Author's Notes

Hi! I'm Canisaries, someone who's been writing fics and stories for a couple of years now, but never posted to this platform before. However, I heard this place still has some traction, and I figured I might as well try to reach some new readers and opinions.

Let's get to what this story I'm posting is about. Hunter, Haunted is a drama / horror / black comedy about a young cultist named "Red" Akai who, after yet another ritualistic sacrifice for his dark lord, is shocked to find the victim reincarnated as a Yamask. To make sure he doesn't get caught for his crimes, Red must find a way to eliminate this ghost before it's too late.

As for its fandom, Hunter, Haunted is a story set in the Pokémon universe with elements borrowed from the Twitch Plays Pokémon phenomenon that reached its peak in 2014. I phrase it this way as, while the series of stories this belongs to did start out as TPP fanfiction, it's ended up focusing far more on general Pokémon elements. In addition to that, I'd like to consider this story accessible to all Pokémon fans rather than just the very small group of people still interested in TPP five years after its peak.

Now for the content warnings. This story is rated M according to the site guideline, and in more detail, contains the following:

- violent imagery (occasional gore)

- disturbing themes, such as cultism, cannibalism and body horror

- strong language

- themes of mental illness and suicide

- little to no sexually suggestive content.

Certain phobias have also been utilized to enhance the effect of horror. These include arachnophobia (fear of spiders) and emetophobia (fear of vomit or vomiting).

Alright, I think that covers it. This post contains both the prologue and the first chapter. Hope you enjoy!

PROLOGUE

Breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out, breath in, breath out…

My lungs drag the soft air in, squeeze it out. Repeat. Repeat. The air tastes so good. I switch to breathing through my nose. An explosion of sweet aromas hits my nasal cavity, yes, it's wonderful, wonderful… but I have to switch back. I need more air.

I'm so warm. My skin is hot, throbbing to the rhythm of my rapid heartbeat. Beneath the heart, a full, heavy stomach. Satisfied.

Blur… black at the top, brown in the middle, orange at the bottom… all I see. These colors, they pulse with every contraction of the pump at my core… or… do they flicker on their own, too? They do.

Popping, crackling. It's not quiet here, there's something beside my own heart and breathing. It's like fire. Is it fire? Yeah, it is. Something's hissing, too. I can't tell what it is.

The heat is stronger at my left leg. It's so hot it almost burns. Whatever the reason, it should stop. I try to draw the leg away, but a swarm of aches pull on it with more force. The leg is tired. I force it to move. It hurts. Why does it?

My back isn't the best, either. The higher part of it, along with my head, is leaning onto something uncomfortable, strangely shaped, hard-edged. The lower part is supported by ceramic tiles. I can recognize the texture by the way my sweat glues me to it. Ugh… sweat. Sweat, everywhere on my body. I'm not clothed. Am I safe?

With shaking eyelids, I blink. The sweat gets in my eyes. I blink to squeeze it out. Doesn't get it all. I need my hand.

I try to curl my fingers. Twitching, they obey. I contract my arm. It aches, but it works. I raise it to my face. Something red enters my vision. My fingers. Too much blood on them. I wipe them on my cheek, on the other, then they can be used.

Rubbing the irritation away from my eyes, I bend forwards to sit upright. I take the hand away and see that my sight has improved. Still simply colors, but now they have shape. Oh, oh, I feel gravity. It's strong. I have to support my head with my arms, bury my face in my palms. Eyes closed, I wait for my thoughts to clear, senses to sharpen.

At some point, I become a person. A man. A being interacting with his surroundings, not a mere slave to them. I finally dare to remove my hands, open my eyes, enter reality.

It's a room. My room, my secret room. To my right, a fire has been lit, a bowl of water placed upon it. It's boiling. There are also candles, a whole lot of candles around the space. Their orange glow illuminates the gray walls, the taupe bookcases, the floor… the floor has many colors, strange colors.

Wait! What's that? Beige-red shadow, human-shaped figure, doesn't move, over there. The feet don't touch the ground, something keeps her up. Her?

Her, yeah. I know her.

I jumped on her, drugged her, transported her here, came home and stripped her, washed her, fastened her to the board. I set up the candles, the bowl, the knife, everything, everything was ready. I waited for her to wake up, and she did, and then… then I looked at HIM.

