The goat mutters to herself as she marches her way back to the spooky haunted mansion. How was she supposed to know that the gem was that important? How was she supposed to remember to bring it home with her? It's not every day that one makes a new friend, let alone a ghost owl with questionable standards. She approaches the front door to the mansion once again. The harsh wind brushes up and down her fur on a particularly chilly night. The faint rumbling of thunder can be heard in the distance.
Billie knocks and she waits, and waits, and waits, but nobody answers. She looks around, walking down the front stairs, peering around the sides of the house, squinting and peeking through the windows, everything. Nobody's home, apparently.
"Alright, owl, where are you?"
After stumbling around through the cemetery for a bit, reading off the gravestones, she happens upon a large, decaying tree with a fat stump and some bats hanging upside down from a branch. This is nothing out of the ordinary for a creepy mansion, just some bats sleeping, but one bat, in particular, seems rather large and quite peculiar.
The large "bat" wakes, turning his head a full 180 degrees to meet Billie. Massive, glowing orange eyes peer down at the goat as the head rotates right-side up without its body, certainly, a feat that would result in a broken neck for any living creature. The contorted figure of Barnaby stretches his long wings outward with a melodramatic yawn, startling the other "bats" as he greets his guest with unrelenting joy.
"My friend! You've returned! Oh, it's so good to see you once again!"
She folds her arms, peering up at Barnaby with a smirk and a raised brow.
"Isn't it a little bit early for an owl like you to be resting?"
Rather than climb down from the branch as someone normally would do, Barnaby instead decides to rotate his entire body right-side up and meet the ground without his head ever-changing height or angle. He rubs his glowing eyes as he retorts.
"Nonsense! I was just rising. I never HAVE been the early bird. Hoot!"
He shrugs with a nonchalant charisma as he approaches. He walks in circles around Billie.
"You know, in all the time we've known each other, I don't believe I've ever formally introduced myself. Hoot! I am Barnaby, former alchemist, scholar, and current 'party animal'."
The silly bird conjures a fancy, black business card from thin air between his talon fingers, placing it in Billie's hooves with an expressive, gentlemanly bow. She peers down at it, reading.
Barnaby the Horned Owl, Master Alchemist, Clown, and "life" of the party. Great for all birthdays, and bar mitzvahs. I'll even liven up your dull investor meetings!
As she looks up from the card, he gestures.
"And you are?"
She fumbles to pocket the card as she responds with embarrassment.
"Oh! I'm sorry! Billie... my name's Billie."
Barnaby performs tiny little claps of glee, giggling.
"Billie the goat! Oh, yes! That's simply perfect!"
She cuts to the chase.
"I suppose I should come clean. I've come back for the gem. Master Aristotle really wants me to retrieve it this time."
Barnaby's expression turns from a jolly grin to a wide, drooping scowl. He stares down at the goat with supreme disappointment and eyes half-open.
"I see."
Billie can feel the awkward discomfort rising from within her. She doesn't wish to soil her fragile friendship with the bird, but the gem is important to her future magical studies. She treads the verbal minefield in her attempt to acquire it from him. Barnaby ponders, raising one of his clawed fingers to his beak as he leans sideways with an angle to his hip.
"Well, my benevolent little bovine, I've been pondering that detail, myself. Hoot! Hoot! You see, I've been awaiting your return."
Billie sweats, knowing there's no way she'd be able to lie or swindle her way around the clever owl. She abandons finagling discourse in favor of honesty.
"I'm a student under Master Aristotle. I've been sent to claim the gem so that I could further my magical studies."
Barnaby massages his chin, staring down at the goat judgmentally for an uncomfortably agonizing amount of time before delivering his response. She faces away from him to avoid his eye contact.
"Do you want to know something quite funny?"
She looks up at him reluctantly, rubbing her hooves together anxiously.
"Had you simply asked for my gem from the beginning, I would have given it to you."
She tilts her head in uncertainty, trying to read his posture. Not one inch of the bird reeks of dishonesty.
"Really?"
Barnaby unpockets the gem, toying with it, spinning it upon his finger like a basketball, holding it alluringly as he postures around the tiny goat, monologuing.
