HOW IT FEELS TO DISAPPEAR: DESCENT

Note: while id usually coin toss on a 50/50 poll, this one feels fair to utilize both.
WARNINGS: Disturbing Imagery, Self Harm

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[Truth] / [Ask your own question]

You watch the ghost uneasily, pulling Eevee closer to you. Her question doesn’t make sense, but…

Your mind wanders back to that young voice. The one calling out to you on the wind, whispers that sounded like a child’s… Is that what she means…?

… You nod slowly.

“… Good. This must be why your Pokemon loves you….” she breathes. You watch as she turns to walk away.

An impulse flares up inside of you. You can’t stand to let another ghost leave you confused.

“Wait,” you call to her, voice raising as she initially seems to ignore you. “DAISY!”

She stops just short of fading into the black.

You tense, dread welling up in your chest. Still, though, you force your words out as a wavering yell.

“Why- Why is this happening?!”

Your single plea hangs heavy in the air. The void feels all the more suffocating for it, and you swear you can feel the weight of it all bearing down on you, threatening to crush and swallow you whole.

The ghost turns to face you, an almost taunting smile tearing open and spreading across her face.

“… Why don’t you go and see for yourself?”

A wave of fatigue suddenly washes over you.

Before you even get the chance to think, your knees buckle, and you collapse to the floor.

…

…

Your head is throbbing. That’s the first thing you’re able to notice.

The second is the feeling of cold, tile floor underneath you.

The third is something small and furry batting at your nose.

Your eyes flutter open. Even with the dim lights of the environment, it takes a moment for your vision to adjust enough to make out your surroundings. As you focus in, the hardest thing to miss is what you register first- Eevee, sitting in front of you with its ears pressed flat against its head. It paws at your nose, seemingly attempting to wake you. Fortunately, once it notices you opening your eyes, it relaxes a bit, stepping aside and shimmying under one of your limp arms.

As you fully wake, you prop yourself up on one elbow and lift your head to look around. You know for certain you aren’t where you blacked out at, but it takes a moment for it to sink in that you’re…

Oh.

Tiled floors. Dim lights. Headstones surround you from every side. A gentle purple coloring to every piece of your surroundings.

It’s all the familiar sights of the Pokemon Tower.

You hold on to Eevee, shakily pushing yourself to a sitting position. A part of you dully hopes that maybe… Maybe, this has all been a bad dream. Maybe you just passed out after finding the Eevee. You try desperately to rationalize it all in your mind, how and why you could have ended up in this place that you never liked nor wanted to visit. This place that you only ever bothered with for the sake of your friend, and to play the hero.

But you already know in your rational mind that your desperate attempts to explain this to yourself are pointless.

After all, you’re still wearing the jacket.

You clutch Eevee closer to your chest as you struggle to your feet. You reach up, re-adjusting and securing your beloved hat. Eevee clings onto you as you try to straighten yourself out, smoothing your dress and new jacket out.

You know very well you’re only doing this to avoid facing the place you’ve wound up in, ‘cause in the back of your mind, you keep noticing more and more details that give away how much worse the part of the tower you’ve awoken in is than you first realized.

You’ve only stepped foot in this area once, and that was only because you had to. Even the idea of it made you uneasy- you know that it’s only gossip and rumors, but… It always seemed just plausible enough to make you want to steer completely clear of the entire graveyard.

You couldn’t help it- death always unsettled you. That one day, any living thing could stop breathing, stop thinking, stop existing, and you’d never really know what happened after- other than them being buried, decaying, and eventually forgotten.

… Children all through Kanto loved to echo the ghost stories surrounding this place, and yeah, maybe they had gotten to you. Malicious and mischievous spirits were one thing- you’d seen those, fought them even. Ghost-types were rare, but not unheard of. Not the sort of thing that kids would tell around campfires in an attempt to scare you, not in this day and age, where any trainer worth their salt could easily catch a Pokemon like a Ghastly, Haunter, Gengar…

No, it was the real rumors that scared you. Horror stories.

A song with tones that drove kids your age to illness, madness, suicide. Grotesque white hands that changed shape into that of your Pokemon and loved ones, just to torment you. A black ghost unlike any Pokemon whose curse could end your life faster than you could even draw a final breath. Whispers of a massive Haunter revered once as a God.

