Possessing a vehicle was not the weirdest experience in Lewis' afterlife, but certainly different than most. For starters, he could feel the road, and every crack in it, passing under the wheels—his wheels. Wheels that turned at the ends of axles. Intake. Compression. Power stroke. Exhaust. When he moved the brake pedal, he felt the hydraulic system kick in, slowing the truck. There were dozens of processes happening inside that he sensed but had no words for.
He bet Arthur would know. Arthur would probably go hog wild if he could go ghost and possess a car. He'd be able to diagnose any vehicular problem in seconds just by popping into the inner workings and revving it up. Lewis would put money on it.
Stop thinking about Arthur's afterlife. He's alive.
His locket nestled safely in the glove compartment. Tiny drops of water pattered the windshield. Lewis automatically flipped on the wipers to clear the glass. Then he laughed, the body of the car vibrating at the sound. Rain wasn't about to obscure his vision in this state.
The highway stretched on. White line, white line, white line, white line. He made a game of counting the broken white lines in the center of the highway. Lost count when a sporty yellow car tailgated him, blared its horn, then tore past with an ear-splitting engine roar. Lewis briefly considered putting a healthy fear of death in the driver.
Arthur's face, screwed up with terror, flashed through his mind.
Shaking the impulse off, he cranked up the radio and checked how much further he had to go.
Not far, thankfully. Rain fell thickly in fat splatters now. The sky flickered. A few seconds later a terrific boom rolled over the countryside. The underbelly of the cloud layer had grown darker and loomed uncomfortably close.
Lewis focused on the tires, spinning away the miles. "Nothing about this storm can hurt you," he scolded himself. "Even if the truck rolled or got hit by lightning, you'd be fine."
Raindrops took on a rich red color as they splattered against his windshield, smearing gory streaks with each pass of the wipers. The frame of the truck shivered with him. He gunned the gas harder.
He had to get help for this. Had to fix it. This kid, Mothman, just had to have some connection who would know what to do. Maybe Lewis would just hang out in the factory until everything was resolved. Vivi would be thrilled for his absence. Arthur… Lewis would find a way to let him know that everything was fine. Arthur would understand if Lewis needed a week… or two… or three… to think things through. Right?
CR-RAC-ACK-A-BOOM
Lightning flashed with thunder right on its heels. Lewis pumped the brakes and turned his wheels, taking the appropriate exit a little too quickly. The cab's wheels glided for a couple seconds before regaining traction.
How exactly had he come to put so much hope in the help of a twelve-year-old, again? This was ridiculous. All of it. He should just…
Just what? Go home? Resign himself to hiding in walls and ceiling panels every time Vivi was in a bad mood? Accept he'd never be able to hold a decent conversation with Arthur? The engine bellowed louder at the thought. He wasn't about to resign himself to anything. Not to fading away, not to hiding out, and certainly not to watching the group fall apart.
He pulled up to a rather wretched looking three-story building and put the truck in park. Far too appropriate for this kind of meeting, was his first impression. Its concrete walls were blotched with mold. A whole wing of the building had collapsed at some point, leaving large portions of the upper two floors exposed. The vacant parking lot was strewn with rebar and concrete rubble. Vines and creepers cloaked any wall that still stood. The frosted glass front doors had bulky, rusted chains looped through the handles.
I'll be shocked if the place doesn't already have someone haunting it.
Lewis carefully collected himself and his locket out of the truck. Its body sighed, settling lower on the wheels as he resumed his skeletal form and drifted toward the factory. Rain passed through him, a couple drops splashing the locket every few seconds.
No other vehicles in the lot. Either he beat Mothman here, or…
He hesitated by the front left wheel. It was still possible he was dealing with a professional ghostbuster who was posing as a kid online. Someone who would have made sure to get here plenty early and set up a good position. Maybe even some sort of trap. Such a person wouldn't announce themselves by leaving a car in the lot.
CRACK-ACK-CK
Lewis bolted, phasing through the front doors. That thunderclap came far too close, like a bomb going off overhead. He caught himself on the other side of the doors.
"Stupid!" he growled. "Lightning can't hurt me!" But a ghostbuster could.
Brrrrrrrrrrring.
Lewis flared up, gathering a ball of pink flame in the palm of his hand for light and intimidation. Directly in front of him sprawled a swollen, bursting particle-board desk. Scattered secretarial supplies littered the surface and the floor around it. A black plastic telephone perched on the far left end of the desk.
Brrrrrrrrrrring.
He eyed the phone. No way a place like this still had service. This was because he'd spoken, right?
Brrrrrrrrrrring.
He reached his free hand toward the receiver, hesitated, then picked it up between two fingers.
