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Despite the sun at its peak, beating down over Santalune City, Mila's bedroom was plunged into darkness enough that it might well have been midnight. Heavy black curtains, dotted with paper charms, kept out the majority of the natural lighting. The young girl, not long fourteen years of age, buried herself in the thick cocoon of blankets despite the sweltering heat brought about by the summer day. Someone who peeked their head into the room might mistake her for a Spewpa.
However, that was only if they could locate her in that room. Practically all of her belongings, it seemed, were strewn about on the floor - pokemon magazines, schoolbooks, and clothes hid the once-fluffy white carpet from view. Her television was currently being used as a coat-rack for some baggy green sweater with a thumb-sized hole in the hem. It had been her own thumb, in fact, that had punched the hole into it, as she'd pulled it over her head and yanked it down in a fit of irritation.
Other than the mess, some innocent stranger might be shocked by the sheer amount of paper charms that lined not only the curtains, but the walls and the door. One had been stuck to the surface of her desk as well, but it couldn't be seen from beneath more of her mess. There was, too, the smell, the overpowering odor of repel, freshly sprayed along the perimeter. Mila had long grown used to its scent. Most others had not.
Unfortunately, all of the paper charms and repel in the world couldn't keep out the very human brother who unceremoniously banged her door open.
The entire Raticate's nest of blankets that was Mila shuddered. Light flooded into the room, illuminating the dull black of her brittle hair, splayed out in their miserable knots over the bedcovers.
Mila let out a groan that morphed into a gutteral yell. She threw a pillow in her brother's direction. With her partially-buried arms, however, all she managed was to toss it down onto the rest of the mess on her floor.
"Go away, Ivan!" She yanked one of her blankets up over her head and vanished from view.
Ivan, significantly younger than his sister, only ten, didn't heed her yell. Instead, he trampled over her things and flopped against her side. "I wanna go outside and play."
"Then go play. Leave me alone," came her muffled response.
"I want to play with you," he insisted. He tugged at the blankets, but without any idea how to undo the way she had tangled herself up in them, he had no hope of forcing her back out into the light. "You said you would play with me today. You promised."
Mila ground her teeth together. Sure, she had promised. But that had been days ago, and day ago Mila had not been spending moment at night with the cries of ghost pokemon in her ear, or the distressed moans of human spirits joining them. The latter were scary, but not inherently dangerous. The former, however...
"I'm tired! We'll play tomorrow." And when Ivan continued to complain and insist, his whines shrill in her ear, she burst upright, calling, "Daaaad!"
And so came Dad to the rescue. Both children's stories tumbled out of their mouths in a rush, each accusatory of the other and self-righteous in their telling. Fortunately for Mila, when he pressed a hand to his temple and gave up getting either of them straight, his judgement fell in favor of the daughter rather than the son.
"Ivan, leave your sister alone. She'll play with you tomorrow."
In the lead up to their dad's call, Ivan knew that he was fighting the losing side. So by the time judgement had been rendered, he was already leaking hot, angry tears down his reddened cheeks.
"But Mila promised - She said -!" Ivan huffed and puffed. Finally, he swung about on his heel and charged out of the room. "I hate you, Mila!"
The words knifed through Mila. Her exhaustion fueled her irritation, and she reeled back for breath to scream, "Well, I hate you, too!"
"Kids, kids…" Their dad groaned and massaged his head. First, he addressed Mila, as Ivan had fled the room. "Don't say that to your brother. You don't mean that."
Mila retreated into her blankets. She scrubbed her eyes against them; tears had gathered in them.
"I do! He's so annoying!"
A sigh. "You both need some time to cool off. Take your nap, sweetheart, you'll feel better when you wake up. I won't let Ivan wake you until them," he said. "But you need to start being the bigger person, Mila. He's just a little kid; you're a teenager now."
She refused to respond, because if she did she would scream in frustration instead. Being the bigger person just because she was older - it wasn't fair! Ivan always got to grate on her nerves, and she was supposed to just smile and let it go. She didn't even move until her dad finally left the room, after which she heard the far-off muffled murmurs of him speaking to Ivan. Meanwhile she remained there, now wide awake in furious silence, with the tears spilling from her eyes unceasingly.