But through all of the wild and chilling tales about Lavender Town that echoed through Kanto, it was the simplest one that had always made your skin crawl most.

They say that once, they buried a human on the top floor of the Tower.

The floor you’re standing on right now.

You feel nauseous at the thought that somehow, someway, after encountering honest-to-the-Gods ghosts, you’d suddenly been dropped here of all places.

You don’t want to play these games anymore. You’ve gone along with it for long enough. Though you see the path through the graves laid out before you, lit dimly by candles and the white glow you’ve come to associate with those damn ghosts, you refuse to keep carrying on. You don’t want to. You need to go home.

You turn around, clinging to Eevee with a bitter determination to go down the stairs and out of this damn graveyard.

… But there’s no staircase. No opening. No way out. Not even a trace.

You run up to the stone wall where it should’ve been, nearly slamming your body against it. Eevee crawls onto your shoulders as you desperately pound your fists against the hard stone, moving back and forth- as if some illusion should drop, as if some barrier will break, as if something would happen. Your eyes are starting to water, the thought emerging in the back of your mind that you’re trapped here.

You can’t be- you can’t be, you can’t be, you can’t be you can’t be you can’t be you can’t. Your Pokemon are powerful- they could break through by force! You reach into your bag by instinct, hoping to get one of your most powerful partners’ Pokeballs- Dragonite, Venusaur, maybe Clefable- anything, anything.

All your hand hits is Eevee’s blanket. Your bag is empty. You left your Pokeballs- your team, at home.

Your eyes and throat start to sting as angry, frustrated tears well up and burn. How could you be so stupid- taking Eevee with, but none of your most loyal companions?!

You slam your hands against the stone wall one more time, unthinking, hard enough to make it fucking hurt. A frustrated, sobbing scream rips through your throat. The hot tears run down your face, and you let your head thud against the wall as you go limp, searing pain shooting from your hands down your arms. The feeling of Eevee nuzzling your cheek no longer does anything to soothe you through your self-directed anger.

You heave a few deep breaths, before whirling around, clenching your now-bruising fists and yelling out into the sea of headstones.

“WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you feel the gazes and quiet laughter of ghosts surround and burn into you. You pull on your hair hard enough to make your scalp hurt, before charging forward into the open pathway of graves.

“FINE. FINE! Whatever gets this OVER with,” you growl, storming past the distant forms of spirits that you can’t be bothered to look at any more than from the corners of your eyes. The robes make them resemble the tower’s Channelers, but hell if you care anymore.

Eevee trembles from its perch on your shoulder, and you look down, staring at the blooming purple on the sides of your hands. You gingerly rub them, trying to soothe the pain. Some of the ire inside you dissipates as you move, and you dully start to regret hurting yourself like that…

Another reason to the list of why you should keep your temper in check, is your only bitter thought.

When you lift your head to pay attention to the path of tombstones laid out for you, though, every thought screeches to a halt.

There, at the end, like a light in the darkness that you’ve been needing.

It’s Blue.

Oh my Gods, you think, you could sob in relief at just the sight of your friend. It’s Blue, it’s Blue- really, genuinely Blue, in full color, flesh and blood, tangible and visible and audible and breathing and alive and real. You nearly break into a sprint towards him, relief washing over you and sending all that dread knotted up in your stomach far, far away.

“Blue- Blue!” you choke out, skidding to a stop right behind him. You open your mouth, about to let every word and cry and every ounce of joy you feel seeing someone you truly know here, living and intact and not white, not pale, he’s colorful, it’s him, it’s him, it’s…

Your words die in your mouth when you realize the state he’s in.

Your tunnel vision rapidly fades away. He’s… not okay. No, something’s wrong. Not with him, you hope- he looks fine, but…

He’s crying. You hear the quiet, gasping sobs. His shoulders are shaking. He’s practically curled into a ball, his hands over his ears and gripping his hair, his knees to his chest, his head lowered and staring straight at the floor.

“Please,” you hear him whimper, “stop- please, make it stop- please, please, just leave me alone…”

… It’s not the floor he’s staring at. You manage to pull your gaze away from him to realize what he’s knelt in front of.