HE came and showed HIS acceptance and I felt… so happy. HE liked what I'd brought HIM. HE liked me. I was warm and at peace and I thanked HIM so much. Everything was good, everything was right. Then I… I… can't remember.

From that moment to this wake-up… everything is blank. I couldn't have fallen asleep, I couldn't have fainted, those things just don't happen to me. So maybe HE…

...yes. Yes, yes HE did! HE finally did it!

The corners of my mouth, in spite of how exhausted they feel, drag themselves towards my ears. I've never had a grin this wide on my face before.

HE took over me! HE can do it, HE is now strong enough to do it! And - and HE chose to do it! With me! My body! HE accepts it, which means, it means I am the Bringer! It's official now!

I laugh, despite the action hurting. I have to laugh, I'm so happy. If I don't let it out, I'm gonna burst.

I'm gonna merge with a god! I'm gonna live forever, doing whatever I want! Feeling how I want! This is… great doesn't even begin to describe it!

I spend ten breaths in and out just letting the fact sink in. On the eleventh, I remember my job isn't quite done yet.

Right. HE still needs time. I have to keep living a mortal's life until HE is fully ready.

I look at the stone above the altar. The spiral on the triangular rock base remains just a spiral, a mere shape. HE has left for now, as I pretty much expected.

Okay. Back to real life. Ascension's not here yet, so I should act like it. Be an organism in an environment. So let's see what we have here…

I turn my attention to the human figure from before. She's...

...absolutely ravaged. I still can't see quite right, but those big, shiny blotches of color don't lie. It's a red-tinted rainbow. Only her feet, hands and the upper half of her face still seem to be intact. Pretty pale, though… for understandable reasons.

That is magnificent. I have to take a closer look.

My joints bend sluggishly as I wriggle to a position from which it's easier to get up. As I rise, knees trembling under my weight, I catch glimpses of my naked body. Covered in blood. Just like my fingers. HE certainly wasn't shy.

With every step I take, a loud slap rings out from the foot hitting the floor. I survey the ground, wary of anything to trip on, and notice it's rather crowded. On the white tiles, there lie large pieces of various tissue types from muscle to fat to even bone. It's almost as colorful as the corpse. Hell of a mess to clean up, but I can't lie, most rituals do end up requiring a session with the mop afterwards.

By the time I reach the body, I'm ready to collapse - whatever HE did, it really took the juice out of me - but my curiosity overpowers it. I grab the board for support and finally survey the woman fastened to it up close.

She's dead, alright. Big chunks of the body are gone from their usual places, now lying instead on the floor or... inside me, I guess. Some organs are heavily damaged while others are completely gone, though I'm noticing the digestive tract is intact. Maybe HE avoided it because of the smell. For that, I thank HIM, as I can't say I'm a fan, either.

On proceeding to the limbs, I unfortunately have to acknowledge that the straps normally holding down the arms and legs by their bases have been broken, as well as the strap for the neck. I'll have to replace them. It's not the only damage done to the board, but the rest is luckily restricted to superficial scratches on the wood. The straps for the ankles and wrists are perfectly fine. That's good.

The damage to the actual limbs lessens the farther down I move. It goes as deep as the bone at the shoulder, but by the elbow, only a few tiny, red crescents can be seen. I check my fingers. Bloody gunk is situated beneath the nails. Matches up. Not sure why HE would use the pitiful natural weapons of the human body for even a moment, but maybe HE liked the primal feel of it.

Speaking of weapons, where's my knife? It's not on the floor. Is it on the… yep, it's on the table. Just where I left it. Clean. What?

But that can't be right. Did HE use some other weapon? I glance over the board, but nothing looks out of place. I really doubt HE would be the type to clean all equipment and put it neatly back where it came. Did HE only use…

I lick my teeth. There are fibers of flesh stuck between them. I glance at the bowl on the fire further away. Just like the knife's blade, it's spotless. The boiling water within is colorless.

HE ate the flesh raw.

The realization disturbs my previously peaceful gut. I hope HIS powers protect against disease as well. Or should I just try to vomit? I think that's my best bet. I can't risk harm to this body if I want to keep being the Bringer.