Yet no matter how much adrenaline kept her from sleep, eventually it would wear out, and the extreme exhaustion would return in full force. Little by little, the anger drained, and Mila slipped down into a heavy, dreamless sleep.
Something dragged her back into consciousness, disoriented and gasping. Her eyes darted first to the paper charms; a chill had burrowed deep into her bones, but they remained intact. She peeled back the curtain and saw that the sun had retired while she slept. Seeing that it was the middle of the night clued her into what was currently unsettling her - her parents' voices, though indistinct murmurs, penetrated into her room, along with some gruff voice that she didn't recognize. Why did her parents have a guest over at night.
With difficulty, the still-dazed Mila extricated herself from her blanket nest, which had become more like a blanket prison at some point in her self with how tightly she'd gotten them wound up around her body. Despite the inexplicable cold that suffused her, Mila's skin had flushed hot, retained by the soft cotton, sweat-dampened clothes now clinging to her skin. Picking the fabric away brought instant relief, but along with it came a shiver. Now up, somewhat refreshed by sleep, and physically more comfortable, she could ignore neither chill nor the creeping sense of dread inching its way from her gut up into her throat.
Outside her room, her mom let out a strangled cry, half a sob, half a choked-down scream, and Mila's own throat closed in response. Anxiety had her hesitant to investigate, but she took several hard breaths and yanked her door open before she could stall at it.
As she stepped out into the hall, something gaseous and indistinct drifted through the wall. Mila jumped, choking on her own heart as a hand took form, elongated fingers grasping at - and phasing through - her shoulder. The touch, bringing goosebumps to the flesh it passed through, washed her through with brief nausea. Already tired from the contact, she nonetheless relaxed. "Please…. I…. please……" the broken voice rasped, undeniably human. Its presence made her feel ill, but compared to ghost Pokemon, a human spirit was comparatively harmless.
She could deal with that.
Mila shook her head, trying to dismiss the spirit, though it did not recognize any actions she took, and pushed on into the living area. Her mom's crying had become more pronounced without a door to block the sounds, and she had her face buried in her husband's chest, sobbing as he held her, though his own eyes were rimmed with red, tear stains upon his cheeks. Mila recognized the uniform of a police officer that they spoke to. His partner, a Pansage, perched on the back chair nearby, alert and unmoving.
All three adults turned their attention onto her when she entered, abruptly falling into silence. She could practically hear their hearts beating, and their stares made her uncomfortable and self-conscious. Mila wrapped her arms around herself, trying to block out the faint begging from the spirit that had followed her out. It wasn't long before another had found its way to her, attracted to the aura she emmitted. She swallowed back the rusty taste of her anxiety at the back of her tongue.
In a voice hoarse from sleep, she asked, "…what happened?" while in the back of her mind knowing exactly why that police officer was there. She didn't see Ivan at all in the room.
That night, she returned to her room with the ringing in her ears to drown out the whispers and groans of the spirits she passed. She pulled her curtains aside, staring blankly through the gaps of her charms. Then, suddenly, the sun lanced in through the darkness, the horizon a harsh-burning orange. She blinked and shook her head. Where had the night gone?
And then she missed the weeks crawling by, and Mila couldn't remember where they had gone.
Her parents fretted over her. Frequently, one or the other would come into her room - to hold her, to stroke her hair, to ask her how she was doing. Their bodies were held taut, a waver in their voice, clogged up by a stuffy nose, and eyes puffy. Mila limply allowed them to embrace her whenever they pulled her into their arms, even if every touch had her wired and wanting to escape (though she knew not from what). Hugging her seemed something that they needed, and it felt like the least that Mila could do. Many days she would stare out to the trees that she knew began Santalune forest and think that if she had been with Ivan, then he wouldn't have gotten into a run in with a nesting group of Fletchinder - they were highly territorial, that was why one had to be careful where they played when near or in the forest. A fourteen year old knew these things much better than a kid at ten.
Or at least, if she had swallowed her discomfort down and dealt with the exhaustion anyway to keep her promise, her last words to him wouldn't have been of hate.
Guilt thus gnawed at her innards, grinding her bones, even as it felt unreal. Heavy was the house's silence, and her ears instinctively strained for sounds of life - her brother's, specifically. It just couldn't be true that Ivan was gone.