"Of course! Hoot! As a master magician myself, I understand the vast importance of education, and if it's magic you want, I would be more than elated to indulge and aid in your studies. There's only one tiny, itsy bitsy little problem."
She inquires of him.
"And what's that?"
He turns to her, drawing his wide beak into an ambiguously sinister grin that stretches from ear to ear.
"What's in it for me?"
Billie tries to reason with the owl, starting and ending sentences as she attempts to propose a deal. He frowns in disappointment as he responds morosely.
"Alas, nothing for certain, I'm sure."
His reverse psychology proves successful on the goat and she insists on granting him some favor in return.
"Oh, come on, Barnaby, there must be something you want."
She shrugs pleadingly. Barnaby stands erect, placing his taloned fingers together as he stares into her eyes with that same unhinged smile.
"Perhaps a trade of mutual benefit. Hoot! Allow me a proposition, if you will, a mutual experience, one entirely new to the both of us."
She backs away slightly in uncertainty.
"What kind of 'experience'?"
He continues to persuade, biting his lower beak as he tries to force the embarrassing request through his tongue.
"What if you allowed me to 'possess' you?"
She looks up at him with wide eyes of mutual horror and disgust. Nevertheless, she is intrigued by the prospect.
"... Possess me?"
Barnaby wags his finger, shaking his head and dismissing the questionable implications of the request.
"I won't do anything strange, I promise."
She sneers, looking up and down at him.
"As if possession in and of itself isn't weird."
She stands aside, contemplating. She needs the gem and knows Aristotle would be furious if she left empty-hooved once again. She sighs, reluctantly, looking up at him with a hint of suspicion.
"What's this about?"
Barnaby leans over her, draping his long wing over her shoulder as he elaborates.
"In my centuries as a ghost, I've never had the experience of possessing a living individual, or, at least, I had never taken the opportunities given to me, and our last encounter in particular had a profound impact on my judgment of the living. You told me that you enjoy life, so I wonder, how can that be? HOW could one enjoy life? Hoot! Hoot!"
She attempts to continue his train of thought.
"So, you want to possess me in an attempt to remember what it means to be alive?"
He folds his wings with a proud smile, tilting his head down at her with a raised brow.
"You read me quite well. Hoot! In return, not only will I provide you with my magical gem, but perhaps a new ability, one your master could never teach you himself. So, what do you say?"
She has but one question.
"It won't hurt, will it?"
He dismisses her question with a wave of his hand.
"Of course not."
She nods with affirmation, a stern look frozen on her face.
"Okay. I'll do it."
With this, Barnaby rises into the air, morphing the black aura of his body into that of a mist. He twirls around the goat. Billie is filled with impending fear as the mist rises into the air around her before jolting downward into her eyes, nostrils, and mouth. She closes her eyes, opening them up once more as they spiral out of control before emitting a piercing glow of orange and yellow, her body becomes wrapped in an envelope of blackness, and lastly, a dapper pink waistcoat, tied with a dainty bow and an elegant gem at the waist forms around her torso.
"Whoa. This is different."
A combined voice emerges from the entity, and they're quite intrigued by the effect.
"Ooh, that sounds so cool, our voices all echo-ey. I like that!... WE like that! Hoot!"
The combined entity inhales, drawing cool storm air through Billie's mortal lungs. The senses of the living are significantly keener than those of the dead, resulting in the freshest air Barnaby had experienced since he had his own lungs. Long ago, he had forgotten what it meant to breathe. The storm approaches. They are startled as the first drop of rain lands upon them.
"Rain."
They rub the water between their hooves, smearing the water dry as it evaporates. The storm descends upon them and within a minute, it escalates from drizzle to pouring. The combined entity stands, greeting the rain with their face held up to the sky and their eyes closed, soaking in the serenity. Barnaby had not experienced being wet in many years. His ethereal form would not allow it.
