Lewis' skull bobbed in time with the musical trills the Deadbeats gave off as he carefully aligned another strip of blue painter's tape with the wall and lowered it onto the baseboard. He slid two fingers along the length of it to stick it in place, then grabbed the roll and tore off another strip. There was something soothing about the rhythm, even more so if he kept time with the Deadbeat choir.
He had gotten them to pull all the furniture back from the walls to the center of the room or, in some cases, move it out to the hall. But after that, he only asked them to sing for him. A task like this required extra hands only if you were trying to save time and energy. He had more time than he wanted and nowhere to go spend it, so it was better to use it up slowly.
The office walls had degraded. The nightmares that appeared when he spoke always faded after a few hours, but after a few weeks more permanent effects were showing up. A large patch of mold spread along one corner of the ceiling and there were several reddish-brown dripstains on the walls. At every corner paint was cracked, blistered, or coming off in large strips.
He'd taken it upon himself to watch several hours of DIY videos during the previous night and, once he was certain what supplies were needed, he wrote up a shopping list. He included it with a written report on the new effects of his spoken words, added a large paint chip from the wall, and left it all in an envelope outside of Vivi's door. This afternoon, she'd unloaded the requested supplies into the kitchen without a word, then left the house again.
He really, really wished Vivi and Arthur were back on speaking terms. It seemed more plausible than wishing Vivi would talk to Lewis, at this point.
With the baseboard protected, Lewis floated up toward the ceiling to lay out the next round of protective tape.
For a moment, he pictured himself continuing his task, but with Arthur already rolling paint onto the wall and Vivi sneaking up behind him with a well-dipped paintbrush. Maybe she'd turn to Lewis, raising a finger to her lips for effect, then pounce. Maybe Arthur would turn and run the roller over her head in mock outrage. Maybe they would all laugh, and Lewis would take a picture for the blog, and…
Shaking his head free of the image, he finished taping the edges of the ceiling and drifted back down. Mechanically, he picked up the paint roller and loaded a fresh, fluffy cover onto it. One Deadbeat scooted a pan of newly poured paint over to him, chirping. He paused, then patted its head. They had a knack for picking up on his moods and gave him little gestures of solidarity and support when it went south. Still, he gently wagged a finger at the Deadbeat. He really wanted to take his time with this room. There was an excess of leftovers in the fridge so there was no need to cook today, but he still had to fill the hours.
The front door opened and shut. Lewis stilled, listening. Heavier tread on the floorboards. Some grunting. Arthur? Back with something heavy, maybe. He might need help. Lewis set the roller down and left the office, rounding the corner just in time to see Arthur haul Mystery into the bathroom and shut the door. Puddles marked their trail from the front door. A few seconds later, the pipes in the walls rattled up to a roar as the tub started to fill.
Shrugging, Lewis snagged a few dirty towels from Arthur's room and returned to mop up the spills. He wiped the water from the floor and gathered a clean set of towels and clothes. Approaching the bathroom door, he waited until the water stopped running before he knocked.
Arthur cracked the door, peeking around the corner. "Oh!" He glanced down at the stack Lewis held out. "Oh. Thanks. Sorry about the mess. Tried to get to the bathroom fast but we probably dripped everywhere. Somebody decided I needed a soaking." He took the stack and Lewis waved off the apology. "We'll be out later. Any cases come in?"
Lewis paused. He snapped his fingers, delighted. He knew he'd forgotten something. He nodded several times and was rewarded with an enthusiastic smile from Arthur. "Great! Could you print out the details and…" Arthur's smile fell for a minute and his brows drew together. "Hmmm. Actually. Could you print it out and put it by Vivi's door?"
Lewis tilted his head.
Arthur shrugged. "Seems like as good an opening as any to start peace negotiations."
Finally. Lewis reached out and ruffled Arthur's already frazzled hair.
"Hey!" Arthur grinned. "Shoo, I've got a dog to wash."
"I could wash myself, you know," Mystery grumbled from behind him.
"Yeah, but you never do. Pampered pooch."
Lewis backed away from the door before he could ruin the moment with his laughter. He felt lighter as Arthur shut the door. There was a case to work with. Arthur aimed to talk to Vivi soon. The good times weren't all over. There was still something to work with and work toward.
