Clyde wished he could remember more.

There had been unusual noises out in the barn that one night. He didn't know what had caused him to be the first person to hear them, but his first worry was for his sisters in the next room. He crept out of his bedroom, finding the cottage still dark, with everyone else asleep; the family's jackets, cloches, and caps hung undisturbed in the front hall.

Someone slowly entered the front hall behind Clyde, and he jumped a bit, poising his big body for an attack, but was relieved to see it was his father.

The two locked eyes, uneasy, before his father said, "...You heard it too?"

"Yeah, pop..." Clyde looked around uncomfortably. "I heard the dog snoring in ▓▓▓▓▓'s room, so it can't be him out there."

"I'll wake your brothers up," his father had said, hurrying back up the hall. "Go ring the porch bell. Maybe that'll get 'em off the property."

Clyde ran out into the damp midnight air, not sure if he was shivering from the cold outside, or from something else. He reached the porch bell – the one they rang for meals or when it was time for chores – and yanked on the fraying rope for dear life. The bell sent a clattering din throughout the farm, and he rang it as hard as he could until he was sure even the ▓▓▓▓▓▓ family up the road would hear.

Movement darted out of the east barn. Someone had a crate of hens, trying to bolt back to a gas-fueled buggy he'd never seen before. Clyde screamed back at the house, "Chicken thief! We've got a chicken thief!"

"Stay on the porch!" ▓▓▓ yelled in the living room.

Clyde barely heard ▓▓▓ as he bolted across the yard to the cart, waving his clenched fists in the air. He had a large build but he'd never been in a fight before. But, he decided, it was worth a shot so long as some stranger in the night didn't run off with the hens he'd loved taking care of.

The intruder must've been someone from the city. He didn't remember a face, just the smell of unwashed hair and fire smoke. All Clyde remembered was his fists making impact, one hard enough to knock the man back, dropping the crate, releasing frightened chickens out of the way.

People were yelling behind Clyde. Someone from the ▓▓▓▓▓▓ house was driving up the lane. The man before Clyde panicked, grabbing something from the back of his open buggy, swinging it up over his head.

A logger's axe.

Things went white.

Clyde had waited the most out of the four. He at one point considered haunting his old town, but he didn't want to see his family living without him, or the chicken thief. He preferred to not have a face to the thief at all.

Memories faded. Clyde Filbert ▓▓▓▓▓. He floated through limbo or explored the living world as much as he could; it was hard to do during the day, knowing he'd accumulate stares for his lack of visible legs and his soft unearthly glow. Cloches and spats in the city slowly were replaced with beehives and leather jackets.

It was almost a shock when another kid arrived in purgatory.

"Hey."

Clyde had been stacking rocks in the shape of a little house when he heard Inky for the first time. Clyde turned, finding a lanky boy about his age floating not too far from him; the boy was clearly uncomfortable with his surroundings.

Clyde didn't know how to respond. "...What happened to you?"

"I was in a fight." The boy looked down at his new blue glow. "My friends and I were behind a pinball arcade, and then..."

"It's okay," Clyde said reassuringly. "I don't remember what happened to me sometimes."

"They called me Inky." The boy gestured to his hair. "It was 'cause 'a my hair. And I'd slick it back like this, see?"

"Is that what kids do up there now?" Clyde was genuinely curious.

"Well, yeah. What decade are you from?!"

"Dunno. 1920s, I think?"

"O-Oh. I was joking but...sorry, man."

"I'm not offended. I'm kinda glad there's more kids in limbo here."

Inky was quiet for a moment; he didn't know what to do about the current situation. He sputtered, "I-I remember there were ten of us in that alley. Dunno how many of 'em were my friends. I remember a gun, and someone calling my bluff. A-And the..."

Clyde noticed Inky seemed to be on the verge of tears. The larger teen looked around quickly, soon grabbing a small, thin rock and handing it to him. Inky only gaped at this.

"Wh-what do I do with this?!"

"I'm building a town over here," Clyde said, gesturing to the row of little clumped houses, giving him a reassuring smile. "You can help."

Inky cried.

At least he was safe here.