As the weeks passed, the paper charms wore and began to peel without her notice. She failed to keep up with the repel spray - every time she thought of doing it, she couldn't find the energy. Ghosts that she had long endeavored to keep out of her room - the one safe place now tainted by memory of making her brother cry as angrily sent him away - could now cross the damaged barrier. Mila lay still, tormented by fragments of sentences, faint yet entreating voices. They disturbed her sleep, and she woke worse than she had felt when falling asleep. She got up only when her parents came to get her, imposing meals upon her so that the already-waifish child didn't waste away after they had already lost the other. And even though she wasn't hungry, and every bite brought nausea to her, Mila ate anyway, because the guilt wrought by their entreating gazes was worse than any bile.
One night she snuck into Ivan's room. Mila didn't touch his bed, merely curled into a ball on the floor. She lost herself in the memory. When Ivan was just a baby, Mila began this very habit, and continued on until a couple years before. All of the spirits attracted by whatever power - blessing or curse - resided within her once terrified her. Somehow his company made it seem not so bad, and as his presence brought comfort, she came to realize that the human spirits could not harm her. Rather than terrifying, they were pitiable. Words that she couldn't fully understand were mere cries for help, though she couldn't offer it. Ivan didn't do much on his own, but he still helped her to piece together a brighter perspective.
But then there was the ghost pokemon…
A Ghastly appeared, shattering her reminiscence. She flinched, wide-eyed, but her lips pursed and her throat refused to let out a squeak. Not even a wild ghost pokemon tended to intrude into a human's home, preferring isolation over the occupied places. For Mila, however, it was different. They sensed her there, and came to her the same as human spirits did, but unlike them, she couldn't understand what they wanted. Also unlike human spirits, the pokemon very much could harm her.
Their eyes met. Mila couldn't move, though if she called out her father would rush in to chase it off —
—like he had shooed Ivan away.
Mila squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. It was a completely different situation; this was a wild pokemon. Her skin prickled with cold as it drew nearer. She could smell the gasses that made up its body. Yet she could not even squeak, though terror wracked her body with tremors.
Then it left. She didn't know why; she never understood how a ghost pokemon acted. The smell faded, and the chill its presence brought gradually melted. Her muscles went slack, and exhaustion rushed over her. Her eyes unfocused, staring idly ahead at the fibers of the carbet, Mila's mind wandered back to this affliction, to the spirits that haunted her.
Please, they often said…
Mila's throat closed. What if Ivan hadn't passed on himself? What if he was still in the forest, separated from his mangaled body and thus lost? No one else but Mila would even know of his existence - no one but her could even help.
Through the fatigue, Mila pushed herself to her feet. Half-possessed by the idea, she went to her room and pulled shoes over her bare feet and threw a sweater on over her pajamas. Guilt had her nerves in flames, emotion pressing hard against the back of her eyes. If she didn't check, then no one would, and Ivan would be left to wander as a spirit forever. She couldn't abandon him a second time.
She picked her steps carefully, holding her breath as she snuck through the house to the front door. If her parents awoke, they wouldn't let her go to her brother - they only understood her condition as far as the very real pokemon that often visited, not the human spirits that were also drawn in. So she stole through the dark rooms, gripping at the front of her sweater, anxious and dry-mouthed. Slowly, she cracked open the front door, slipped outside, and once she stood outside with the closed door behind, her breath escaped in a hefty sigh.
Then she ran as hard as she could for Santalune Forest.
She was panting and heaving by the time she reached the treeline. Sinking down to the grass, Mila's head lolled against a nearby trunk as she gasped for breath. Her skin cheeks burned a miserable red, sweat making her hair cling to her forehead and neck, and the bags beneath her eyes had grown even more pronounced. Never capable of much strenuous exercise, it had been the longest she had run in a long time, and it took its toll. She didn't know how long she knelt there in the grass at the edge of the forest, but it was long enough to leave green stains upon the knees of her pajamas when she stood, bracing a hand against the tree for support. She swallowed, then gasped as the briefest moment without air made her lungs cry out.
Shakily, she took a test-step forward. Her legs, like jelly, trembled but held and so she continued, more confident that her knees would not buckle. She entered the forest, and began her search for her baby brother's ghost.
