
Tauros did not have the right head shape to convey sheer despair and pitiable want. But he made an admirable attempt.
"Oh, okay..." Linh plucked two berries off, and handed them over. "You never got anything from me, got it?" With a finger against his lips, silence invocation. Tauros nodded conspiratorially.
Linh washed his hands free of bull spit. Then consulted Larry's food plan stuck to the fridge.
One Pokémon fed, five more to go. Tauros and Oinkloigne, who nominally reside in the pen out front, take the most food. Requiring a trough filled entirely with wheat and hay. Normally stored outside at the shed. But they also need the right nutrients and vitamins. A blend of vegetables and berries. Small b berries—blue, rasp, black. All chopped roughly and tossed together into a bowl—which Linh will scatter in the feeding trough later.
Blender turned on. Tropius prefers his food very wet. Which means soaking the platter of kibble with a smoothie. Banana flavoured, because the small sauropod with banana's growing from his neck has a theme.
As the blender noisily whirred, Linh busied himself with what the birds will eat. Mundane fish and fruits chopped together, piled with nuts and seeds, and a special additive for each one. To match their preferred tastes, or they won't eat.
Oricorio gets some strips of sweet smoked-jerky. Altaria gets a bitter zest, and Braviary has a haunch of a rabbit, chopped at the joints.
And, because Flamigo gets fussy if she doesn't get a treat with her food, one of the fish-shaped biscuit's from the bag under the sin—
The biscuit bag had a tear in it, and some of the treats that spilled out were chewed on. Edges wet with spit. One of them had a doggy paw-print smushed into the soft pastry.
"Hmm." Linh hummed, calculating gaze intent on the bag.
The basement was where Dudunsparce was fed. Or rather, the portion Larry covered. Dudunsparce, a Pokémon filling the same ecological niche as a mole, had a diet of worms and other borrowing insects. Fitting, for a creature who preferred to live under the soil and ran an expansive tunnel network connected to the basement. Sprawling all under the estate.
"I mean, it's bloody obvious I'm being followed." Linh began. In his hand was a cup filled with gummies in the shape of worms. Vitamin D supplements. "Unexplained moving pen. Half-eaten food. I don't need the rule of three to presume a Ghost Pokémon followed me from the graveyard. Probably a Greavard, given the unidentified hair and the paw. The question is, how can I lure it, him, her, out?"
The tunnel out of the basement started at a mound of dirt left to pile in the darkly lit room, left on a ledge so Linh didn't have to lean down. Linh dumped the cup in front of the entrance, and took a tuning fork and set it ringing in the pile. A calling bell.
Linh slowly stepped around the room, inspecting and scrutinising every facet of the basement. The dark corners, the stacks and stacks of storage boxes, the single hanging light bulb. Inadequate for the rooms size. "That's a performative question, by the way." He called out to the empty room. "I've already set up my plan—you likely saw me set it up. I just don't think it matters that you did!"
Linh stopped at the base of the stairs, where the light switch sat so perfectly innocent. His finger touched it, smooth plastic under the pad.
He inhaled, and began softly. With a quiet voice that urged listeners closer. "I remember this thing in my childhood, when I was the last person downstairs and I was heading up. I would turn the lights off and start walking up the stairs. But with each step I felt surer and surer that there was something behind me, some strange entity crawling out of the night and from nowhere to drag me back down. It led me to sprint up the stairs, missing steps with this tightness in my throat.
"Of course, in my old world, there was nothing there. No demon in the shadows, no monster in the closet. But that was then, and now we're here. And I don't think you're the kind of creature—the kind of ghost—that won't leap on this opportunity. Even if you know I know about you, and are openly stating I am baiting you. Call it a gamble, say, fifty-fifty. A coin toss."
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Click. The basement plunged into darkness. Darker then dark, as Linh's eyes have not adjusted. Yet, the darkness did not sharpen—objects highlighted by their edges catching what little light there was—it remained bleakly blankety dark.