Still, he couldn't help wishing he could speak directly to his friends. It was ridiculous how much he missed even simple exchanges. He'd trade any part of the ghostly state for the chance to talk with them about how the day had gone…
Maybe he'd been too quick to turn down Mothman's help. Arthur and Vivi hadn't shown any signs of putting their heads together to help him figure out his issues yet, and he was tired of sitting on his hands. He had networked his own connection with someone who seemed pretty knowledgeable—or at least, knew who to go to for good information. Maybe he could figure out a way to decrease the risk of getting an in-person assessment from Mothman.
He drifted back toward the office. He hadn't applied any paint to the walls yet, so if there was a time to shoot off a quick message, now would be best. He closed the door behind him and had the Deadbeats boot up the laptop and log in.
Mod Skull: Hey, you around?
Mothman: Lucky! Just got back. Thought any more about letting me in on your ghost issue?
Mod Skull: *is typing*
Mod Skull: *is typing*
Mod Skull: *is typing*
Mothman: Fine. I can take a hint.
Mod Skull: No, wait
Mod Skull: It's just… we need to know more about you. Can you give us any credentials? Any history? Anything to the effect of a track record of your dealings with ghosts?
Mothman: I don't have any track record with ghosts. Wish I did. Like I said, it's out of my field since I'm usually working the alien angle. Cross-training would be nice.
Mothman: Why do you need my info?
Mod Skull: It's kind of important to the team that this ghost doesn't get exorcised by over-enthusiastic ghost hunters.
Mothman: Ohhhhh. Yeah. Okay this is making more sense now.
Mothman: Look, to be honest, if I tell you who I am, I'm worried you won't take me seriously. For several reasons.
Mod Skull: Can't move forward if you can't give us anything at all. Besides, we'd learn a lot of that stuff once we met you, right?
Mothman: Yeah. I guess.
Mod Skull: Have new details about the ghost, by the way. Those spectral distortions he generates have long term effects and tend to rot the room over time.
Mothman: No kidding? How bad?
Mod Skull: Stains, mold, and paint peeling so far. I'm doing home repairs today.
Mothman: ….
Mothman: Wait is this ghost haunting your HOUSE?
Lewis flinched.
Mothman: Listen, if you don't want to kick it out, I won't kick it out. Your house, your case, your rules. But I'm dying to talk the trade with someone who'll teach me more and I've not been to ONE SINGLE LEGITIMATE haunted house so PLEASE.
Mothman: I am begging you.
Mod Skull: Thought you were part of an organization? They don't teach you? Don't train you on the job?
Mothman: They barely tolerate me. Too many blurry photos and missed opportunities.
Mod Skull: Oh. Is that why you think we won't want to meet?
Mothman: Partly my reputation. Partly because I'm twelve.
"What?" Lewis shouted. The Deadbeat at the keyboard cheerfully typed away.
Mod Skull: WHAT?!
Mothman: But I'm serious about all this! You have no idea how much I've done in my own field of research. I just have the worst luck about proving it.
Mothman: Please don't brush me off.
Mothman: I'm not just some kid, you know.
Mod Skull: Sorry, didn't mean to type that. I was just surprised. I mean, I definitely thought I was talking to an adult.
Mothman: I'll take that as a compliment.
Mod Skull: Even if you are as serious as you say, you're still twelve, and the issues in this case are way beyond you to solve.
Mothman: But I can learn from it! And if I can take some firsthand notes back to my organization. Some of the other members might have better suggestions for you based on my notes. Please!
Lewis wished he hadn't started this conversation. This was a mistake. The most informed contact he had from the blog was twelve?
Mod Skull: Do your parents know?
Mothman: If I can swing a visit to some science type museum near you then I can call it extra credit research for Skool and my Dad will be happy to let me go.
Mod Skull: Let you go? Are you saying you'd come alone?
Mothman: I can handle myself.
Mod Skull: Unacceptable. We can't be responsible for you or for something happening to you.
Mothman: *is typing*
Mothman: *is typing*
Mothman: *is typing*
Mothman: Okay. So. What about this. A while back you said this ghost has his own anchor, so he's not tied to your house, right?
Mod Skull: Right...
Mothman: So can you guys bring the ghost to me?