From the back of his subconscious emerges a memory, one of the last he had in life of being wet. The living Barnaby stands out in a storm with various chemicals. He draws the lightning using a device for harnessing electrical energy, another of his hair-brained "experiments". It seemed so trivial to him back then, the simple experience of being wet by the rain, the cold dampening of the feathers, the cooling touch to the skin beneath, the cool air, rustling every fiber of his existence. All of it, he took for granted.
"What shall we call this? This... being? Should we even name such a thing?...
They ponder, a finger drawn to their chin as they smile with supreme enthusiasm, dancing in place.
Billaby... Yeah. We like it! We LIKE it! Hoot! Hoot!"
They nod their head. Suddenly, Billaby experiences something new, the rumbling of their tummy. They grasp at their gut as the feeling of slight, aching discomfort simultaneously intrigues and dismays them.
"Ooh... hunger. Not too fond of that one."
They shake their head with a friendly smile as they run into the mansion and down the hall, laughing with hysterical merriment and dancing around in circles as they approach the refrigerator. Billaby is in for quite a rude awakening. As soon as the door is opened, an alarmingly visible scent emerges, assaulting Billaby's nostrils. Their eyes water.
"Oh, my goodness! What's that awful smell? Hoot!... Oh yeah."
Barnaby had forgotten the pleasure of food, especially fresh food. As an owl, he could indulge in such things as the rodents of the house or some of his favorite ghostly delights, but in life, he had never truly appreciated what it meant to eat a hearty and delicious prepared meal. He never savored the taste or relished in the simple joy of an alluring smell. When Barnaby had perished, all the food in his house went to waste, and he did not care to dispose of it since the smell didn't bother him.
Billaby scours the house for something, anything edible. It had been so long that even the canned goods in the house were dubious to consume. But then, they remember, out in the backyard is a pumpkin patch. Despite the many already rancid pumpkins out there, Billaby manages to find one that's perfectly ripe, sitting all by its lonesome.
They lift the big pumpkin, the tiny goat body struggling to grasp the massive squashy fruit, and they stumble into the house and slap that big orange beast onto the table with a loud thud. Elated and excited by the new experience, Billaby grasps their chest, the sweat permeating through the thick fur; they feel the heartbeat against their chest, pulsing at the rib cage.
Despite occasionally resting for the sole purpose of mental therapeutic relaxation, Barnaby had long forgotten what it means to be truly tired, physically exhausted. Reaching into hammer-space, Billaby fiddles around for Barnaby's dagger. Accidentally, they cut their palm.
"Ouch!... Ouch?... That... hurt. That hurt. Hoot!"
They drop the knife, startled by the sensation. They stare at their black palm, a thick, dark red liquid seeming ooze from within. They watch as it forms on the palm. Desperate to make it stop, they slurp it. The taste is... odd, a warm, somewhat salty taste. They lick their lips. After being weird, they realize the most sensible thing is to apply a bandage.
"Blood..."
Barnaby remembers being hurt, a time when, as a young owlet, he had a broken wing from flying toward a storm against the will of his mother and father. He had a broken wing that had ailed him for months and a weakness in that wing that had burdened him into his adulthood.
As they shovel spoonful after spoonful of delicious, sweet pumpkin down into their belly, they fill. Satisfied, they lean back in the wooden chair, letting out a soft belch and giggling. They rise from their wooden chair, walking down the hall over to a tall bookshelf. They try climbing, only to fall on their rear end. Massaging their butt, they remember.
"Oh, what in the world are we doing? We keep forgetting we have powers! Hoot!... Concentrate. Will it."
Reaching out toward the shelf, utilizing their ghostly powers thanks to the will of Barnaby, the book flies down, smacking them in the face. They fall backward onto the floor. Billaby holds the book out before them. They sit up, Indian style with the book resting on their lap. It's a photo album, old and very worn, but in surprisingly preserved condition for its age.
They flip through the pages and emotions swell within them. As Billaby turns each page, they run their fingers across family photos. A tall, dapper owl, prim and proper, a tan and brown owl with a top hat and a cane stands with a very plainly-dressed and gawky female with doe eyes and very thick plumage.
"Mother... Father..."