Ughh, it still hurts to move… but I have to. I guess I should start wrapping this whole thing up, anyway. After I get my stomach emptied, I'll take a shower and put some clothes on. The blood on my skin's starting to dry up and get kinda itchy.

As I stumble to the door, I scan the floor with a sorrowful eye. There were probably some organs there I still could've sold if I was fast to freeze them and offered a discount. Gods, they're not gonna be happy that I gave them that blood to test but no organs in return. I'll deal with that then, though - for now I have my health to worry about.

Oh Gods, did it smell this bad in this room the whole time? It's like something died in here. Oh, right.

Now with shoes covering my feet and rubber gloves on my hands, I bring the garbage bag to the mess on the floor. My raincoat crinkles as I crouch to pick up the clumps of flesh and stray organs. I hum a quiet, directionless tune to ease the monotony.

I still taste a bit of acid at the back of my mouth, regardless of drinking water and eating a sandwich to fill up the upset stomach even a little. Can't wait until raw flesh becomes as safe as cooked when I reach godhood.

With the floor cleared of tissue chunks, I pick up the small bowl normally meant to be eaten out of and scoop a bit of the boiling water out of the far larger bowl. I chuck the liquid at the fire and repeat the process a few times until all the flames have been eradicated. Sorry, fellas, you didn't get to cook anything this time. Much like I didn't get to do the killing. Of course I'm way gladder about the advancement of my life plan than I'm sad about missing out, but… I was looking forward to performing the ritual. All of it, not just the start and the cleanup after.

No, it's fine, it's fine. Like I've said, all that matters is the ascension.

I decide to leave the emptying of the water bowl for later, when it will have cooled down, and move on to the body. While I was showering, I had time to ponder the lack of instruments used. Looking at the ribs now, I'd call my hypothesis confirmed - by the ends of their remnants, it seems they've simply been bent off.

HE didn't only take over my body. HE brought some of HIS own strength with HIM. That explains how HE managed to do so much damage with my nails and teeth alone. A god is a terrifying thing.

Oh, right, I should…

I separate the corpse's jaws. The tongue, too, is gone. I sigh. Well, I guess it fits - HE is the one who killed her, not me. HE gets the trophy. Even if HE probably just threw it on the floor or ate it.

I still want to keep count, though, so I'll just put an empty jar in with the rest. I think this one's the eighth. Eighth sacrifice I've hunted down, and I still haven't been caught. Is it merely because of the spells and tutoring HE has provided me, or am I a natural? It can't be said.

Occasionally I wonder what my life would've been like if the Twitch never came. I wouldn't have met Him and, by extension, HIM. Would I still be free and killing? Caught? Dead? Happy? Psh, good one.

Knowing the smell will only get worse if I keep waiting, I open the straps holding down the body's ankles, then the left wrist. She begins slipping, and upon freeing the right wrist, collapses onto the floor tiles. I dodge back before the impact, not wanting blood on top of my shoes.

Alright. Think I'll cut off the head first. Won't have to bear her staring at me for too long that way.

I fetch the bone saw and a wooden plank from their wall. I grab the woman's hair to lift up her head and place the plank beneath her half-eaten neck to guard the tiles. The hair's black and bristly, like mine, but a bit longer. Not unusual for a Tohjoan, and neither are her dark eyes.

As I saw away at her neck, hand on her forehead to keep the head still, my gaze lingers on her face. Aside from the missing parts of the lower half, it's rather pretty. Symmetrical, aesthetically pleasing proportions... smoothly curved bridge of nose, deep-set eyes, widow's peak. Pure, healthy skin, although without the majority of its original beige color as a result of fear and blood loss. Stylized dark eyebrows, but not too stylized - she knew what qualities of her natural state worked and preserved them, but fixed the imperfections. I stroke the eyebrows. Silky. As much as I can tell with gloves on, anyway.

Weird how she lived alone and seemed to have no friends. No one would assume that based on her beautiful face and energetic walk. Well, it was all the better for me - smaller chance of getting caught, bigger chance of HIM finding her pleasing.