Lewis bit back the immediate response, "Of course not!" and leaned against the wall, considering all the very good reasons why he should say just that.
He would be too vulnerable out there. He hadn't even run this by the rest of the group. He wouldn't be on his own turf. He could be walking straight into a trap. Mothman might not really be who he said he was. He might actually be an adult, even a professional ghost hunter who was intentionally baiting Lewis out. But if he really was a kid, what if Lewis injured him in the course of the research?
Mod Skull: There's a lot of reasons why this is a terrible idea.
Mothman: Why?
He couldn't just tell this kid that he was the ghost they were talking about and that he was scared of all the things that could go wrong, right? Of course not. There had to be another way out of this conversation.
Mod Skull: Maybe terrible is too strong a word. I'll talk to the team. But I don't think they'll go for it.
Mothman: Then let me talk to them. I can convince them!
Lewis waved at the Deadbeats, who shut the laptop. He couldn't just up and leave. That was ridiculous.
He stared at the new, excessively detailed crayon-drawings of dismembered people now chasing each other across the walls. Occasionally one would rip some painter's tape off the baseboard and use it to pin down another crayon-drawn person, then pull off their limbs like wings off a fly. The floor sprouted rusty nails, point side up. The ceiling laughed at him like a demented clown and licked the mold spots with a forked tongue. Considering how much Lewis had dictated, the effect was pretty mild today.
Was meeting Mothman any more ridiculous than continuing like this for the rest of his existence? Or even another two months?
He would run the idea by Arthur. See what he thought. At worst, nothing happened. At best, it would remind Arthur and Vivi how badly he wanted his voice back.
The front door opened and shut again. A surge of longing drove him across the room. Vivi was back! He'd bring the idea to her. She would be gung-ho for an adventure. Maybe a road trip with the three of them to wherever this Mothman was. Why had he thought it was crazy? Hours of music and joking and laughter as miles of blacktop peeled away under the wheels. Lewis grabbed the doorknob…
No. He forced himself to release it. That image didn't exist anymore, and it wouldn't. It couldn't. He'd be lucky if Vivi spoke civilly to him every third Thursday, and Arthur might laugh from time to time but he still flinched if Lewis moved too quickly or came up behind too quietly. And it wasn't the three of them. Mystery was no happy-go-lucky pet to be dragged off on a moment's notice. All their ease and camaraderie had died that night in the cave. Maybe it had already been dead and he hadn't caught on yet. A dark current of anger caught him off guard. Arthur, why was there even an opening for that thing to take you…
The drawings on the wall started shrieking in a gaspy, breathless manner. Like someone with a punctured lung. The sound ravaged Lewis. He phased through the door, stumbling out into the hall.
"...gonna talk about this printout? It just showed up in front of my room." Vivi's voice floated around the corner. Lewis pressed up against the wall, listening as Arthur responded.
"Looks like a standard case. Property-based curse, by the looks of it. Not a lot of pay, but a good way to get our feet wet in the business again."
"Standard my lemony-fresh bird feeder."
"Ass, Vivi. Just... just say 'ass.'"
"Shove it down your cotton picker. Anyway, this isn't a standard case, it's a weird one, and you've nixed weird cases just like this for months. Why so eager?"
"Call it a peace offering," Arthur said wearily. "I shouldn't have stormed out on you."
Vivi was silent.
"And. I shouldn't have said those things the way I said them. There's… there's truth to what I said, but the way I said it was kind of... stabby."
Still nothing.
Arthur sighed. "What do you want from me, Vee?"
"I want you to tell me what happened in the back of the semi-truck. As a start."
If Lewis still had breath he would have held it.
A chair scraped on the floor. Arthur's voice had dropped a lot lower. "Vee. I don't want to. I want—"
"You want me to trust that thing we've invited to stay in the house, but every time I try to get at the truth you shut me out. Clearly something terrible happened, or you wouldn't be keeping it from me to try and make this work. Yet I'm supposed to just let it all go? Sleep with it nearby and trust I'll both wake up intact and won't find your remains stacked outside my door?"
That thing. It. Lewis' locket ached along every crack. It thumped dully against his funeral suit and his hand crept up to cradle it.
"He's my best friend."
A second chair scraped. "That doesn't excuse whatever happened. And I'm your friend too, Artie. Your friend who hasn't threatened your life even once. I want to know."