Their heart pounds once again. They can feel it. It's not a beat of physical exertion, but one of unabated joy. They smile as an orange tear runs down their eye. Billaby recognizes this emotion on a psychological level, but the physical accompaniment of the bodily experience overwhelms them. They look down at the tiny child, and against the grain, Billie's spirit seeps through. Barnaby finds himself losing will over his host as time inches forward.
"Awww... Barnaby! You were so cute when you were a baby!"
They blush. Billaby gushes over the tiny little horned owlet in the photo, a small, dapper baby owl. They kick their little hooves in a fit of giddiness. Barnaby can't believe he allowed her will to slip through, a lapse in judgment for sure. He regains control, and they shake their head as they place the book back on the shelf.
"Cut that out!... Sorry."
They work their way upstairs and down a wide hallway with many doors on both sides and in both directions. Dainty and ornate lights accompany each door faithfully.
"Where was it? Ah, yes! Hoot!"
They run to the end of the hall where a thick mahogany door awaits them. Turning the knob, they open the door to reveal a quite grand bedroom Barnaby hasn't seen or used in many years, fully preserved in stasis ever since his death. All over, they look. It's just as he remembered, vaguely. An old wooden floor creaks beneath them as they tread. They shake their head.
They walk toward their old bed, hopping up and resting upon it. They look around cheekily, wondering if anyone's looking as if anyone would be in a creaky old forgotten mansion. They can't resist the urge. Billaby stands up and starts jumping on the bed, laughing and flipping in the air before landing with a flop into the extra soft, but very dusty pillow. As they land, a puff of smoke fills the room and they cough as they sway the airborne dust away.
Rising from the dopamine rush, Billaby pulls the stiff, rigid window open. Gradually, they jerk at the window until it is wide enough for the small goat to slip through. They wonder. Telekinesis works, but what about flying? Regardless of powers, Barnaby is an owl; dead or not, he could fly.
Only one problem, if those powers don't work with Billie's body, there is no backup plan, and no opportunity for a contingency plan either. The only result is a dead Billie, and despite their previous encounter, that's not something Barnaby wishes for. Death is one thing Barnaby can handle, rejection, however, the feeling of betrayal and shame, that terrifies him to his core.
They lean out the window, taking in the cool breeze and rain of the storm once again. Leaning just a little too hard, the combined entity tumbles out the window. They try to concentrate as hard as they can as they grip the windowsill for dear life.
"Fly! You can do it... just fly! Hoot!... No! I can't... I don't know how!... Yes, you do! We must! Hurry!... You're afraid too... Yes! Yes, I am... Wait a minute... I'm afraid... I'm... We're... afraid."
With all their might, they pull themselves back into the window and onto the floor. They rise and slam it shut. Billaby is now soaking wet, cold, and shivering. Barnaby realizes for the first time what having teeth is like when he realizes he can't stop them from chattering.
They move to the bathroom, flicking on the humming luminescent lantern light. From the rack, they grab a stiff, brown towel filled with holes after it had been feasted on by moths. They rub it throughout the thick, black fur before tossing it haphazardly onto the tile floor beside them.
A poofy Billaby stares into the cracked bathroom mirror and realizes just how bizarre they look with the combined aspects of Billie's body and overall shape and Barnaby's coloring and detail. Only now did they notice the pink waistcoat.
Billaby is tired. They stumble over to the bedroom and flop down into the bed. They lay there, awake, staring at the wall for what seems like a long time until the stinging of the eyes causes them to drift to sleep. They yawn, closing their tired eyes and wrapping themselves up in the old blankets.
The next day arrives and the sun peeks through the window to meet Billie's eyes. She squints, rolling over before facing the sudden realization that she's not in her own bed. Her eyes jolt open. An entire day had been lost. She tries to recover, sitting up in bed. She looks at her hoof, a small scratch starting to form in her palm.
She looks at the corner and becomes startled momentarily as the black figure looms adjacent to her. Barnaby stands in the corner, hidden in the shadows. Sometime in the middle of the night, he had departed her body. He too had drifted off to sleep while watching over Billie all night to make sure there were no side-effects from the possession.