"Ghosts like to scare right? Well. I'm here. My breath is quickening, my hearing sharpening. Is the creaking I hear the sound of boxes settling, or is it something moving? Are those shadows writhing, or am I seeing patterns in nothing? Is that the head of a ghoul-like dog, with slavering jaw and burning candle and rotting flesh, or halucina—undead monstrosity, sprinting up the stairs now." Linh sprinted up the stairs.
His shoes thumped hot rubber up the wooden stairs, and just behind, furry paws scrabbled upwards. Barks of bloodthirsty rage chased Linh up into the light, the sound clacking like knuckle bones clicking together. Step by step and then two and three steps at a time, Linh ran, and at the top he made one daring leap out of the stairwell—yet the dog-beast, some thing ill-defined in the dim light, did not stop chasing, and scuttled all the way up, one paw turning and growing fingers and-!
-And crashed into the cling-film Linh spread across the doorway, along the bottom edge. The illusion broke—the beast shrunk, its paw-hand hybrid thing revealed as a small stubby paw, no longer then a corgi's. It's long lupine jaws, with rotting flesh stringing the bones together, revealed to be a furry snout, wide and round and with a fat tongue lolling out. The cling-film wrapped twice around the ankle-tall dog as they scrabbled for traction on the smooth polished floorboards. Greavard.
Greavard tripped and rolled, wrapped in plastic, stopping at Linh. He sat down on the floor, one leg crossed over the other, hands holding at the ankle. His head tilted completely to the side, ninety degrees, smile full of vicious teeth. "How nice. I called heads."
Greavard made a curious noise, muffled by the clear strip around the muzzle. Tongue sticking out and leaving wet droplets on the inside. Greavard tried to stand up, and Linh reached down to help. But in between the paws and the hand, Greavard rolled out, and kept on rolling. The bundled up puppy tipped back down the stairs, howling distress.
"Oh whoops." Sheepish grin.
Linh ended up apologising to the Greavard three times. Once for trapping her so cruelly in the strange and unknowable material known as cling film. Twice for calling her 'boy' and 'it'. And thrice for letting her fall down the stairs. This was all conveyed through stomps and whines, given that Pokémon can't talk, let alone say their names.
Then, afterwards, the dog immediately broke the very solemn apologies by sneezing, chasing her tail, and trying her very hardest to get Linh to play with her.
Linh played tug of war with her, then fetch with a throw pillow, but then Linh asked a curious question.
"What was that... thing, you did back in the basement. With the appearance of being bigger, gorier , vicious. I would have chalked it up to me seeing things in that dim lighting, but, well. It felt real to me." Linh spoke faintly at the end there, well aware of how unhelpful he sounded.
The Greavard tilted her head, then without warning she shifted. From one moment she was an ankle tall doggy with a button-nose and discoloured spots on her cheeks resembling freckles, and the next she was a human sized dog thing, hunched so low that it crawled instead of padded on its four legs. It made a sound no earthly creature could.
"That! That right there!" Linh pointed, grinning. Seeing and hearing the creatures janky movements set his blood hot, and adrenaline pumping. "How'd you do that! That's awesome! Is this real?"
Before Greavard could react, Linh surged forwards, his greedy hands reaching out to the visibly weeping flesh. But his hands fell through, instead of touching ragged, dirty fur.
Linh's hands continued into the illusion. The false image, all the way until his elbows were melding into the huffing corpse, only then did he actually touch something—the cold waxy candle atop Greavards head.
Greavard barked, and it came out of two places, her tiny jaws, and the lupine throat phasing half way through Linhs chest.
"An illusion, huh? Can you... Alter that illusion. Say, give it more teeth, or make them flat incisors like mine." Linh shuffled backwards, and opened his mouth to lightly tap his teeth. "The uncanny valleys really good for horror, saw an image of a dog wearing dentures, and it was oddly terrifying."
The image-ghoul-dog thing tilted its head, its mouth closing shut with an awoo? Then it opened its mouth, and revealed every tooth as flat incisors, as long as finger bones. It was distinctly ugly and inhuman to look at.