"I just… I need you to give him a chance." His voice shook. "If I tell you, Vee, please. If you remembered him, you'd still be mad at him but I know you would have at least given him another chance. Now you don't remember him at all and you think he was always… murdery. He wasn't. He was kind, and he looked at you like you were the world, and he laughed with me when I had too much caffeine and stayed up late watching me mess with new projects and… please. Just one chance. I spent so long trying to find him."
"Then you need to start by levelling with me. I mean it. And you can't tell me how to react, Artie. I need information precisely because I don't know what I'm dealing with."
Lewis turned and fled, phasing straight through two walls into the back yard. It was over. Bad enough Vivi had caught him trying to kill Arthur the first time, but once Arthur told her what had happened in the back of the truck… no. There would be ward charms all over the house. She'd cast him out on sight. Maybe even sic Mystery on him.
And he deserved it.
The day had dimmed to dusk. Birds sang the day's final melodies and a squirrel sat back on its hind legs, assessing the threat level Lewis presented. Lewis sank to a sitting position, knees drawn up to his chest, and rested his skull against his knees.
The memory Arthur's face, full of horror, filled his thoughts. The weight of him, gripped effortlessly by one hand. The shift in his face, from horror to bewilderment as he fell from Lewis' grasp.
I dropped him. I tried to kill him again. I would have succeeded that time, and we both know it.
At that moment, on the cliff's edge, he had still been torn. He wasn't changing his mind fast enough. Arthur's uncle Lance had shown up with a double-barreled shotgun and blasted Lewis' anchor at just that moment, shocking Lewis so badly that the memory plane vanished. If not for Lance, Arthur would have died. That's the story Arthur was probably telling Vivi right now, and it was true.
A sliver of heat lined the hollow ache in Lewis' locket. It wasn't my fault. How was I supposed to know Arthur got possessed? Why didn't Arthur said anything to us about how he was feeling before we went into that gods-forsaken cave? Why didn't Vivi take the sign outside the cave seriously instead of egging us onward? Why…
He folded in on himself even tighter. It didn't matter. Nothing he did now would change the damage done in ignorant rage, just like nothing would change the fact that he was dead. Maybe he should just pass on, like he was supposed to. That would solve the house issues.
Carefully, he tested the notion. As soon as the thought clarified in his mind, there was resistance at all the edges of his form. There were bonds that still tied him here.
So. He couldn't pass on. He could leave, though. Withdraw to some forsaken building in another part of the country and hide there. No haunting. Haunting a place might draw Arthur's attention again.
Lewis gave a low groan. If he disappeared, he just knew that Arthur would hop in the van and start combing the country again, Vivi's approval be damned.
He had to find a way to pass on. If he could, then Arthur could finally rest and Vivi could relax. Everyone would be happy, eventually.
"I do not think Arthur would be well rested if you disappear."
The thought passed into him like an electrical current, rising from the ground and spreading through his form. His skull jerked up and he scanned the yard. "Who's there?" he demanded. Instantly he regretted the lapse. He scanned the yard for distortions, but there were only a soft chorus of groans from the grass around him.
Not too bad. They hadn't tested the effect of his speech outdoors. Vivi hadn't bothered to ask, and Lewis hadn't wanted to find out without backup. He'd have to be more careful. There was no telling the range his issues had or what kind of havoc they might wreak on the wildlife.
Someone had definitely spoken to him. Had it been audible? Unclear. He peered around the yard. The only other creature in sight was the squirrel, who had returned to its search for nuts among the tangled roots of the huge tree in their backyard.
And then half a dozen sorrowful thoughts jolted him.
"Alone."
"Hearing, hearing, never heard."
"You carry dark intent."
"A felled hickory, I knew him well."
"Felled human, do you hear?"
"Speak with me. Stay a while."
"You are flame! Stay back!"
Lewis scrambled backward. Silence fell in his mind, and his own thoughts slowly reassembled. He lifted his head and scanned the trunk of the great tree that Arthur claimed was more than just a tree. There, close to the roots, a greenish-yellow glow the size of his fist pulsed. As he watched, it traced its way up, then down, then up again.
Carefully, he scooted closer.
