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Apo is in the sky and Oakhurst is coming apart around her. The small town is dissolving somehow, apartments and houses floating away into the ether like steam from a boiling pot. She's above it all, watching as something immaterial and stomach-lurchingly weightless. A wraith. The Wraith of New Oakhurst stares down at the calamity with burning red eyes, the only saturated part of her body, if you could call it a body.
Then, like a machine roaring to life, Wraith realizes that they have to help. As if pulled by a string, they zip down to the streets and race for the nearest person, offering help, offering to lift them out and to the nearest town over. The human, a father carrying his child in both arms, turns away and races in the other direction.
Again and again, the doors slam shut, people choosing to hide away in their homes rather than let themselves be saved. Wraith looks up — the town is dwindling — children on pink and blue bicycles scream as their skin and blood evaporates into thin air and bat away her helping hand even as the metal frames bend and snap. She knows she's not a hero, she knows she's just a person, but why won't they let her save them? It would be so easy, if they just listened to her.
Eventually, they're all alone over a yawning pit, enclosed by the mountains that surround Oakhurst valley on all sides. Wraith hovers over the void, giving into selfish impulse. If they can't satisfy the grinding, ravenous thing in their chest, they can at least satisfy their heart.
Apo shoots towards the dull grey ridges closing her in like a cage, but no matter how fast she flies or how hard she wishes she was back home, she can't escape the mountain range. Worse than that, she's being dragged down. It doesn't feel like gravity — it feels like she's being sucked into a massive mouth.
The wraith falls instead of rising with the rest of Oakhurst. A destroyed body, a bomb shadow, forever consigned to darkness.
In a room of Oakhurst City's local link in the Woodhurst Hotel chain, Apo Kuna, a civil engineer in training, Draft-Rank soldier, undead abomination, and most recently, part-time (very small) grocery store janitor, wakes up unceremoniously and wipes the tears from their eyes. "Heh," they say out loud to no one and nothing, voice still halfway in a sob, "I hope that didn't mean anything."
She stumbles into the bathroom in her drowsy stupor, floating a beat where she would've tripped and fallen. The toothbrush rises to hover just out of contact with her hand, and stays there for a full minute, only settling into the physics-abiding relationship of plastic against flesh once Apo spits the slurry of toothpaste foam and mouth-spit into her sink. Toothbrush now firmly in her fist, she stares down at the liquid in the basin, particularly at the flecks of red floating inside.
Apo washes it all down the drain, then moves onto the rest of their morning preparations. Unfortunately, that includes hooking a can of anti-ghost spray, which they're pretty sure (and they would know!They've been hit with the stuff) is just pepper spray.
She's not the kind of person to believe in ghosts, or the afterlife, but it's hard to stay skeptical these days.
On the way to work, Apo sees some more ghost bullshit right before they turn onto the street with their store. A translucent pirate with a cutlass blazing with green fire is sticking up a thrift store. They're holding the sword like a gun, which would be objectively ridiculous if it wasn't so capable of hurting someone.
Startled, she ducks into an alleyway and reaches for the force that's been sitting in her chest ever since that night. One tug and Apo drops to her knees, wincing as her heart seems to burn in her chest. It hurts, but she doesn't have any time to waste. People are in danger.
Another tug and Apo's sight blurs, sparks appearing on the edge of their vision. They drop to their knees, jeans meeting the cracked sidewalk. With the third, Apo drops to the ground fully, twitching and spasming. Their oxygen intake drops to zero, and with a final pull on that eye-watering need to keep everyone safe, the mist starts up.
Seeping in from everywhere and nowhere, a thick fog obscures Apo's body from outside observation just as it begins to glow with an otherworldly power. If someone was watching, however, they would see her silhouette be utterly consumed by the light shining from her chest for a few shining moments, the past overtaking the present. Her hair returns to the length it was a month ago, long enough to graze the pavement. At the same time, her skin seems to shrink inwards, turning grey and gaunt. Apo's fingernails lengthen into claws, losing the distinction between nail and flesh.
Their clothes are overwritten with an ankle length dress, something that could've been mistaken for a nightgown if not for the segmentation. All of the color drains out of their body, save for their eyes, and if anyone could glimpse beneath their collar, a small healed-over bite mark. Both are illuminated in blood red.
The entire process takes maybe thirty seconds — she's gotten faster with practice.
Wraith shoots through the wall of the thrift store stopping opposite the pirate ghost, and the group of people they have crowded behind the checkout counter. A pile of watches and jewelry sits where people would normally pass over their items. A man — Doctor Legs — stands at the front of them all, hands extended in a surrender gesture, seemingly negotiating. The tip of the sword is grazing his throat and his glasses are missing, having been placed on the counter. There's a faint red mark growing where the fire scorches his skin.