What was her name again? It was on the tip of my tongue. If I couldn't have her tongue or be the one to kill her, I should at least have a name to go with her face. Was it… no, it wasn't Maria, that was the one before her. It was… ah, now I remember.

Joanna.

CHAPTER 1

A Normal Day

Oh, great. I get to wake up to another miserable day.

I drag myself to an upright sitting position. The blanket slides off me, exposing my bare, scarred chest to the cooler air of the room. With sleepy eyes, through the black strands of my hair, I watch the airborne dust of the room dance. The light exposing them, the sun, shines in from the bottom edge of the window, the sliver not covered by the white roll-down curtain.

Maybe if I let the sun in, this room wouldn't feel so cold in the morning. But now that I've tasted the joy of sleeping in, there's no celestial body in existence that would make me give this new habit up.

And look at that light. It's not even the good sunlight. I can tell from the color that it's another one of those days with a cloudy kind-of-translucent blanket between me and the sun. All the warmth the sun could offer is soaked up by that grayish rag, all the colors are muted. What a sad excuse for a late spring day.

At least it's late spring, I guess. Temperatures have risen, the birches' leaves darkened, even the least cold-tolerant bird mon migrated back. Summer will be here soon. Maybe that's something to look forward to. Probably not.

I look at my hands. Good, strong hands, those of a young man in his prime. Unbeknownst to the public, also those of a killer. They've knocked out targets with the help of a spore-soaked rag, they've cut into skin pale from terror with knives carefully sharpened, they've felt the fiery embrace of fresh crimson blood… but lately, they've done a whole lot of nothing.

The sacrifice was a few weeks ago. I haven't been to that hidden room since then. Maybe HE would want me to get another sacrifice for HIM, but I'm not exactly thrilled with the idea of stalking, testing and capturing a new victim only for her to be killed by someone else, leaving me to vomit my guts out and clean up afterwards.

I know, I know, I'm HIS servant, HIS high priest, and I shouldn't be avoiding HIM. But I do need a break for another reason as well - lying low. If I kill too many too fast, someone might find a pattern and, by extension, me. So I'm only playing it safe. I'm not doing anything wrong. Got that? I'm not doubting HIM, I'm doubting my own ability to be stealthy enough. I'm being rational.

Okay, with that out of the way, I suppose it's time for me to get up. I need to at least get my daily exercises done. This body has to be maintained.

Exercises done, showering done. Now to get breakfast to complete the trifecta, and then that's really all I have to do for the day. Then it's just waiting for time to pass, occasionally eating, until I go to sleep and wake up to do it all over again.

Pathetic. Waste of time. But there's nothing else I can do. I can't go crawling back to high school, I'd just have to leave again in a matter of weeks when the classmates prove unbearable and my temper uncontrollable. I can't get a job. No one will hire a guy who hasn't finished high school - no job that won't pose a risk to my body, require social interaction or use of technology, at least. My fear of tech would prevent returning to school, too, if I miraculously learned to withstand the human garbage that walks the halls of Pallet Town High School for Humans. So, thanks for fucking me up, Twitch.

Hair dried, clothes on and knife in the scabbard on my belt, I climb up the stairs to the ground floor. As I'm about to touch the handle of the door at the end, I hear noises from the other side. The reaching hand curls up into a fist.

Yes. It wasn't enough to render me unable to use computers due to painful flashbacks. It had to give me something impossible for me to have with any other living being - an attachment.

I can hear Fonz roaming around, getting things ready for Him. It. I can't think of Him that way anymore. It. The omanyte.

The omanyte has been doing well lately. In school, in general. The mortal vessel my lord's spirit happens to be bound to is alive and healthy. That's all it needs to be for HIM. It shouldn't be any more, but it is, as much as I hate it.

Should I even come out? Should I just wait until they've left for school? No, I shouldn't. If I can't trust myself to stay cold near the omanyte, I'm only accepting the problem, not working to solve it.

I force myself to open the door and step out.

The view I'm met with is familiar. A nidoking with trimmed quills and a black leather jacket on carries a backpack over his armored shoulder. He turns around, and in his claws is... the omanyte.

"Hi, Red!" it greets, waving its tiny tentacle. Don't talk to me!