Static sizzled on the line for a moment. Then the laughter started. "Ha-haHAHAHAHA! AHahaHAHAhahaHAHA!"
Lewis dropped the receiver, slamming both hands onto the phone. The casing cracked and melted under his flaming grip. Smoke poured from the mess, and a few pitiful sparks flashed as the hideous laughter stuttered to silence.
Breath. Lewis needed to pant. Needed to gasp. Needed the reassurance of air flowing in and out of his lungs. His shoulders moved up and down, mimicking the necessary motion, but no relief came.
That was Arthur's voice. But not Arthur. No, not anything like Arthur.
Rattle-click-rattle
Lewis spun around, aiming his hands at the door. This was a mistake. What was he thinking, coming to an abandoned factory to meet an unknown paranormal investigator? He wasn't this desperate. Not anymore. He was going home. He could keep everything under wraps all by himself. He'd make it work. He just had to get back to the cab.
The chains outside continued to rattle as the doors shifted back and forth incrementally. Someone was trying to get in. A voice on the other side muttered.
Brrrrrrrrrrring.
No! He'd destroyed the phone! He turned back to the desk, grabbing the twisted mass of plastic and metal. Glancing around, he spotted a hallway that led off to another set of rooms.
Brrrrrrrrrrring.
He hurled the mess down the hall. Backing away from it, he flared up as bright as he could, collecting a fireball between both hands. When he could barely contain it, he hurled it down the hall after the demented machine.
Brrrrrrrrrr—
Silence. Finally. Lewis crossed his arms over his chest, staring into the darkness. If that thing so much as creaked…
CRASH
A rock flew through Lewis' chest. He whipped back toward the front, his whole frame edged with curling flame.
The remainder of one door crumbled. A wide-eyed kid stood on the other side, his jaw hanging loose.
The flames dimmed. Lewis slowly lowered himself to the ground, drew his knees up to his chest, folded his arms on top, and buried his face in his arms.
"Oh. Um. Wow." The kid's voice trembled, but footsteps crunched through glass toward him. "Are you, um. Hi there. Are you the guy I'm here to talk to? Sent by Mod Skull? Hi. I'm Mothman. Sorry I'm late."
Lewis held up one hand and the footsteps stopped. He curled in most of his hand, holding up an index finger for a few seconds, then pulled his arm close to his body again. If he didn't collect himself, he might explode on this poor kid. He hadn't been this wrought up since—since… and now he didn't have any of the calming mechanisms the human body provided. Gods, no wonder we always found ghosts wailing and screaming. Is that all I have left for relief?
"Hey." The voice came back. Lewis peeked up over his arm. The kid had passed through the broken glass and settled on the ground across from him. Rounded glasses took up half his face, a concerned wrinkle marked his forehead, and his oddly jagged black hair stuck up and backward like a grim reaper's scythe.
Mothman tugged the collar of his lengthy black trench coat, his eyes still fixed on Lewis. "I heard noises. You okay? I mean… even if you're not the guy Mod Skull sent over… but I think you are?… let's start over. I'm known as Agent Mothman when I'm working with the Swollen Eyeball network, though my real name is Dib and-and-and-I have so many questions!" His voice pitched up and his words began tumbling over each other. His hands moved along with his words. "What's your name? How did you die? How did you get here from Tempo? What was that noise? Are you okay? Your skull is on fire, how do you do that? Will you let me tape our conversation?"
A Deadbeat darted out from Lewis' collar and zipped over, placing a nubby little hand over Mothman's mouth and chirping sternly. Lewis didn't think the kid's eyes could get any wider, but somehow he managed it. Lewis buried his head again and made a mighty effort to pull himself together. Maybe if he could just pick one of those questions to focus on—
CRACK-CKLE-BOOM
He shot backwards, phasing straight through the desk and two walls into some lightless back room. He sat there for a moment, stunned. Then rage flashed through him. He lashed out in all directions, sending lines of fire out one after the other. The room lit up in ghoulish shades of purple. He spotted a shelving unit by the door when several rotting boxes stored on it caught fire. The shelving unit itself wasn't catching fire. Likely it was metal. He darted over and flung the shelves to the ground. Flaming cardboard scattered as he wrestled with the unit. He wrenched two metal poles free of the frame and beat them against the wall. Every stroke left deep gouge marks, the edges glowing like embers.
The drywall quickly crumbled under his assault, leaving a gaping hole. Lewis froze, mid-swing.
Of course.
The kid had found him right quick. He stood on the other side, the Deadbeat draped around his shoulders like a scarf. A scarf that was making little worried noises and kneading Dib's collar. Dib's eyes fixed on the bent, red-hot metal shrapnel Lewis gripped, then scanned slowly up to his face.