From the distance, Billie can hear the sounds of footsteps, the pattering of bare feet slapping on the wooden floor, up the stairs, and down the hall. Barnaby awakens, poofing up and shaking awake in the corner as the pink axolotl bursts through the cracked-open door, his wide eyes jutting from side to side as he peers frantically around the room with a hard-cored sense of dread filling his eyes. He spots Billie from the bed.
"Billie! Oh, thank goodness you're alright!"
He runs up to the goat, wrapping his pink arms around her in a grateful hug, sighing in relief.
"Master Aristotle, I'm fine."
He releases his embrace.
"I was worried sick about you. You've been gone for days longer than you should have. What happened?"
She looks over to the corner of the room.
"I met a friend."
Curiously, he shakes his head in a double take. Aristotle turns his head in the direction of the ghostly owl, peering from the corner of the room. The owl responds.
"Hello."
Barnaby waves, his chubby little talons wiggling down awkwardly at the tiny pink amphibian before him.
"OH MY GOSH! Stay back, ghost!"
Aristotle prepares a magic orb to deal with Barnaby when Billie grabs his arm.
"Master, stop! He's good now."
She rises from her bed, standing between the axolotl and the ghost owl. Aristotle is completely confused. He waves as he tries to understand the situation, squinting his eyes in frustration and massaging between his eyes with his little fingers.
"Wait, wait, wait... so... I sent you here to retrieve the gem, and you made friends with the ghost owl you were meant to take it from?"
She looks up and down at Aristotle, her stance unwavering and serious. She questions their former judgment.
"The way you say it, it makes US sound like the bad guys."
The owl, who had been standing there overseeing the engagement with a combined sense of wonder, confusion, amusement, and frustration, finally decides to chime in on the situation. He raises a finger with a cheesy grin.
"May I interrupt? Aristotle, is it? The name's Barnaby. Hoot! Allow me to clear this confusion up for you. You see, your pupil DID, in fact, attempt to steal my precious magical gem, which, in return, I had retaliated, for lack of a better term."
He looks over at her, and they nod, mutually.
"But after your pupil here had touched my cold, dead heart, I simply couldn't BARE to strip her from the mortal coil, and I had allowed her to leave. When she had returned, I told her I would GIVE her the orb in exchange for a small... how should I say... favor. In fact, I was willing to TEACH her some magic that even YOU might not know about."
Aristotle folds his arms as he listens to the owl's testimony. He responds.
"Really? So... Billie can have the orb?"
The owl nods.
"Billie is free to leave with the orb, yes. Hoot!"
He conjures the gem and places it down into Billie's hooves. She looks up at Barnaby. Their eyes meet. He greets her with a kind smile as he nods. She removes herself from the bed and treads toward the hallway, out the bedroom door, waving to him. He smiles as he waves back. Barnaby and Aristotle share a glance before the axolotl begins his trek toward the stairway. He stops with his hand on the door and looks over to the owl again.
"I have no idea what went on in here... but... thank you for looking after her. I know she can be a handful."
Barnaby retorts with a chuckle.
"Oh, it was no trouble at all. Billie is a little angel."
Aristotle says nothing. He walks out into the hallway and down the stairs. They leave through the front door, out into the damp front porch of the mansion. The home seems significantly less scary in the daytime. Billie seems almost uncharacteristically giddy today, dancing her way out the door and excited to make her way home as she spins and twirls. Aristotle laughs, shaking his head.
"You seem awful perky today."
She turns to him.
"I had so much fun these last few days, Master! Barnaby is such a HOOT!"
Aristotle shakes his head, smirking.
"Haha. What?"
Billie folds her arms, gesturing to the path back home.
"Oh, nothing. (Now he's got me doing it)."
The goat and axolotl set foot out onto the long, open road as Barnaby watches from the window. He places his hand on the glass, almost as if begging them not to leave. He smiles though, leaning his head on the glass and looking down at the floor. He now knows what it means to live, to feel, and to cherish life. Billie now knows what it means to die. Their mutual experience is something neither of them will ever forget. It is their special bond for all of eternity.