I nail my gaze to the floorboards. My heart bounces around my ribcage like an out of control igglybuff. Dammit! This shouldn't happen.

"Morning," I manage to say, blocking out all images of the mon in my mind. I still need to be polite. I can't show too drastic of a change, that would attract suspicion.

"Hi," say not only Fonz but also Abe, who's in the kitchen. Short, glasses, shaggy brown hair, olive skin… a phenotype so different from mine that I can barely believe we share a mother. The boy's in the middle of constructing a sandwich to eat before school, backpack already on his back and packed to the brim. He looks like a bipedal bulbasaur with that thing.

"Oh, right," Abe says, looking up from the counter again, eyes on me. "We need groceries. List's on the table."

Groceries? Sure. Something to actually do. I give a 'mhm' as a sign of agreement.

The front door opens. Fonz squeezes out of it sideways with the omanyte and backpack.

"Bye," the nidoking shouts with his baritone yet friendly voice, prompting a much higher-pitched "bye" as a response from Abe. The big-eared mon closes the door behind him, and the room falls silent, save for the fumblings of my brother in the kitchen.

The omanyte will be done with His - its school soon, meaning it'll spend its days home again. Just a few months ago, I couldn't wait for that day… but I was an idiot. Since then, I've managed to realize that what I felt was wrong and incompatible with my future plans. And now the day the omanyte will complete its basic required education as a free mon terrifies me.

Long gone are the days of admiration. I now know what I had was only insanity. Remnants of a broken mind. The Twitch. It was the voices that made this connection, forced it deep in my mind, and from that I learned to cling to a mon with minimal importance to my true lord. The need to keep it around is practically a technicality.

"Oh, also," Abe begins, interrupting my thoughts. "I'll come pick you up with a taxi at ten to two."

"...Why?"

"The psychologist's appointment. Remember?" he says, in a tone almost authoritative.

Ughhhh. That appointment.

"You have to go this time," Abe continues. "I have to see personally that you do. Otherwise the Foundation guys are gonna come and drag you there, kicking and screaming."

I open my mouth to protest, but he's anticipated it.

"No, you can't talk me out of this," he says. "You've skipped it too many times. I'm gonna come home at ten to three, so you better be there."

He picks up his sandwich and scuttles to the door. "And don't forget the groceries," he adds right before exiting. "Bye!" The door closes.

Right. The groceries. I'd already forgotten about them.

I sigh through my nose and look up at the ceiling. Boring, plain white stares back.

Some seconds - maybe minutes, I don't know - later, I pull myself together. I fetch my backpack, my wallet and the grocery list on the table, put on my jacket and head out.

The weather is still dull, gray, lifeless. It's kind of chilly, too. The pathetic sunlight isn't strong enough to combat the gusts of cool wind with its warmth. My sneakers tap against the old asphalt of the sidewalk as I make my way towards the town's center. By foot. At the sluggish pace of a human.

The wind dashes down my collar, splatting its cold air onto my chest. Shuddering, I pull the zipper of my jacket the remaining few centimeters up and shove my hands back in my pockets.

Familiar sights scroll by. High school, library, hospital, graveyard. Watching them inch along makes my speed feel even more glacial. I'm starting to wish I'd stayed home. At least it's warm there, and… I don't know. Something about that colorless, featureless sky just really pisses me off.

Eventually, the yellow corner of the supermarket's tall sign peeks over the dull green pines. I sprint a bit to ease the irritation of not already being there, and I'm rewarded by reaching the edge of the parking lot. Not much more now. Then it's over. Until I have to come outside again. Ughh.

I'm simply a ray of sunshine today, aren't I? I'd say I woke up on the wrong foot, but I'm rather convinced that I have no correct one to begin with.

The main entrance approaches, little by little. Just meters away, the automatic doors open for a leaving father, his small child and their half-full cart. They're talking about something - the man with a mature yet bright voice, the child with its rhotacistic squeaks. After they've stepped out, I slip in, my upper arm brushing the white frame of the door.

A rainbow of artificial color awaits me on the other side. Rows and rows of shelves stand behind the frontline of crowded checkouts. Every notch of the shelves is packed to the brim with cans, cartons, packages and various other products. Dozens of voices, beeps, shuffles and taps echo around the spacious white hall. The air is warm and still. Finally. Let's get this over with.