"The roots. The roots of the felled hickory. Felled human, you speak through the roots of the hickory who was. You speak like one of us." This time, the thought came laden with a sorrow larger than a forest. Lewis sagged under the weight of it, doubled over on hands and knees. This was Yettle?
"Do not use my name lightly. I did not give it to you."
This was Yettle. The thought rocked him back to a sitting position. He was talking with a dryad. To Arthur's special guardian. She had to be at least a hundred years old. Maybe she would know what to do.
"What not to do is disappear like a cub stolen from its den. The mother would be frantic. Searching. No less done for you."
Lewis settled himself more firmly on the ground, crossing his legs. He closed his eyes, composing his vague impressions into carefully worded thoughts.
I'm what's left of a human. I shouldn't be here.
"But you are."
If I tried hard enough, that could change.
"But should it?"
It would make things easier for Arthur and Vivi.
"You have not been cast out of a pack, yet you seek to cast yourself out."
Easier to cast myself out than wait for Vivi to do it.
"May happen. May not happen. It cannot be known. What can be known is that vanishing causes more harm."
Abruptly, frustration welled up sharp and hot within him. I have lost them already! What we have is not anything like what we had. It was good! It was warm! It was beautiful! And now it's gone. Vivi won't even talk to me unless it's to threaten, and even if she wanted to, I can't speak to her!
"Please no flames no please keep fire away stay small do not spread."
Her words ran end to end and quivered. He opened his eyes and saw a circle of grass crisped to ash around him. A few embers spit and glowed briefly before vanishing. Shame quelled his anger. I'm so sorry. Even I am different now and I do not understand it.
The connection ran silent and wary for a few minutes. At the edge of the yard, a cricket sang its two note melody.
"You and I draw from the same groundwater, angry little cub."
Lewis raised a brow, trying to make sense of that thought.
"My family is gone. My days were good and warm and beautiful. I cannot speak to the felled, and those nearby who still live sleep deeply so they do not have to remember."
Lewis' skull sank closer to his collar. Alone. Surrounded by memories of the past. Who wouldn't sleep?
Warmth accompanied the next thoughts. "I wouldn't. I will stay awake. I have new family. A pack has claimed me, and as long as they remain, how can I sleep? Everything has changed, and that is both leaping flames and quenching water."
Lewis shook his head. You know some peace. I am still… he reached for examples from her speech. I am still surrounded by felled and sleeping trees.
It was dark, now. The garage light was not on, so Arthur was likely still in conversation with Vivi. Lewis stood. Maybe if I was less of a threat. Maybe if I got myself under control, or if I could speak out loud to them without nightmares coming alive. Maybe if I could say the words 'I'm sorry.'
"Maybe you need to understand the rot inside before you can remove it."
A flicker of uneasiness. What does that mean?
"There is rot inside you, felled human. I feel it eating away at you, but I do not understand it. There was rot inside of Arthur, but when he found me the third time, it had already left him."
That almost makes sense, but not enough. Lewis placed a hand over his middle and bowed. It is an honor… no. It is a privilege to trade thoughts with you. But I need to find someone who might be able to help me. He straightened. He could already feel the Deadbeats opening the laptop inside the house, preparing it for him.
"You will seek treatment from a person whose face you do not even know?"
Yes.
"You will be unprotected. If you are hunted, there is nothing I can do."
Surprised, Lewis peered at her. Do you protect us?
"There has been no need. Yet."
Still, I have to try. I will make sure Arthur is not a worried mother wolf before I go.
"Be wary of traps, little cub."
Mod Skull: I talked it over with the team. Unfortunately we just got a good case and we can't leave right now. But you're right, the ghost can travel, and he's really hoping to get help. He doesn't want to wait so he's willing to travel himself to meet with you.
Mothman: No way!
Mothman: I won't let you down! Or him!
Mothman: Okay, give me a couple minutes. I'll find an abandoned building.
Mothman: You guys are in Tempo, right? That's a ways out from me, but I don't know how fast the ghost can move.
Mothman: Do ghosts teleport?
Mothman: Can he turn invisible, or are there going to be reports of sightings all along his route?
Mothman: I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS don't go away, I'm finding an address.
Mothman: You have no idea how much this means to me.
Mod Skull: Starting to get that idea.
Mothman: Okay here's a good location. It's an abandoned toy factory at the edge of the city...