It’s a grave- one far bigger than the rest. The headstone is unmarked, but shouldered on both sides by statues of Pokemon. A rectangular slab juts out of the ground, too… You recognize it from the only time you’d come up here. You’d battled Team Rocket, you remember… Then you’d found Mr. Fuji over this grave, hoping to soothe the angry Marowak’s spirit…

You’d always assumed this grave was hers. It hadn’t made sense to you that you’d found her on the floor below, but you’d rationalized that by assuming the ghosts here just wandered. But thinking of it, if she’d died recently, then a grave like that couldn’t have been made so quickly- certainly not with Team Rocket around. And it had been far too big for just a Marowak…

You put a hand over your mouth, swallowing down the taste of bile at the implications.

Whose grave was this? Why was Blue here…?

Your mind is starting to wander, you realize. You force yourself to reel those thoughts in. You can swallow your own horror, your anger, your confusion for a moment- even now, you can’t let your own emotions make your friend’s problems worse. You’d already hurt him enough before.

“I don’t want this. I didn’t want this.”

His hushed, broken voice breaks your heart. You need to do something, you tell yourself. He needs help. You’re not even sure he’s noticed that you’re here, but you can’t just stand here.

HOW IT FEELS TO DISAPPEAR: DESCENT

WARNINGS: Brief description of Disassociation/Unreality.

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[Talk to the Woman.]

The house itself is intriguing. You can’t deny the allure of the book, and the upstairs is curious…

In spite of it all, though- it’s the other being in the room you choose to approach. You try to rationalize the options in your mind, weighing the pros, the cons- and though you fear speaking with the ghost, especially after your previous encounter… Maybe the woman could answer your questions about everything else.

Warily, you circle around the table, walking up to her side. You open your mouth, trying to speak to catch her attention, but… Your voice catches in your throat. You snap your mouth shut, before meekly opting to just clear your throat instead.

You watch the woman’s head raise, the movements of her craft stopping. You feel your heart stop, too, scared by her sudden stillness that you’ve made a mistake, and you cling to your bag, getting ready to run.

… She doesn’t make any hostile actions. Instead, she turns herself to face you… Her bloody eyes softening as she looks you over.

“Poor thing… You look so tired,” she sighs, motioning to the chair beside her. “Please, take a seat. It’s alright.”

Your stopped heart leaps into your throat. You stare wide-eyed at her face, that voice ringing in your ears.

It all hurts more than the harsh words of the old Gambler.

You recognize this ghost.

“… Miss Hazel…?” comes your own trembling voice.

You feel your shaking legs buckle, and you fall into the chair beside you that she asked you to rest in. Your recognition seems to warm her, a gentle smile spreading across her face.

“Ha, you’ve heard of little old me?” she replied with a breathy laugh, shaking her head. “Most only remember my boy’s name… I’m flattered, really.”

You swallow thickly.

“Of- of course I know you,” you manage to stammer out, the curiosity with which she tilts her head opening up a pit in your stomach.

“It’s- it’s me, it’s Leaf, you- I live with you, I- Your son’s only friend, you called me your… Other kid… Your ‘surprise daughter,’ right…?”

It’s all too much for you to take. Nobody likes when you cry, but her unfamiliarity is gutting you. You know you’re failing to hide your anguish- your eyes burn, your lip is trembling, and your voice is small, shaking, weak.

Mama Hazel…

“You remember me, don’t you…?”

You dread her answer. You see how she pities you- her expression saddening, as she wracks her mind to place your face. She seems heartbroken as she shakes her head.

“Oh, sweetheart… I’m so sorry.” she whispers, putting a hand over her mouth. “I wish I could tell you yes… But I think you have me mistaken for someone else. I just can’t place you, Leaf. I’ve only ever had one kid, and… His only friend was another little boy.”

You can feel your thoughts trying to leave yourself again. The only sensation connecting you to your body is the stinging, burning tears that cloud your vision and begin rolling down your cheeks. You feel miles away, as if you’re watching the scene from a bird’s eye view. You feel so tiny. The ghost of Hazel looks so insignificant. It’s all pixelated and unclear. The world outside of the house stretches to an infinite black abyss.