"Cool." Linh whispered under his breath, not the breathless voice of admiration, but the faraway admission of a mind running a thousand miles per hour.
A new game was played between them, it was called 'make the monster more horrifying.' Unfortunately, they had no audience to show off to—Komala was in the room, but he did not seem to be able to see the illusion. And outside, Oinkloigne bumped into the illusion, breaking it. A single gust of air sent from Oricorio's wings scattered the ragged image. And Dudunsparce did not even dignify Greavard by showing up.
Messengengar:
"Hey hey, Rika here, where's Larry's couch-crasher—oh what the fuck." A women, green hair, long ponytail. Frame androgynous enough only her voice betrays her gender. She entered the room and stopped.
The 'what the fuck' indeed. As Linh was currently kneeling by Greavard. His hands stretching out to ruffle her belly fur. Except that was not as it appeared—Greavard was cloaked under her rotten illusion. Long and lanky like a Borzoi, with flat shovel-shaped teeth and dirt smeared fur, and a split hole where the dog's underside should be, like as a butcher would, if it were hanging from a hook.
It looked more like Linh was rummaging through a corpse’s entrails. He looked up, confused, and he saw Rika with shoulders tensed and a Pokéball in her hands. He looked down. And held up his hands, arms coated to the forearm with slick red. Greavard's suggestion. "... Oh, right! Greavard, drop it." And the illusions faded away—just a man and his dog.
Rika put down her hand. Not smiling, but no longer concerned. "Ah...?"
Linh walked towards her, Greavard chasing after his feet. Still a bit playful. "Just illusions, yeah? Anyway. I'm Linh, and you're Rika—how can I help you?"
"Ya sure scared me. Thought we had a slasher on the loose," head turn, head scratch. Rika awkwardly held herself. Whatever momentum she brought scattered with her thoughts. "Jus' wanted to meet you, heh. Get to know you."
Linh smiled pleasantly, "And you've met me," he nodded to her, and then down to his ankles. "And Greavard now. I'm an open book, ask."
"Well—the first thing I wanted to know is." Rika still did not look at Linh. "Um. No, I'm still stuck on the..."
"The dog thing?"
"The dog thing!" Rika pointed at Greavard. "What was that!"
Linh nodded, "How do I put this... Ghost Pokémon?"
Rika scowled. "Yeah, I know what Ghost Pokémon do. Doesn't mean I expect to walk in on a horror movie."
"Sorry about that." Linh dipped his head, contrite.
A pause. Linh said nothing, and Rika still seemed a little lost. She shook her head and spoke a tad more harshly. "Look, that was a mess. Can we start over?"
"...Sure?"
Rika exhaled, rubbing the back of her neck. "Alright. Rika here—at your service. Now, I know I'm pretty, but there's no need to be intimidated. Just friendly ol' Rika!"
I think you're the more flustered one around here. Linh did not say. "Hello Rika, I'm Linh. And this is Greavard." He gestured with a hand, Greavard barked. "I actually have a question for you—one only a Ground type specialist like you can answer."
"Shoot."
Linh pointed down to the Pokéball clipped to her belt. "You have, a Clodsire, yes? Pokémon that evolves from Woopers. Cute things."
"Certainly."
Linh put on a curious face. "What precisely is the purpose of a Wooper?"
"Environmentally? They're filter feeders. They eat the scum of dirty water and ground the silt so it becomes pure, ready for other life to move in." Rika rattled off that information with a smile—it's something she'd studied extensively, and something she was glad to share.
Linh hummed. "I was thinking, philosophically. But that works too. Do you have any Woopers?
"Several."
"... Do you have photos?"
"Oh, albums! But if I'm bringing them out I'd better get some hospitality—what does Larry have in his fridge?" And Linh followed Rika towards the kitchen. One minute, awkward acquaintances dancing around a dog’s faux-corpse. The next, a friendship forged by the raiding of a kitchen.