As usual, I move through the gates into the labyrinth of aisles, grab a plastic basket and begin to hunt down the items of the grocery list. By now I know where to find them all, but the sections I don't visit are still a mystery to me. They can remain as such. I don't really care.

The basket slowly fills up, becoming heavier with every addition, until there's only one item left. It's written in a much shakier, scrawlier way. Given that and what it says, I know who wrote it.

It's a request from m- the omanyte. He - it would like some shrimp. I walk to the aquatic aisle, the shelf stacked with cans of the product in question. There's the brand He - it, it likes. Then there's the brand it hates.

Should… should I pick the bad brand? Would that be a good way to show I don't care about the mon? No, wouldn't that mean I do care, if I care enough to pick the wrong one on purpose? But if I pick the good brand, I'd feel like I did it because I didn't have the heart to pick the bad one, that I was weak.

But is it really weakness? It's what you're used to doing, it's normal. And it's not like the good brand even costs any more than the bad one.

It is weakness. If I make the omanyte happy, I'll just want to make it happy again and again. And then when at some point it disagrees with HIS will, I'll end up choosing nearsightedly, angering HIM and ruining my future.

But imagine it. Imagine His disappointment, heartbreak, when the can's pulled out of the bag and He -

It. It. It!

How many times do you need to be reminded? When will you understand it?

The Bringer cannot love.

Shut up! I've had enough of this. I don't want to waste time thinking about anything related to that mon anymore. I'll take a third, new brand. It costs more, but fuck it. It's only money. I grab the can, shove it into the basket and head for the checkouts.

I review all the available lines of other customers I could join. As they all seem to be just as long with about four or five people, I settle for the closest one. The person in front of me, a tired, graying woman, seems to have a full cart. Great.

At a snorlax's pace, the line slouches onward. Various objects are dumped on the conveyor belt, picked up by the cashier, passed to the bar code reader, it beeps, she places the item on the other side, grabs the next, so on, yawn…

A wailing noise pierces the air. What? What is that, a siren? No - a few checkouts over, there's a baby. And it is loud. Gods, my ears!

I glance at the other people around me. They, too, wince every time the screaming surges in volume. But nothing more. They merely stand and take it. And it just keeps going! I really can't stress enough how horrible this is. This screech is something straight out of a victreebel's gullet, one that's being electrocuted and simultaneously stung by a horde of beedrill.

Isn't the mother doing anything? No, she isn't. How can she bear this? If this was my kid, I'd have chucked it out the window long ago.

No, it's okay. My turn is coming up. I can already start placing my items onto the conveyor. Look, I'm doing so right now. I have to wait a few seconds every now and then so that there's enough room to fit my items in, but I'm advancing. Time is passing. And now the woman in front of me is already paying. She leaves to pack, it's my turn. See, everything's okay. All I have to do now is to wait for my items to scroll past…

But how could I? How could I let this go? This baby, these people, these humans and mon… wastes of space, wastes of life. Here they stand, in their shelter, safe and squeaky clean, so far from the unforgiving wilderness they once dwelled in. They used to struggle for survival, now it's being handed to them on a silver platter. They feel entitled to it. They're domesticated! Inbred by good times to be harmless, lazy and stupid. They should be taught to fear again. And I should be the one to teach them. I should be the predator to rid the ecosystem of these pathetic slobs. The fearow to dive into this swarm of fat rattata and impale them with its beak and talons.

Oh, my fingers already dance on the smooth, wooden hilt of my excellent knife. They might all think it's just for self-defense against wild mon and muggers, but oh, no, no, no. This is my fang, my claw, and it's itching for flesh to wrap around its blade.

This is what I'll do - I'll pluck out my knife in the blink of an eye, and before the others can even react, I've already slit several peoples' throats. A few drops of hot blood have hit my face, marked me as the danger. And from danger they run. They'll scream. Some, in blind panic, will flee deeper into the store and doom themselves merely by shortsightedness. Those will become my prey. Prey I'll chase into the aisles, catch and consume. Inhale their fear, taste their agony as my claw makes outsides of their insides. Their blood will soak me, splash onto the shelves. Paint the rainbow red. Brilliant, authentic red to break up the phony, lifeless hues of the labels. Warmth for this cold day.