It seems so meaningless. You seem so meaningless inside all of it. You watch as the pale and puny body sets her craft on the table, and steps towards you.

You watch her arms wrap you up in a hug.

You’re flung back into your body- everything seems real again, as if you’ve snapped awake. Her touch is frigid. You can tell her embrace would otherwise hold all the warmth in the world, you’ve felt her hugs so many times before… But like this, as this pale soul devoid of flesh and true tangibility, it’s like being suffocated in ice. You push your hands against her, shivering violently as your eyes dry rapidly from the shock.

She seems to take the hint. She quickly releases you, holding her hands to her chest and gazing at you regretfully.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she says quickly- you can tell in her subdued tone that she means it deeply. “I should have asked.”

You don’t have it in you to get on her about that, even if it’s a bit frustrating. A part of you is just grateful to have been snapped out of that hazy headspace. The lingering feeling of that icy touch still bothers you, pulsing through your bones with a deep-set chill that fades much too slowly.

“It’s okay…” is what you manage, your teeth chattering through your words. “You’re j- you’re just so cold. I- I think I’ll be fine, though…”

You run your hands over your cheeks, wiping away the dampness of your tears, then drying your palms on your dress and bag.

Hazel sighs, looking down to the jacket she’d put on the table. Your eyes follow hers, analyzing the vest-like thing… Faded to pale white like the ghosts, covered in snaps, as well as two large pockets. You note that it’s laid with the back up, and what she’d been sewing dawns on you; She was finishing stitching on a patch. You can make out the shape of the words, despite of the lack of color:

INDIGO LEAGUE 1996 - KANTO CHAMPION

“… I’m so sorry about all of this, Leaf,” Hazel starts, shaking her head. “This must be so confusing. This place…”

You perk up a bit. Right- you wanted to ask questions.

“Do you know what this place is?” you quickly interject, your full attention returning to her. She puts a hand over her mouth, not quite looking you in the eyes.

“… I don’t,” she whispers. “But I don’t think it’s Kanto. Not as I knew it.”

She looks at her hands. “Leaf… You’re the first person I’ve seen since I’ve ended up like this. I don’t know what happened. Nobody comes anymore. I haven’t seen my son in years. And I believe I’m trapped here.”

You feel like your stomach has turned to lead. “What?”

“I’ve tried to leave,” she explains.“There’s nothing out there. When I open my front door, it’s nothing but darkness and strange patterns. … Sometimes I see odd visions, too- images of a world in color where I am someone else.”

Your mind wanders to the abyss you saw outside when you started to freak out.

“So I stopped trying a long time ago. It felt like it was driving me insane, and… It started making me think that things had always been like this.”

“So you just… Sit here?” you ask, fidgeting with the edge of your dress.

Hazel smiles sadly.

“I like to consider it waiting.”

“For what?”

“… For my son to come home,” she breathes. She reaches over, grabbing the jacket off the table. “He promised to come back for this.”

Another pang of sorrow strikes you. Her empty eyes seem to shimmer as she thinks of him, and you see the corners of her lips twitch in a faint smile.

She radiates pride, yet grief, too… A part of you has accepted by now that this is not your mother.

… That same part wonders if your real mother would wait and mourn for you, too.

“… Do you at least know how you ended up like this? What- what’s that book? When will your son come back- who is he?” You ask rapid-fire, desperate for more answers before the suffocating feeling you get from this place- and the chills that still run through your bones- drive you away.

Hazel laughs, a gentle, soothing noise. It’s one you’d come to know well. Even trying to remember that she isn’t the woman you knew… The familiarity still stings.

“I don’t know. I don’t know how to answer any of those,” she replies, giving you a sad smile. “When I try to remember… Just as me leaving- when I try to recall what changed, all I can think is that… Nothing did.”

You watch her grab the needle and thread, tying off where she’d been sewing and breaking the string as she continues.

“The book has been there a long time. I glance through sometimes… It changes on its own. Way back when, though… I believe my boy’s little friend left it here, once. Forgot to ever take it back.”

