Chapter Text
The Joxter was having quite the peaceful nap before he awoke in a cold chill. It wasn’t an awfully strange thing considering it was still winter, yet the sunlight persisting through the beckoning clouds overhead spoke of the resolution of winter. The distant fog left faded on the forest floor, creeping at the corners of the Joxter’s vision. He blinked blearily, the cold that awoke him ran and consumed his foiled nerves, a distinct separation from his familiar forebodings. Perhaps he was still asleep? He flexed his paws and stretched his back but the cold only continued and he was forced awake.
Something was watching him.
His pupils went slanted only slightly as he paused to inspect the area. Yet, everything had remained as it was.
There was a faint presence awaiting him, despite the soundless forest and unmoving land the Joxter felt with absolute confidence that it was there.
“Leave me. You won’t find anything useful here,” said the Joxter grumpily as he positioned himself more comfortably onto the branch, falling back to sleep without much thought or worry.
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When the mumrik awoke again, he noticed quickly that he must’ve been sleeping for quite a long time—much too long for it to be considered a nap. The sun was down and just starting to rise but not until at least a few minutes later. A dull blue encompassed the sky and soft murmuring clouds drifted overhead. The Joxter yawned, stretching his back as he blinked upon the shadowed dells.
The presence was still there.
He sighed, “were you waiting for me? Quite troublesome, aren't you?”
He took a few moments to wait with far too much patience as nothing came to reward the silence. The Joxter hopped off his branch and marched along the dewy grass. He breathed the crisp wind and felt glad that it wasn’t so horribly cold as it was a few weeks ago. Something walked behind him, but he paid it no heed. Perhaps it was a winter spirit who would eventually disappear in all due time. Though, if that were the case, then it should’ve at least made some sound to the environment around It.
Under his breath, the Joxter whistles a little tune, and the presence feels a little less cold to him.
They walked for quite a while, making it deeper into the growing forest. The sun appears quite slowly from the far mountains but in passing he hears the morning birds sing as the sky becomes a lighter more soothing blue. Still, continuously the Joxter is followed and what an annoying burden it is. He wonders if he’ll be able to catch any birds or squirrels with such a thing following him. The forest critters always had a way of knowing what couldn’t be seen.
“Will you follow me the whole day, or will you never leave me alone?” The Joxter asks with little modesty. “Don’t you have somewhere to return to?”
He stops moving. Waiting for a response that never comes. Instead, the lurking presence extends towards him, seeming to walk up behind him with an uncanny stillness.
Turning around, the Joxter puts his hands on his hips. “You probably thought you’d be able to sneak up behind me, didn’t you? I can sense you a mile away!”
The presence hurries to his left side as the Joxter points to it with a laugh. Then, the presence hurries behind a tree and the Joxter’s pointed finger follows it.
“You should know better than that! Nothing can hide from me!”
Then, as the Joxter runs to meet the presence from behind the tree, he’s surprised to see that it wasn’t as invisible as he first thought. A curious pair of brown laced boots with heels stands on top of a melting pile of snow, faced in front of the tree with perfect posture. The Joxter’s eyes widens and he smiles excitedly upon seeing it.
“Your boots! I can see your boots!”
For a moment the presence seems to pause, making a movement close to looking at its feet. The boots suddenly jumped up in glee, dancing and running around the forest in newfound relief.
“So you are a ghost then. An invisible ghost is quite the burden to bear. How long have you been dead?”
Another pause. Then, as quietly and with as much courage a low whispered voice answers him. If the Joxter didn’t have such good hearing, he’d be almost certain to miss it.
“I’m not sure.” The voice was young. Maybe not a child but close to one. “You're the only one who noticed me.”
The Joxter hums, crossing his arms in thought. “What’s your name then?”
Another pause, “I’m not sure of that either.”
The Joxter looks at the ghost rather incredulously. Memory loss, then. “Well, that’s no help at all.”
As the Joxter turns to continue with his stroll, the boots behind him fade but only so slightly before it returns again. Hearing the tune sung with the older man’s tilting whistle encourages the ghost’s pursuit to follow, yearning to hear any sort of musical familiarity. Listening intently, the ghost found himself disappointed it wasn’t the song he was searching for. All small beasts should have bows in their tails , what an odd name he was suddenly reminded of.
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From behind a guarded fence the Joxter stealthily hid behind a tangled thicket, he scanned the location with secretive wild eyes. There, a dingy wooden cabin with a multitude of oppressive, ugly signs penetrated the lustrous greenery of an alluring park. A sole park keeper kept watch from behind a few fruit trees and large bushes, blinking sleepily with dark circles resting heavily below his eyes.
“What are you doing?” Asked the ghost in a small whisper.
“I’m going to take those signs.”
“At day?”
The Joxter grinned. “It’s more fun that way.”
From the inside of blurred shadows, the Joxter kept from place to place, jumping from high branches and leaping forward to the other side of the fence. He waited, staring at the Hemulen park keeper who looked preoccupied with his pipe, clouds of smoke puffing and dissipating from just above his snout. The Joxter smiled, with light feet he bustled towards the first sign, taking it apart and shuffling it between his armpits. It was a rather small sign so it didn’t take much trouble to hold.