Mila avoided the nature paths through Santalune Forest - they were nice enough that people frequented them, and it was less dangerous to traverse through them. Someone might even be taking a stroll down the paths dappled with the moon's silver. She didn't want to meet with anyone who may have heard of the recent death in the city. They would surely escort her - to her supposed destination, or back home - and she could not abide by that. This was something that she had to do alone. Besides, for as much as Ivan always badgered her, he was wary of strangers. Even his ghost might be too shy to appear if Mila brought somebody along.
The temperature dipped - cold, colder, freezing. Mila wrapped her arms around herself, but it did nothing to chase out the chill, no matter how vigorously she rubbed her hands over her skin. Her breath frosted the air before her. A prickle at the back of her neck stood her hairs up on-end.
She didn't see him - he hadn't the energy to take a form - but she felt someone approach, and knew it to be Ivan.
Mila closed her eyes. She listened, hard, but didn't even hear the broken speech that spirits normally groaned. Gritting her teeth, she pushed further. It was as if a door was jammed shut in her chest, and her fingertips screamed raw as she leveraged them into the frame, trying to peel the door open just a little further. She imagined herself reaching out a hand, fingers spread, leaning out desperately for her brother to take it.
Ivan, Ivan please. I'm here. Her teeth squeaked as she ground her jaw. The pressure at the back of her eyes built.
"Mila…. Mila, help… lost."
She heard him! He was there!
Her eyes flew open; she choked on the air. The dam of her eyes finally burst, and tears rolled hot and unabated down her cheeks. "Ivan!" she called aloud to the silent shadows. "I'm right here!"
Ivan was just as she worried - lost and scared. His shade cried, though he could produce tears just as well as a visible form, not at all. Mila could only imagine herself holding his hand, reassuring him that it would be alright. As if she truly held the ghost's hand, it sent a shock up along the length of her arm, and her fingers instantly went numb. Mila refused to release him, however, holding that hand as if it were her own life she tethered into the realm of the living.
He hadn't meant to go so far from the regular trails. He'd only wanted to explore a bit in the thicker wood, but by the time his young brain had alerted him that he should go back to safety, he had wandered much too far and was hopelessly lost. It was in trying to make his way back that he only went deeper and then…
Then…? Ivan didn't remember, and he wailed as he came to that part of the story. Mila shushed him soothingly; he did not have to remember. She was there now to find him, as promised.
"I won't ever leave you again," she told him.
Her presence and words both reassured his spirit. The sensation of his company faded, and warmth suffused her body with the sudden abscence of chill. Then, as if her body only just remembered how to feel tired, the energy fled her all at once and she collapsed. Her head bounced against the dirt, and vision went black.
When she forced her eyes open again, she was lying on a too-firm mattress, with a blanket too-thin, and her parents tear-stained faces hovered over her. The sun had risen, and from the sharp light it seemed to already be the afternoon.
Mila parted her lips. Mom, dad…? she meant to ask, but all that came out from her throat was a weak rasp.
"Oh, oh baby, my baby!" Her mother sobbed, throwing herself down to hug her tightly.
Her father's hands held hers tightly. "Don't you ever—" His voice broke. He tried again. "Don't ever do that again."
A small pokemon's cry, something which sounded like a human baby, whined at Mila's side. Her eyelashes fluttered as her mother pulled away, and she looked down at the Phantump curled up at her side.
Her parents explained the situation, and gradually Mila's groggy brain caught up. When they realized she had gone missing that morning, they called the police, who found her in the forest. She had been unconscious and alone, except for a Phantump that remained with her even as the officer brought her home. It refused to be shooed away when they took her to the hospital, where she was now. Mila often attracted ghost pokemon, and since its presence seemed to protect her throughout the night in the forest, they had let it be.
Their explanations drifted into static for Mila; she stopped listening far from the end, her attention turning to the Phantump instead. The legends behind the species were well known, that they came from the spirits of children who got lost in forests and died. To her, it seemed obvious whose spirit this Phantump came from - and it must be true. It was too close a coincidence that she went out, helped her move on, and then had this little guy hanging around her all of this time.
It couldn't just be her aura.
A faint smile stole upon her lips, and she pulled the pokemon closer to cradle it in her arms. She did her best to hide her swell of joy from her parents - they never believed her before about the human spirits, and wouldn't now. She disguised the turn of her face away from them as a self-soothing nuzzle of her cheek against a smooth spot on its head.
Ivan. He had returned, and Mila swore that she would never leave him alone again.