She suddenly stands up, holding the jacket up to examine her work. She peeks over at you, and motions for you to come closer.

“Could you stand up for me?” she asks, suddenly sounding more sure of herself- a twinge of hope coloring her voice. You frown, but… She hasn’t done anything to harm you so far. With no reason to distrust her, you rise to your feet- it becomes immediately clear how wobbly you feel. Sitting had hidden how badly the house had been sapping your strength, but like this, you feel ready to collapse, barely able to step towards her as the frigid feeling’s pulse intensifies.

Suddenly, a warmth is draped over your shoulders.

“It looks like it’ll be a perfect fit,” Hazel says, smiling as she helps to hold you steady- the layer of fabric between you and her hands now protecting you from her frigid fingertips. Your eyes widen in confusion, looking down at the white, bulky jacket that’s been draped over you.

You raise your hand, feeling it with a delicate touch as if it would fall to pieces in your hands. It’s surprisingly warm, the inner layer soft and insulated… It’s all study material, with a lot of clearly hand-done patches, stitches, attachments added over seemingly years. Well-loved, but even more lovingly repaired.

You wonder how long Hazel’s been repairing this thing.

“Didn’t- didn’t you say this was…?” you start to ask.

“Yes,” she starts. You hear the brief pain in her voice.

“… I think it’s time I’m honest with myself. … He’s not coming home. So… I want you to take this. Please.”

She lowers her hands and steps away.

“I’ll feel better if it’s serving its purpose for someone, at least. And maybe… If you see my little champ while you’re out there… You can finally deliver it to him.”

Her kind words and motherly actions remind you so much of your own Hazel that it makes your heart ache. You sniffle, choking back tears as you quickly move to wear it properly. You make sure to situate Eevee’s bag over it, and smooth it out as to keep it comfortable.

Hazel was right; it’s a perfect fit.

You feel a little stronger in this. A little warmer, the chill that had clung to you snuffing out under its embrace. More sure of yourself, you look up to her, mustering up the biggest smile you can.

“Thank you so much. I swear- I’ll treasure this. I’ll take good care of it.”

“No, Leaf… Thank you,” she sighs, a soft echo in her voice, “for giving a poor old lady some peace of mind.”

You look down at the jacket one more time, admiring her handiwork, before turning to give her a parting word… And to make sure you know who to pass it off to if you found him.

When you look up again, the ghost is gone.

… A twinge of sadness strikes you, but… For the most part, you’re grateful to have found a friendly face.

But it still hurts so much to have lost her as quickly as you’d earned her trust.

There’s nothing that can be done, though. You’re all alone. It’s just you and Eevee against the world once again. You feel the sting of tears you’d been fighting off rising up again… But in your solitude, you decide to let them flow.

For a few moments, you stand in the empty home with your hands over your face, quietly sobbing as you finally let some of the weight of everything hurt for a short, cathartic moment.

Your relief is short lived once you lower your hands.

Blood. Drops of blood stain your palms. You can see it’s mixed with the watery tears.

Panic rises in your chest- you wipe your cheeks, looking at your hands again. As you feared- crimson streaks mix with the dampness of your tears.

You need to get out of this house.

You turn and run out the front door, forgetting about the upstairs, the diary, and everything else.

You’re not wanted here anymore.

You practically fall out of the front door, stumbling back into the damp and foggy outdoors. In the fresh air, you try to steady your panicked breathing- counting the seconds, forcing you trembling breaths back into a regular rhythm… You can tell how the suffocating feeling of that home releases you and bids you its long-demanded farewell.

Once you’ve steadied, you turn, wanting to give one more goodbye…

All that you’re met with is that same tall, white fence.

… So that’s that, then. You turn, looking back to the patch ahead. You finally realize that this one is different. No dirt pathway- dying grass that reaches up to your ankles is all that lines the way, the road forward marked by a simpler wooden fence that you could much more easily jump, if you had it in you… At least you can see over it, though.

You pet Eevee, unsure if you’re soothing it, or yourself.

“Well… Guess we’re back to this again, huh, little buddy?” you say quietly, half-lighthearted. It chirps at you and nods, turning its gaze forward.

You take a deep breath. Bolstered by the warmth of your new jacket, and the kindness you’d been shown…

You begin down the next long path.