The Joxter easily lept a few inches ahead and initiated his crafty practice regarding the decrepit second sign. He pulled at the wooden stand which was deeply rooted into the dirt. Unfortunately while doing so, the sign sprang out, hitting the first sign the Joxter was holding and making a small clank!
The Hemulen turned his head swiftly at the sound, watching the premises with scanning wide eyes, furrowing his eyebrows in concentration. The Joxter hid behind a bush, the two signs held onto his arms in a tight grip. Despite the annoyance of being heard, a thrilling rush battered his heart in ecstasy.
“Who goes there?” The park keeper gruffs unkindly. “Show yourself!”
The Joxter stays silent, frozen in his position; his blue eyes flickering back and forth while pondering what to do.
The park keeper grimaces as he spots a hole in the ground where his sign should’ve been kept up. He walks closer, treading lightly in case of being heard. Suddenly, a blurry rush passes him. The park keeper veers and faces what couldn’t be seen.
“Where are you?!” The Hemulen questions in an angry shout. Another running blur rushes past his opposite direction and he turns his head again with wrath itching his nerves.
From behind the corner of the cabin, an unusual pair of heeled boots runs towards him in a chilling sprint. The Hemulen jumps and dodges as the footwear runs past him in a flurry, stopping at an even space between and rotating itself forward in front of him.
“What sort of game is this?!” He cries with a growing fright. Sweat pours from behind his neck as instantaneously two severed hands fade into view and reach out towards the park keeper’s face.
A ghost! The Hemulen screams in terror, dashing towards the cabin and slamming the door shut. He held his chest with one paw as he heaved and attempted quickly to calm himself. It must be some sort of dirty trick! Or a misplacement of light, perhaps he simply didn’t get enough sleep and was seeing things that weren’t really there.
With as much courage as he could muster he opened the door, shocked to see all his beloved signs torn away from the ground and missing. The Hemulen gasped seeing a flurry of red and dark brown run past him while holding onto all his missing park signs. A shrieking laughter followed and faded within the deep forest. Recognition sparked within the park keeper’s eyes, and with a howled yell he cried, “Joxter!”
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The Joxter was still laughing by the time the two of them made it out of sight from the park. The ghost, strangely, was also chuckling softly beside him. How lucky he was that the Joxter wouldn’t have to be stuck with a prude!
“So what are you? A Whomper? A Fillyjonk? A Hemulen?” Joxter contemplates. “Or perhaps, a Moomin?”
“Moomin?” The ghost pauses in thought. “No, I’m not that.”
“I knew a Moomin once and you’re nothing like him.” The Joxter mused, “and after helping me with those signs I’m certain you’re not a Fillyjonk either.”
The pair continued within the bounds of the forest, departing clouds accompanies warmer climates, the clearing of snow and a coming exuberance throughout all of the balanced earth. As he marched along, the Joxter noticed the animals of the forest seemed to move closer and closer to him. Birds and squirrels scatters across as if in a trance. Never before had this happened to him, but jovially he realized it was quite the perfect opportunity for catching his next meal.
A little creeper boldly plods near him; Joxter places the signs down, extracts his claws and begins to move dauntingly.
The creeper, ignorant to all tilts its head in blooming interest
“No!” The ghost cried suddenly. The Joxter was so surprised he halted and froze, his tail in a straight line as the creeper scurried away.
“What’s gotten into you?” The Joxter rasps very moodily for his lunch had now escaped.
“That’s Teety-woo! You can’t kill Teety-Woo!” The ghost exclaimed in great distress. Both of his new paws form into a fist, raising it up and down for the Joxter to see. “Yes, I remember! That’s my friend! Don’t kill him!”
“He’s already gotten away.” Sulked The Joxter noticing how much louder the ghost’s voice was. “You give me so much trouble. What shall I eat now?”
“You ought to start fishing.” The ghost replies stubbornly. It sounded so much like him that the Joxter couldn’t help but smile.
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The river rushed past him with detachment. The Joxter isn’t in any need of fishing poles or other such unnecessary items. He dashes in the water, his feet grounded against the clay underneath and protrudes his paws into the coming water with sharp, pointed strikes. The ghost waits for him patiently from beside the river, staring at the rather heated scene with indifference. The sun was setting and the Joxter was famished, he stood with burning intent to strike and strike until he bashed his entire head under the water and pulled a fish from between his fangs, clenching down on its scales making the small part of the river turn red for only a second.
“Is it a minnow?” The ghost asks hopefully, leaning forwards to see.
The Joxter shakes his head, crawling to the ground and shaking his damp hair. He grabs onto the tail of the fish and examines it.
“It’s a trout.”
The Joxter then proceeds to unrelentlessly chow down on the poor trout, ripping apart its long tailbone and feasting upon its bloodied flesh in less than a blink of an eye. The ghost watches silently, yet the Joxter could feel the judgment in their eyes.
“You didn’t cook it,” is all the ghost says.