Upon seeing her, his eyes go wide. Pirate-loser notices this and turns around, but not before Wraith can slam into them with all their not-weight and quite a bit of speed. The ghost goes flying at a downward angle, into the ground and temporarily out of the room. She turns to the crowd of people, and points to the door. "Everybody out!" Wraith declares. "Get your stuff also."
They sense movement from beneath the ground. "Now!"
The nine or so people clustered behind the counter break for the door, two or three of them retrieving their valuables. Legs gets his glasses back, but stops in the doorway to look at her. Wraith shoos frantically. She tries to scream "go", but is unfortunately interrupted by a very angry pirate swinging a cutlass that is on fire.
The ghost comes back swinging, hitting Wraith from the back and temporarily decapitating them. Their head separates from their body, spinning with the force of the blow. Dizzying as it is, they can't help but appreciate the sight of Legs getting to safety. Wraith's head lets out a sigh of relief as their body wriggles through the air towards it, reconnecting with thick strings of monochrome viscera.
"Lassie!" The pirate bellows, "I've had these landlubbers dead to rights and stolen their bounty for me-self, and you rob me?"
"How did you even get here?" Wraith asks, her voice taking on a buzzing edge as her frustration grows. "We're in the center of a mountain range, the nearest sea is a bajillion hours away!"
"Never doubt the tenacity of a pirate," the ghost sneers. They swing their sword again, but Wraith is ready for it this time. They dodge upwards and rake their claws down their face, snarling as the flesh only melts back together. Slashing is a terrible strategy — they keep forgetting.
Changing tactics, Wraith pulls her own weapon, a silver axe, out of some misbegotten spectral hammerspace — she has no idea where it comes from or goes — and chops off the pirate's sword arm. With her free hand, she pulls the arm away, flying backwards. Military training aside, she's really good at this whole fighting thing when nobody has blood.
They hiss at the pirate from across the aisles and open their mouth, revealing long white fangs. Wraith bites into the severed arm, still wriggling and holding the cutlass, seemingly drinking from it. As the arm is drained of whatever life remains within, Wraith almost grows realer, weightier. The red of her eyes grows deeper, and her presence starts to warp the air around her form. Finally, the arm dissolves to nothing, its blade falling to the ground as a harmless plastic toy.
The pirate stares at Wraith for a long moment, whatever playful rage that might've lingered there having withered and died. Just like they should have.
"Leave unless you'd like to lose the rest," Wraith says. "And stay out of my town."
Apo comes back to life in the alleyway one month after they died for the first time. They don't know this, but it's the exact anniversary, only six hours away from the minute Apo lost half their humanity.
"What was I talking about back there?" She mutters to herself, "I don't even own a house here. This isn't my town. This isn't my anything."
A cheery voice rings out from their left. "Oh? I'm also not from around here. We've got something in common."
Apo whips around, but the mist still hovers in the air, obscuring her vision. Regardless of what she can see, the churning, wanting thing inside of her senses a rival — another ghost. She unclips the anti-ghost spray and holds in it front of her, backing away until her back hits a wall. She wants to say something, a warning, maybe, but all that comes out is: "Aaaargh!"
Suddenly, a gust of wind whips through the alleyway, coming from nowhere and taking the mist back into nowhere with it.
Before Apo is another ghost, this once clearly much more powerful than the pirate from before. Their eyes glow with the same blood-red intensity as Wraith's, but their outfit is completely different — a straddle between 'fairy princess' and 'emo'. The fishnets aren't apart of the ghost-outfit…thing, but the crown is, and the regency-era looking bodice with fancy sleeves is matched with a red plaid miniskirt. There are "she/her" and "they/them" pins in a little arc right below where a chain is hooked into the ghost's belt loop, as well as another pin with a red and white image of…a figure with crossed arms? Some kind of logo?
"There's no need to stare at me like that," the ghost says. "We're sisters! Or you're my aunt? Ghost turnings are weird, but either way we're family. You are…" she trailed off, as if trying to recall something, "Apo Kuna, and my name is Shelby! Hello again." She extends a hand and Apo doesn't shake it.
They vaguely recall meeting a Shelby once before, right as they had arrived in Oakhurst, and then not seeing them again until their face showed up in a missing poster. Kind of weird, but endearing. Harmless. Apo's chest feels like it's caving in.
"You—you died?" Apo whispers. "They got you too?" Looking closer, she could see closed wounds — the death wounds, peeking out from under Shelby's clothes. They look painful, like they tried to run. Apo's hand presses to their own puncture marks, largely invisible on their neck after so much time. "I'm so sorr—"
"You don't need to be sorry because I'm not dead," Shelby interrupts. "I'm fine. I'm better than ever, really — I can fly."