On the outside of that insurmountable fence, you find this walk to be far less suffocating. You kick the grass as you trek forward, feeling how the dew clings to your legs, ankles and heels.

It certainly gives you more to look at, you think idly. Though the fog is still dense, it’s lightened up enough that you can see the trees above and outside of this pathway, and you admire the view of the swaying reds and oranges. A few dandelions even grow despite how the rest of the plant life seems to be dying, adding a splash of yellow to the sea of darker autumn colors.

At one point- you’re not sure when- you start to hear children’s laughter on the wind. You try not to let the sounds stop you, and simply hold Eevee close.

As it grows louder, you spot the source through the treeline. You watch quietly as a group of children run past, all dressed up in shorts and tank tops, all equipped with bug nets and cheap plastic bug boxes, clinging to their straw hats so as to not lose them in the wind… All of them look the exact same, colored that pale white with red eyes; ghosts just like the others, you note.

You wonder if this is how everyone here is. You wonder if you’d end up like that… You push the thought away, but it still leaves you stopped in your tracks.

The kids vanish quickly, running off together in the opposite direction of where you’re traveling. Your gaze drops to Eevee, and you sigh.

“… Reminds me of the kids back home,” you mutter, talking aloud to the Eevee as you start to walk again.

“They’d run by outside my home just like that. Nobody ever wanted to play with me, though. I guess they didn’t, either, but… Maybe that’s for the best, hah.”

You sigh. “I can’t wait for this to be over. I’m glad I have friends waiting for me, y'know… I want you and Blue to get along. I hope it’ll work out once we’re home…”

You fall silent as the wind picks up, trying to push back against you. You realize it’s better to not waste your breath talking to your Pokemon… This is already tiring enough as it is, anyways.

He was so kind.

As you move onward, the wind seems to whisper to you again. You strain to understand its words.

His smile. His laugh...

The path is becoming harder to see. You look up, seeing the way the canopy of trees begins to stretch over top of this path as you move forward, blocking out the light…

I felt so safe with him.

Looking up makes you stop paying attention to your footsteps. You fail to notice the fence opening up, fail to notice what’s right in front of you.

Splash.

Your foot sinks into mud and water. You jolt back, stumbling away- the mud clings to your slipper, and you quickly realize that you’d almost walked into a pond. Your face flushes with embarrassment, especially at losing a shoe… You consider reaching in to try to get it back- but you look down at your jacket, and… Gods, you don’t have it in you to risk dropping or ruining it.

Oh well. It’s one shoe, right? Paying much closer attention now, you turn back and start to walk around the pond instead of through it.

Friend…

Caught up in your frustration, you only catch one word from the voice on the wind… And it confuses you. It’s already hard to discern, but you can’t tell if it was making a statement, or… a question?

You mentally kick yourself again for your clumsy actions, losing you a slipper and missing something’s words.

At least the grass isn’t too hard on you. You continue, opting to follow the outer fence that closes the body of water into your pathway. You hit a corner, turn, and go on, until you hit a new opening…

That leads directly to a door.

The familiarity, similar to Hazel’s home, strikes you as you look at it. This time, though, you’re able to place it.

It’s just like Blue’s.

You’re always welcome there. You know that. You pray that that fact will hold true here.

It’s not like you have anywhere else to go.

So, you push it open, and step inside.

No.

… It’s pitch black. You wonder if the lights are just off, but… You’re quickly struck by the fact that you can see yourself and Eevee just fine- it’s as if you’re standing under a spotlight. Everything else in here is a void.

Shakily, you half-shuffle forward, afraid of the invisible floor giving out on you and completely swallowing you up. You manage to move what you assume is a couple of yards, before a stark white figure appears from the dark.

You move closer, trying to identify anything about them…

And you come to realize that yet again, this is almost certainly someone you know.

You’d recognize that headband and dress anywhere.

You watch the ghost of Daisy Oak tilt her head, her face almost completely blank- save for those gaping, red eyes.

“Do you hear the cries…?” she asks.

… Your uneasiness makes you feel sick. You aren’t sure what to say. This definitely isn’t the Daisy you know.