With a groan, Lewis threw the shrapnel over his shoulders and sank to his knees. He covered his face with his hands. This was such a mistake. I have to get out of here before I hurt the kid.
"Um. So. Yeah. You're kind of terrifying. For sure." Dib cleared his throat. "But. Um. You don't seem like you want to hurt me. Usually I'm facing off with someone who definitely wants my insides on the outside, and I really don't get the chance to sit and talk with ghosts much. So. How 'bout we try again. Hi. My name is Dib."
Once again, Lewis peered through his fingers. The kid stood just outside the doorway, knees slightly bent and body angled like he was ready to bolt back down the hall. He had an electric lantern in one hand and the other hand extended toward Lewis for a handshake. Both arms shook, but there was a heartbreakingly eager expression on his face.
He really knows nothing about this business.
Lewis pointed at Dib's outstretched hand and shook his head slowly.
Dib withdrew his hand quickly. "Did I do something wrong?"
Lewis sighed, then gestured to where his mouth should be and made a zipping motion.
"Oh, right. The spectral distortions. Mod Skull warned me about that. I'm totally ready! I've got a lot of practice running and dodging dangerous stuff. You can talk."
Hesitating, Lewis looked to the Deadbeat. It gave a high-pitched chirp and flashed a nubby thumbs-up.
Bracing himself, he condensed his answer into as few words as possible. "Never touch ghosts you don't know."
An eerie cackle came from the back corner of the room. Lewis shivered, but waved a hand dismissively over his shoulder.
"Wow. Okay. I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. I won't try and touch you again."
Not about offense. Not your fault. It's just a dangerous habit to get into. You don't know what corruption you could pick up if you touch things carelessly. But he only shrugged again. Best conserve his words for vital communication. If Dib never touched a ghost again because he thought it would offend them, it served the same purpose.
Unless a malevolent spirit tried to initiate contact, then someone this eager would fall all over themselves to… no. It was worth a few extra words. "Not offense. It's dangerous."
Dib blinked. "Oh. Well. Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." He edged into the room and set the electric lantern on the ground. "Okay, so, I'm going to tape our conversation. That way I can take good info back to my contact and maybe get some more answers for you. Is that okay?"
Lewis hesitated a moment, then nodded once. It was unlikely anyone outside his own team could identify him.
"Great!" Dib dumped a pack off his back and shuffled around in it. Within a few seconds, he had a tripod and video recorder set up. The camcorder had a couple charms hanging on it, but looking at them didn't cause Lewis pain. Puzzled, he drew closer and pointed at one of the charms, tilting his head to the side.
"That? Oh, it's to minimize interference. Mod Skull mentioned that you fry electronics, so I got these from my Swollen Eyeball contact to protect the camera. She said that sort of interference depends a lot on the circumstances surrounding… well. Um. A ghost's death?" He ended the sentence gingerly.
Lewis withdrew his hand. None of the ghosts he'd met on the job had fried electronics like he did. It depended on his death? He frowned. Nothing electronic had been involved in his death. It didn't fit. Plus he could technically manipulate electronics with the help of the Deadbeats, and he could possess vehicles at need, so it wasn't an all-or-nothing deal. Though he still couldn't figure out if the Deadbeats were part of him or hangers-on, he'd been too grateful for their help and company to look that particular gift horse in the mouth.
The Deadbeat wriggled around Dib's shoulders and patted his face. Dib smiled down at it. "So this is one of the little guys that helps you? Mod Skull mentioned. It's awfully cute."
Lewis nodded.
"Neat. Who is this? Has it got a name?"
Lewis shrugged hard.
"Oh wow. You don't know either? This is so cool." Dib switched on the camera and darted in front of it. "Okay! This is Agent Mothman. Location, the old Pudding & Pie Toy Factory. Conversation with a ghost… um…" he turned to face Lewis. "What's your name?"
Lewis shook his head firmly.
"...Name to be determined later, hopefully. So far, the ghost can manifest fire and phase through walls and has a little ghost helper." Here, he gestured to the Deadbeat, who posed dramatically off one shoulder. "The main ghost doesn't seem to know much about the little ghost. Connection between them is undefined. Main ghost causes spectral distortions when speaking and has warned me that it's dangerous to touch ghosts I'm not familiar with. That's all I know for now. Okay!" He spun on a heel, his coat flaring dramatically. "So, can I see the anchor?"
Immediately Lewis covered the locket with one hand, scooting back.
Dib raised his hands. "Sorry, I… I don't mean to upset you. It's just, Mod Skull mentioned your anchor was damaged. It might be why you're making your own haunted house whenever you talk. He was hoping I could help, or take info to someone who could. Maybe we can figure out how to fix it. If you could just show me, it would really help me to help you."