Apo stares down at her.
They wave a hand, as if dismissing the prior conversation. "Look, I just need to know if you want to call yourself 'Wraith' or 'the Wraith'. I'm writing something."
"First one," Apo replies. "What are you writing?"
"Oh, it's...fiction? But about us, you know — the family —"
"Family?!"
" —the found family," Shelby continues, "kind of autobiographical but also kind of its own story." She stops. "Have you ever heard of RPF?"
"That's disgusting," Apo says automatically. "You're doing a — a puff piece about the person who ripped your throat out? Why?"
"He didn't — " Shelby starts. "I get that ghosts are scary. We get…hungry for life, I'm sure you've felt it too, but that doesn't make us monsters. They're just people. I'm making the best of my situation and you're pretending like it never happened except for when you need to beat people like us up! Isn't that—"
"Tell Scott if I see him again he's dead," Apo snaps. "Owen too. And Pyro. For — p-permanently."
Apo leaves before Shelby can say another word. The ghost doesn't follow her.
As they speedwalk the rest of the way to the grocery store, Apo can't help but fixate on the wind they were messing around with. Could all ghosts mess with the weather? Could they?
She spends a few moments staring up at the sky, concentrating on the dark clouds overhead.
Nothing happens.
When Apo comes in through the back, Ren is there, sorting through inventory. "You're late, Miss Apo," he intones in that weird semi-grave way he likes to talk.
"Piss off." They reply, "there was a ghost attack. Held things up for a while."
Ren looks up from the boxes of cereal he's sorting through. "God, are ye well?"
Apo shrugs, rubbing the area on her neck where the sword cut through. "Yeah, I was fine. It seemed too dangerous to fight alone so I just waited until the uh—Wraith? Until that one showed up."
"Good. I'm glad you're in one piece." Ren carried the boxes out the door to the main area, calling back. "Me n' the rest of the militia are hoping to do a sweep of the school after the store closes down for the day. Make sure that crazy ruler guy didn't come crawling back. You coming?"
They don't respond, cold ice growing in the pit of their stomach. The hungry thing in their chest aches. Apo remembers the ruler guy. He showed up to interfere with all the kids in art class, yelling about drawing straight lines. The militia had rolled in with all the gear Avid made, including armor that is now rapidly breaking from overuse. Even with their supply topped up, Avid nearly got disemboweled by one of those big paper cutter things.
She stumbles, only stabilizing when she collides with a wall. Apo's lungs feel like they're imploding. If any ghosts are in the school again, someone is going to die. She needs to stop them, but how?
Sausage slams the door to the store back open, interrupting her spiral. "Ren told me you saw Wraith!"
"Yeah?" Apo looks up. Sausage has got one of those little journalism pads out and a pen in his other hand.
"Tell me! Tell me!" Sausage waves his pen hand through the air with a flourish. "Seriously! I'm writing this piece about her for the local newspaper."
Apo squints. "How did you get a job there? I thought you were an author."
He shrugs. "Like half of their staff was out of town when all the ghost business started and now none of their emails can come through. Good for me though."
Sausage interrogates Apo while she gets her things together.
Did Wraith say anything to her in particular? No, she told everyone inside the store to run and then ignored the humans in the area.
Did she do anything creepy? She's a ghost, she's always creepy.
What do you think she wants? Apo wouldn't know.
Sausage finishes his notes just as Apo is zipping up her uniform. "Fantastic," he says, flipping to the next page. "And her obsession, any idea what that is?"
Apo freezes, and then very quickly tries to mask it as a sneeze. "She didn't seem obsessed with anything," they reply. Sausage nods and dips back out of the employee area.
Ghosts thankfully stay out of the conversation for the first few hours of Apo's shift. Martyn comes in at around ten for the day, still using the cane he had to pick up after one of the Ghost Court threw him off a bridge.
She's glad to see it — Martyn has tried to leave it behind the counter too many times only for his ankle or knee to buckle while he's halfway to his car or the bathroom.
During some of the quieter moments, when there are no messes to clean or people to serve, Apo comes over to Martyn's station and they rewatch downloaded TV epsiodes on her phone — Martyn's screen is cracked. As a federal agent rambles into a recording device, Martyn taps their shoulders together. "Have you managed to get your texts through yet?" he asks.
Apo's grip on the phone tightens and their thumb accidentally hits pause. "No," they say morosely. "I've been going on roofs and stuff — when it's safe — but everything just keeps coming back as error." She's tried to fly higher, up above the swirling clouds, but every piece of digital communication Wraith gets her hands on can only speak to people in Oakhurst.