“Of course not,” the Joxter licks his fingers. “It’s been such a long day and I’m so very tired.”
“It will be a cold night.” The ghost mutters, “If you won’t make a fire, you should sleep next to a hot spring.”
“A hot spring? That’s not something you see every day. Was it in your home?”
”I do not have a home, but I’m sure my heart belonged somewhere,“ replies the ghost sadly. His paws clasp together, his boots firmly onto the ground. “It weighed more than me, but I loved that place, and that place loved me. But, I don’t remember where it was and I don’t remember who I am.”
As the ghost slumped in melancholic sorrow, the Joxter too felt a weight spread throughout his chest. Yes, it was a pity, perhaps it was because the ghost seemed so young, much younger than him. How cruel it was for the boy to have such a fate, and how cruel it would be if the Joxter had never found him. Would anyone else really find him?
The weight grows heavier and with a cough he says, “If it loved you, then you’d ought to have been as wonderful as that place. You’re already becoming visible so surely the answers you seek will return shortly, young ghost.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” The ghost answers and with a small moment passing a certain beam of clarity is bestowed upon him. “Snufkin,” The ghost murmurs as if testing the word. A yellow scarf followed by a green smock faded into view, one that resembled Joxter’s own. The young voice becomes light and finds itself in so much relief that the Joxter feels his burdens lift a little, “My name is Snufkin.”
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Joxter dreamt of the Mymble often. Her red hair and rosy cheeks, her warm smile that mesmerized and captured his running heart. He dreams of her and her children, and all the things he says and doesn’t have to say, and all the places he’s forgotten to visit. And from the knowledge of the day before, he dreams of Snufkin. He dreams of a blurry bare face with big eyes partially covered by a hat, and he wonders if it’s really Snufkin’s.
The Joxter squints his eyes to get a better view, yet the blur perseveres and strangely becomes worse. It blurs and blurs until it is only a fading colour that disappears and leaves him.
“Snufkin!” The Joxter screams, reaching his arm out.
But before he can, Snufkin is gone. It wasn’t like he could touch the ghost anyway.
The Joxter awakes with a small start. He doesn’t dream often, but this was certainly a dream he’s never had before. He blinks, rubbing his eyes and stretching his arms. The sun is rising, what a pain for him to wake so early, but he figures that Snufkin would be increasingly bored at having to stay up and wait for him.
The Joxter sits up and looks around the area. The forest is silent.
“ Snufkin?! ” Yells the Joxter, shooting up from the grass and turning his head in every direction possible. His heart burns and thumps like panicked drums hitting his chest and binding his mind to an intrusive alarm.
No one is there with him.
Joxter runs along the river, huffing with cold sweat wondering why his heart pulsed and screamed such grating adrenaline searing through his bones and muscles. He speeds up, his dark hair flowing rapidly behind him, the background grows blurry, just like…
“Snufkin!” He yells again when finally seeing Snufkin’s form. His chest clears with relief as both that and frustration overtakes his senses. It halted briefly upon seeing Snufkin, far from the fireplace, hunched over and trembling.
“What happened? Are you okay?” Asks the Joxter in concern. He reaches out a paw then pauses to remember he can’t touch the boy. Instead, he kneels down, following his eyes to what Snufkin is hunched over.
It's a mouth organ.
“A harmonica?” Questions the older vagabond. The harmonica is old and metal, rusted slightly on the edges and half spoiled by dry mud. Yet, Snufkin was bent over it, reaching his paw out without being able to touch it.
“It’s my harmonica.” Snufkin’s voice wavers. He sniffs a little, settling his breath. “My harmonica.”
“Your harmonica,” repeats the Joxter dully.
“It’s already spring,” Snufkin takes a deep breath, bringing his arm to his mouth to quiet himself. The Joxter waits patiently, wishing he had better means of aid. “My spring tune,” Snufkin continues, “I forgot it. But oh my, oh my, I remember him! I had a Moomin of my own,” his voice was tight, how unusual it was that something without life could have such shaky breath. “Yes, my dear Moomintroll. I wanted to see him in spring, I wanted to see him again—Oh, Joxter, he’s waiting for me!”
“Waiting for you? In—in Moominvalley?”
“Yes, and I left early. I left to look for you.”
Joxter sputtered, “Look for me? Now why on earth would you want to do that?
“I don’t remember.” A long silence preceded this. The two looked into the ground with desolate, disappointed thoughts. Then, the ghost whispers, ”You must promise me, Joxter, to give Moomin my harmonica.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” The older mumrik huffs. “We’ll go there together.”
Although it was irksome to specifically plan where he wanted to go, Moominvalley was already close to their location and wouldn’t take much time at all. And with how Snufkin beamed and brightened made it all worth it in the end.
From slightly above the boy’s yellow scarf, a forest green hat faded into full opacity.
“Your hat!” Joxter exclaims in glee. “I can see your hat! Why, it looks just like mine! You must also be a mumrik!”
The boots and hat twirls around as if examining itself. Then, with a present smile in his voice, Snufkin utters, “Yes, I’m certain I was.”