I have to do it. I have to do it. It's what I was meant do. I was meant to cease these maggots' lives, turn their mundane into massacre, strike when they thought they were safe. I'll kill and keep killing until only two remain. That accursed infant and its mother. I'll trap them into a corner. The woman will cry, scream, clutch her child and beg for mercy. 'Please! At least spare my baby!' She'll pray for me to feel pity. I'll only smile, approaching. Tears and snot will stream down her distorted, bawling face. Oh, Gods, why? she thinks. Why did it have to be me, today, in a supermarket, in such a gruesome, terrifying way? Why did my child have to be with me? How does something as awful as this happen? The only thing I'll be wondering is if an infant's viscera will differ from those of an adult in any other way than size.

"Sir?"

The cashier, blonde, in greenish teal. Looking at me. How will I kill her? I don't have the element of surprise anymore. Will I just go for it with my knife? Pull it out in a flash, stab her in the throat?

"Is there a problem?"

…

"No. How much was it?"

"$117.49."

I draw out my wallet and give her enough bills to cover the price. In a while, she hands me the change and a receipt. I nod and move on to load the items in my backpack one by one.

The baby's wailing is gone. It probably stopped a while ago. All that remains is the normal background noise of the store. It's like nothing had ever happened.

Items packed, I zip the bag and turn my back to the checkout. I finally allow my brain to process what just happened.

That was way, way too close. I was millimeters away from making that fantasy real. Had it not been for that miraculous moment of sensibility, I would've thrown away my entire future, just to satisfy my bloodlust and transmute my anger into joy. Both of those fleeting, temporary. If it wasn't theologically incorrect, I'd say HE was looking out for me...

Not only would my future have been ruined, my life would've likely been over very fast. People would've called the cops, who would've put me down like the rabid animal I was. And then I would've been dead. And after that…

Nothing. Existence over. No joy, no pain, no gods. Just the book's back cover - the story has ended, there's nothing more to see.

And what a shitty story at that. Every arc, every theme, every emotion wiped away by a single bad decision. No happy ending, no tragic ending. Only an ending, and that's that.

I sigh, trying to force the stress out of my body along with the air. I don't find much success.

I begin to walk off, but halt as I notice how crowded the main entrance seems to have become. The people are running around with pieces of paper… no, only three are, the rest are only looking at the pictures with none of their own. The three are showing the papers to passersby, only to receive shakes of heads.

Ugh, I bet they're activists or something. I don't want to risk snapping again, so I guess I should take the secondary exit. It looks empty enough. Can't see any people with papers over there, at least.

I walk across the store to the exit and slide out. A quick analysis of my surroundings confirms what I had hoped - no activists in sight. No one looks like they'd want to engage me in something. Neat. I can just be on my w-

"Excuse me, sir!"

Fuck! He came out of nowhere - or, well, from behind the pillar of the overhead shelter, to be exact. Still, I didn't see a glimpse of him before, it's like he was teleported in by an abra. Maybe he was?

Either way, it's a young man with short black hair, a long face, a trench coat and overall a dopey feel to him. In his hand is a piece of paper. He's with the others, it seems. Great.

"Hm?" I respond, trying to fake hurry. Or I suppose it's real. I'm in a hurry to get away from people.

"Have you seen this woman?" he asks, raising the piece of paper and revealing it to be a photograph.

I'm about to say no - because what woman would a shut-in like me recognize - but my lips quickly seal themselves shut. This I did not expect.

I have, indeed, seen that woman. In fact, I was the very last person to see her, not to mention the last person she saw. Who else could it be but Joanna?

"What's her story?" I ask.

"O-oh, she -"

He clearly didn't expect that. But I need to know.

The man soon pulls himself together. "She's my sister. She's been missing for a f-few months now." His voice breaks, just a little. "She moved to Pewter some time ago, for her studies, but… we already looked there, so…"

"I'm sorry to hear that," I say. I mean it in the way that I'm peeved that the investigation will partly take place in my hometown, but he doesn't know that.

"Yeah… we thought she might have come back, and… yeah," he mumbles. "S-so have you seen her?"