Sighing, Martyn shakes his head. "It's a shame. I bet I could have us all staying in the penthouse at the hotel if I could just get a message through to my family. I'm a Woodhurst," he scoffs. "I shouldn't be relying on the charity of strangers." He reaches over and taps play, adding "Ren's a wonderful host, thought."
Then, seemingly changing his mind, Martyn pulls out his own phone. "Speaking about our fellow militia members, actually, Sausage introduced me to this independent publishing website. I think it's called AO3? We've all been starved for new entertainment lately, but if people in Oakhurst post on the internet, we can see it! Cool, right?"
"So, what have you been reading?" Apo slips her device back into her pocket and leans over his shoulder. The logo on the website is the same as the one from Shelby's pin.
"Eh, mostly original stuff."
At that moment, Sausage comes back around with an empty box under his arm. "Oh, are you on AO3? Let me show you this one author." He joins in their little huddle around the counter. "You see her name here, xXVampirePrincessXx? I'm like 90% sure it's a reference to one of my books, because as you can see here —" he navigates to some kind of homepage "—she's written 10 fics of it. They're really good, you should check them out sometime."
Apo has a bad feeling about this.
"And," he continues, "—hey! She's updated!" Sausage clicks on a link on xXVampirePrincessXx's homepage and it opens to a chapter titled 'Wraith'. A separate section designated 'Notes' reads: "hey guys ^-^! I'm really happy you're enjoying my story, and your comments have meant so much to me. Glad to know this town isn't completely full of ghost-haters. Anyway, if you look in previous chapters, you'll notice that I've updated all mentions of 'the Wraith' to 'Wraith' as I've recently learned that is her preferred name."
All the lights in the store flicker once, twice, and go out.
"Fucking hell," Martyn complains. "Power went out again. I'll go reset the breakers." He walks away grumbling about ghosts, and blessedly takes his phone with him. Apo thinks they might have cracked a tooth otherwise. Her fingertips itch.
Later on, when they're about an hour from the night crew rolling in, Apo comes out of the bathroom with her little cart of cleaning supplies, and sees a familiar teal-dyed head of hair over in the produce section, talking amicably with Martyn.
They just about see red.
How dare he. How fucking dare he come in here.
Apo almost leaps towards the pair of them, Scott and her friend. She's not sure what she would do about any of this — Scott was very clearly a human at the moment, and tackling him out of nowhere would only look weird and get her fired and probably arrested and possibly put in one of Avid's ghost jars, but she's almost a third of the way to them when she realizes she's floating.
Stunned, Apo runs their tongue along the inside of their mouth and feels nothing but teeth that would better be compared to shards of broken glass. Their hands are curled tightly into fists, and as they open, Apo feels claws pull out of the ectoplasm that now makes up their palms.
Wraith darts back inside the bathroom as quickly as she can, cleaning cart silently pulled in with her to avoid suspicion. She clutches her hands to her chest, trying to focus on the phantom heartbeat pounding away in her ears.
They can't breathe — which, yeah, they're a ghost — but they can't breathe. Their chest flutters, and they feel air rushing in and out of their mouth, but wherever Wraith's lungs are, they can't be reached. Wraith thinks they might be crying. They wipe at their eyes, and their hands come away bloody.
A sob catches in her throat and Wraith hears people yelling from outside the door. She doesn't feel afraid at all, this must be some strange ghost thing, but still. She needs to calm down. Almost swimming through the air, Wraith makes her way to the bathroom sink and grips the edge to keep herself steady.
Trying to avoid looking in the mirror as much as possible, Wraith runs the tap and washes the blood from their cheeks. In the reflection, their hair floats around their head as if in water, so it doesn't get wet when they eventually press their cheek against the sparkling clean porcelain, listening to the water flow. It's calming.
She closes her eyes and lets the water drown everything out, muffling all sound but itself.
Apo emerges from the bathroom ten minutes later to the sight of snow piled at least a foot high around the doors and windows. The sky is blanketed in a sheet of clouds.
Martyn rounds the corner carrying two cups of hot chocolate — they have a machine in the store — and passes them one. "Ghost weather," he says as an explanation. "Or at least that's what Scott said. The rain started coming down in sheets like a minute after he left, and then it got cold really quick." He takes a sip of his own drink and Apo mirrors him, even though the sweet beverage tastes like nothing on their tongue.
"You think he did it?" Apo asks.
Martyn nods. "Yeah. He's been creeping me out lately, like — he's supposedly in his thirties but his roots are white? What's up with that?"
Apo drinks her hot chocolate to avoid commenting.
"So, I guess we won't be able to hit up the school tonight," they mention, trying to stay casual. "This won't melt for a hours, and by that time it'll be after dark."
"No," Martyn groans.
Apo hides her smile behind her cup. "Guess we'll just have to watch movies or something. Not the worst way to spend an evening."