Chapter Text
It was bright. Too bright, not painfully bright, but paralyzingly so. Movement, noise, and varying temperatures permeated the air. He couldn't move, couldn't do anything.
Suddenly the light dimmed and the noise muffled. A moment passed. The sliver of a person materialized inside its anchor, then looked up to counter.
Like most ghosts capable of moving more than a few feet, this one was bound to something of the physical world. That being a dirty paper bag over where its head would be.
It was somewhere with a counter, table and stove. If he were anymore alive, he'd have tried to remember what the place was or why he was there. Alas, he barely had the sentience to know he should leave, much less actively think about things.
In a flicker of static he was by the window. In another, he was outside in cool night air. The cloudy sky cast the wilderness in darkness. Reassuring, natural, darkness. The shadow was still, as still as the flickering streams of particles could be. There was no more bright light to flee from, no more reason to move, no fear of proximity to the dangerous location. After all, he didn't know where he was, nor did he have any fear.
The only thing that did move the young ghost was a shrill scream that echoed through the woods. An uncontrollable urge to help the individual in danger sparked it to action. It dashed so quickly, an onlooker would have only seen a jittery blur of dark gray, making its way toward the sound.
The being in need turned out to be a rabbit. It was suspended from a tree branch by the leg.
The ghost reached out with one arm to the struggling rodent and pulled.
It bears mentioning that most ghosts are incapable of interacting with the physical world. This particular ghost was extraordinary due to being derived from an extraordinary boy. Unfortunately, this ghost was not quite physical enough to touch the living creature, much less break the rope dangling it a good two feet above his head. However, a less direct form of interaction was certainly possible, if not easier without a physical body or the memory of pesky guilt that would have flooded his former self.
The shape of a boy reached upwards, its fingers splayed out. The rabbit's struggle slowly ceased as its mouth gaped and its eyes bulged. The rabbit's body strained against the rope toward him.
Suddenly, the body swung back as the rabbits' silhouette fell to the boy's feet. It shrank in on itself as it meekly nibbled on a blade of grass, without the power to move past a memory. The body above twitched unsettlingly. Still alive, but now practically incapable of considering itself in danger. What minimal consciousness a rabbit can have was stripped away, leaving a husk that yearned for something it couldn't understand. Not that the shadow of a boy understood either. All it knew was that the rabbit was free from both the trap and panic, which seemed like a good thing to it.
The following night resulted in the glitching remains of many a trapped critter paused in the behavior of their wholes. The sound of heavy steps disrupted the silence as the sun crested the horizon. It burned. For a creature without fear, the thing that was once a boy recognized death, or at least, something bad enough to be worthy of running away. Even if he didn't consider why, the dawn's blistering heat peeled at pieces of his quasi-body. Some dormant instinct within him was reminded of the boiling, evaporating, and incredibly painful experience of his birth. So the shadow fled from probing light-rays, taking shelter in a structure that was surrounded by a wire fence and had a conveniently placed hole guarded by a flimsy flap of material.
It was filled to the brim with dead animals. Carcasses were piled on a big wooden workspace. Skins and meat hung from the ceiling. Leathery hides were scattered throughout. The shadow chose a dark corner in which to numbly await a chance to save everyone.
Meanwhile the Wilderness was being cheerfully disrupted by a large man tromping through the woods at 6 in the morning, singing at the top of his lungs.
The child perched on his shoulder whistled an accompaniment to the enthusiastic, if badly enunciated song. Granted, the enormous sack the man wore over his head made words sound more like vague ideas and emotions, rather than precise lyrics or statements. Even the little girl sitting next to where his mouth was supposed to be had no idea what he was actually singing.
For all she knew, the words to the song could be “I’m running around! It’s a beautiful day! Killing is fun! In April or May!”
That seemed to be the general premise because now he had a shotgun and was haphazardly shooting at anything that moved. And since not a whole lot of live animals were dumb enough to stick around to become not alive animals, he shot at things that didn't move too.
Six, the young lady on his shoulder, was ecstatic at being brought along. She was having almost as much fun as the goliath she sat upon. This childish glee only multiplied when the creature, set her on a long dead tree stump, reached into his pocket, and revealed the best gift a kid the the size of a cat could ask for. A perfectly proportionate, fully functional slingshot
Lord knew how he got it. Maybe he made it or bought it somewhere, maybe he'd had it for a long time and never got the chance to give it to someone who could appreciate it. Regardless of origin, it now belonged the girl on the stump.
After a day of practicing, she was almost as triggerhappy as her old man. It was a wonderful day of shooting things and singing and discovering ghosts in the woods. All of which were just about best childhood a scrappy youngster like Six could ask for.
When the sun set, she was regrettably relegated to the kitchen. It was apparently too dangerous to hunt at night, but not too dangerous to have her own weapon. It didn't seem fair, but whatever, she'd wait for dinner.
She glanced anxiously at the pot of chopped potatoes on the stove. Not on yet, of course. Nothing, but the best fresh meat for tonight, just vegetables waiting in a pot to be cooked.
She tried very hard not to think about the night before. The boy grabbing her wrist. Her quick reaction with strength she barely knew she had. She wished she could say it was an accident, but.... No. She wasn't a bad person. She did what she had to do. It was only natural to defend herself. She'd had to do that...right?
Before she could think too hard, the Hunter burst in the cabin babbling excitedly. He must’ve found something especially tasty. Unfortunately, instead of coming to her to show off his kill, she could hear him tromping down to the basement.
Curiosity begged her to follow, and what was she if not indulgent?
She hopped down to the floor, using a conveniently placed chair for a stepping stool. Creaky steps led downstairs, but the big guy that took care of her brushed past on his way to the kitchen, barely acknowledging her at all. She frowned. When Six arrived at the lowest level of the house, she realized the door to her old room was closed for the first time since it’d been fixed. And a familiar tune emanated from behind the locked entrance.