This is the whole reason you agreed to meet. Still, it was difficult for Lewis to peel his hand away from his chest. Carefully, he unhooked the locket and held it out for Dib to see. "Don't touch," he warned. Behind him, the jeering laughter started up again. The same voice that had laughed from the telephone now mocked him from the darkness of the room. Lewis' outline rippled.
Dib's eyes darted up to Lewis' face for a moment, then dropped back to the locket. He snagged the video camera and brought it closer, getting a closeup of the locket. "Yeah, that's a lot of cracks. Got in a fight?"
Lewis shook his head.
"How'd it get like that? Can I see the inside?"
Lewis shook his head firmly. "Private. Damaged by… my choices."
"Choices? What choices?"
The cackling cut off, sharply. Behind him, Arthur's voice rasped, "Lewwwwwwissssss?"
Lewis slammed one hand to the side of his head, his locket pulsing rapidly. The distortions were getting far too specific.
Dib set the video camera back on the tripod and lifted the lantern. He peered past Lewis. "…holy asteroids…"
Lewis didn't dare look. He placed the locket back on his suit and snapped his fingers to get Dib's attention. He pointed over his shoulder and shook his head very hard.
"But… but it's part of what's happening with you. Every detail is important!" Dib protested. "I need information if I'm going to help with anything. What the heck is that?!"
Lewis shook his head even harder. He would not look. He couldn't. "Ask something else. About locket. About me. Don't look at these things."
Something poked the center of his back and his vision flashed white. He spun around, slamming his fist into whoever—whatever—had just tried to push him.
A hideous mockery of his best friend staggered back, jaw askew. It giggled, flashing a Joker-worthy grin full of fangs. From head to toe, its skin was ivy-green. It caught itself and lifted its left arm, palm-outward. "Llllllleeeeeeewisssssssssss," it sang, swaying on its feet. "Take-a-little-tumble, Lewis. Falling-off-a-cliff, Lewis. Gonna-get-your-girl, Lewis."
The creature filled Lewis' vision. It shambled toward him, slouched and sagging to one side. He couldn't move his feet. Not forward, to tear it limb from limb. Not backward, to run as far and as fast as he could. He just stood there, feet planted, one hand cupped over his locket.
It took another step toward him, running a tongue over its teeth. "Maybe-gonna-DO-your-girl, Lewis. Then kill her, too. But slower. Been thinking about it. Dreaming of it. Real long time."
No. No, this isn't right. This isn't Arthur. This… Lewis couldn't string his thoughts together fast enough. They'd scattered in all directions, screaming rage and fear. Only one thought was left to cling to. Stay still. Don't act. It will fade. They always fade because they're not real.
"Should-a-been-me. Should-a-been-me. SHOULD-A-BEEN-ME!" It shrieked, hurtling toward him.
Lewis grabbed it by the throat, flinging it backward. He had to get out of here. Turning, he caught sight of Dib standing stock-still with camera in hand. "Interview's over. Too dangerous." With that he scooped Dib up and tore out of the room like hell was on his heels. By the sound of the eerie wail behind him, it was.
The hallway around him shifted, and as he headed for the front door, the walls and floor took on the texture of ragged stone. The front door began to round itself out, like the mouth of a cave. Worse, the path to the front door began to lengthen. For every step forward, the path stretched another five.
"Lew-issssssssssss. Kill-me-if-you-can, Lewissss. Drop-me-off-a-cliff, Lewisssssssss."
He dared not turn around. "Tuck and roll!" he shouted, lifting Dib up and hurling him forward.
The kid managed a pretty good landing, rolling a few times before springing to his feet, camera still in hand. He'd made it all the way to the door—cave opening. The opening seemed to shrink as the passage extended itself far faster than Lewis could run.
The kid started running back in. "Look out behind you!"
Lewis threw himself to the side. The creature lunged past, just missing him. "GONNA-BURY-YOU-SIX-FEET-DEEP, LEWISSSSS."
"Get him out of here!" Lewis yelled at the Deadbeat. As he did, the cave opening winked out. The floor gave way under his feet, and Lewis went tumbling head over heels into the darkness.
….
Note: I suddenly notice that this "collection of oneshots" seems to be insisting on an overarching plot. Every friggin' time… oh well. Can't say I didn't kind of sort of try. My subconscious plot-weaving is stronger than my conscious intent. By the way, if I haven't said it before, I am much more likely to respond and interact with reviews on AO3 and Wattpad, due to ease of response functionality. So feel free to drop me a line if you have theories, or if you catch an inconsistency, or see something that needs work (constructive criticism are accepted, flames and non-sequiturs are ignored). I may not go back to fix this round, but future edits will likely take these things into account. Plus I love hearing theories and what you think is going on.