"No."

Something breaks deep in the man's eyes. I'd say he looked miserable, but that sort of appears to be the default for his face.

"Contact us if you do," he says, all soul now gone.

I nod, smiling reassuringly, and walk off.

Man… I can't lie, that was kinda funny. Does thinking that make me a bad person? Oh, yeah, I guess it definitely does.

Any amusement gained melts away soon, however, as another breeze of chilly air causes me to shiver. The weather is still awful, I see. And I have to walk home in it, with a heavy backpack to carry, no less.

The winds only strengthen from that moment on. So much so that, when I reach the spruce-encircled graveyard, the warmer shelter causes my feet to stop all on their own. I take the moment to bathe in the gentle air. I know my home is even warmer and that getting there is only going to take longer if I start loitering, but I feel like a break is what I need right now. I sit down on the old dark bench beside the graveyard's spiky metal fence.

Graveyards are nice. They're quiet and beautiful, and this one is no different. Gray, black and brown stone slabs stand in rows and columns - some worn and rough, some shiny enough to be mirrors. Soft moss and short, prickly grass surround the tombs and cobblestone paths. A few flowers here and there add spots of bright white, yellow, red and purple to the primarily earthy tones around them. Yet, underneath the serene surface, there lie dozens of boxes with rotting cadavers.

This is where they all end up. Well, not in this particular graveyard, but dead nonetheless. They'll all perish - maybe of old age, maybe of disease, maybe in an accident, maybe in the hands of someone like me.

They won't make a difference, and even if they do, they'll still die. And what matters to the person after that? Nothing. They're dead, like everyone else will end up being.

Everyone except me.

I have a reason to keep going. I can reach immortality, eternal bliss. They can't - or they could, but they're not aware of that option.

Either way, they're still okay with it. How? Is it ignorance? Apathy? Surely they can't have actually realized it? I know them, they wouldn't be strong enough to feign peace of mind in face of inevitable doom. Yet I've never seen anyone on the street break down into tears, cry at the heavens, curse their gods for creating this stage of never-ending anguish.

If life is such pain… why are they happy?

Some leaves rustle behind me. A wild mon? I turn around, but all I get is a mere glimpse of the creature before it disappears into a bush at the edge of the graveyard. What I saw looked… golden?

Maybe it's a meowth? But the golden part looked pretty big… wait, maybe it's a shiny magnemite! That I have to see.

I make sure no one's around, then get up and hop over the graveyard fence. I creep closer to the bush where I last saw the creature. My steps become slower the closer I get, stopping entirely one meter away.

Meowth or magnemite, it may attack if I startle it. Given that, I should be careful and prepared to defend myself.

I unsheathe my knife and hold it horizontally before myself. I breathe deeply and circle around the bush…

Oh. There's nothing here. That's anticlimactic. None of the branches are even bent. It's like nothing had been there at all… but that can't have been so. If there hadn't been anything, I wouldn't have come here.

There! No, it's gone again… but it was there, by that pine tree in the woods beyond, before it hid behind it.

I do know now that it can't be a meowth. Sneaky as they are, even meowth make noise when they move, and that amount of gold was definitely too much for just a coin.

As silently as I can, I cross the border of the yard and the forest and sneak behind a tree. After a few eventless seconds have passed, I switch to another tree closer to the creature's presumed hiding spot. Motionless, I wait, eyeing the area for anything golden. Or really anything moving independent of the wind.

Something. Something's emerging.

A golden edge peeks out from behind the pine's trunk. Come on, come out. More floats out. Wait… that's not a sphere. That's more like an oval. A concave one. A mask from behind?

It floats in midair, supported by no limbs or wings. Its motions appear conscious, but also directionless. I'm getting the feeling that it's confused. That makes two of us.

Just what is it? It looks surreal. Ghost types must be involved somehow… but where does a mask like that come from? What kind of face does it have? I can't see from this angle. It's not turning around on its own, so maybe it needs some encouragement...

I crouch to pick up a piece of gravel and chuck it away, behind the mask. The tiny rock collides with a few more of its kind on the forest floor, causing a small click. The mask quickly rotates, and…

...no.

There's no way.