(More a Cottage, really)


    <hr>


    Linh woke up, eyes still closed, on an unfamiliar sofa. A weight on his chest, and the familiar lag in his thoughts indicative of being fed upon.


    His hand came up to the weight on his chest, grasping at it to see its shape, Two objects, one stringy and dry. The other curved and smooth.


    Linh prodded both with his fingers—"Menace, Kaolin," his Polteageist, "C''mon, up and at ''em." The weight disappeared with rasping dry and sloshing wet grumbles.


    Then he opened his eyes, and saw Ghosts staring down at him. Linh jolted back at those eyes—energies shifting them from disturbingly human to disturbingly inhuman, and then huffed.


    "Ceiling Ghosts," he softly called. "What are your wisdoms?"


    The Ghosts, Shuppets and Yamask''s mostly, conferred with themselves. Dipping and diving into the ceiling like it was an upside-down lake. They roiled as they made noises to each other. Noises like gold glinting together.


    Then one bold Yamask answered Linh and threw their mask down to Linh. As they did, the shadowy teardrop that made their figure sucked down into the mask (a weeping face cast in gold), and Linh caught it.


    He shifted it to face him, and wiped a bit of dirt off of its eyes. "They say this mask was your face in a previous life, but it''s actually the face you''ll wear on the next." The Yamask popped back out of the mask, Linh booped them on the nose. "Mull on that, why don''t you?"


    The ghosts hiding in the ceiling puzzled over that lie as Linh stood up and walked away. He smiled as he ignored how one Shuppet tried to follow him, blowing air across his neck as an ask.


    Linh stretched, then faced his Pokémon. "Menace, Kaolin—you two want to stay with me? I''ll just be looking for Casket."


    Menace stared up at him with those almond-shaped eyes. He rubbed two rasping roots together and made the same sound he makes when Linh''s late too dinner.


    "Did you not feed on me while I slept?" Linh asked, "I still have the scars, probably." He rubbed the little pinpricks of pain under his shirt, like insect bites.


    Menace made the exact same sound, blatantly lying.


    Linh looked to Kaolin, who giggled, and swung down to Menace, gently rolling him away. Linh huffed again, and then left to look about the house. Christie''s house. He didn''t remember exploring it much last night—just awkwardly accepted food, a couch to crash on, done.


    The cabin, cottage, house had a clustered rustic feel—despite the many rooms and two floors. The floorboards were thick, wide, with just the slightest gaps in between. Covered by tiny rugs with thick edges and ornate patterns. Dream catchers and stringed beads hung from the ceiling, strung up near the walls. Pressed just below, bookshelves with books stuffed with bookmarks and strips of paper. Organised by colour into gradients. Sitting above them, display cases with Pokémon skulls in them, bleached and cleaned.


    Linh stepped into the kitchen. One with a stove split in half—the centre set much lower, with a hook hanging down from the smoke extractor. In the corner, there was a massive cauldron, sized to fit there. ''Witchy''. He stepped past both to peer through the window to the outside.


    Outside, there was Christie—back to the window and facing Poppy. Both were chatting about something, although Linh knew not what. They had a gaggle of Pokémon around them—the Pokémon of the graveyard outnumbering Poppy''s.


    Linh let the curtain fall back in place—a decal of a Golbat on it swooped down to the spice rack to the right. Small flasks that rounded out at the bottom. Exactly like those little potions in fantasy. Except instead of holding health and mana potions, they held turmeric and ginger, pepper and garlic powder.


    Very ''Witchy''.


    Linh opened the cupboard behind the spice rack, and on the other side a Duskull rolled its singular eye before fading away. Behind, was the spice bags. Dense-packed bags and bottles with commercial designs. A Scovillain on paper stared back as Linh quietly shut the door.


    He smiled to himself—cute. Then he left the kitchen. Perhaps Casket was upstairs?


    The stairs were thin and uneven, and led up to a narrow hallway—three rooms available.


    There was the guest room—door half-ajar. Last night Christie offered this room, but as Linh stepped inside he saw the piles and piles of plushies, the mirrored desk with a make-up kit still half-open.


    It wasn''t really a guest room. Not every guest''s room.


    Linh didn''t bother checking, Casket kept on sneezing when she took one whiff of it. She wouldn''t explore there.


    The next room was Christie''s. Her bedroom. And Linh would not see what was inside at all. He missed the single long grey hair, stuck in the crack of the door as he passed.


    The last room was the ''Doll Room''. Which Christie remarked upon but once as she showed the house. She refused to elaborate and the name itself kept Linh up half-way through last night.


    He opened the door—unlocked. Inside, bare walls and wood panelling. Nothing hanging from the ceiling, and no rugs over the floorboards.


    There was only one chair, with a small doll on it. Not plastic, not felt. Yarn, with cross-stitches for eyes. Flat-faced, without fingers. Linh took one step towards it and the door clicked shut behind him.


    He turned, and tested the lock. Locked, naturally.


    He turned back, the doll sat where it was—but there was a chair facing it.


    Linh softly smiled, and came closer to the doll. He took the chair. "You wanna talk about something?"


    Silence.


    "Interesting. You want to hear a story?"


    There was a breeze in that still-air. Tickling across Linh''s hands.


    "Well, I can make one up... So! Granny was a spry up and comer hero who had just transferred to Class 1-A..."


    <The Hex Hut>


    The outside of the cottage ran wild with wind-chimes, and sparse with vegetation. The ground had defiant weeds sprouting from the ground. In between the gravel laid out front. Smooth sturdy pebbles with tough, thick, stalks. Both resistant to the play of playful Ghosts.


    Not that the ghost''s played much with the floor—they much preferred batting at the chimes hanging from the dead trees and the house. Including the ones at the tunnel underneath.


    Christie had a rough blanket spread over the gravel, so Poppy could sit on the ground as she gesticulated. Story-time, of her journey so far.


    "And this is the river where the bridge fell down! We had to ford across. Linh did, but Cyclizar leapt across it in one beeeg leap!" Poppy proudly showed off the photo on her phone. "And when Linh was crossing, this Barroskewda got feisty! He was annoyed, and attacked him!


    "Varoom couldn''t let that happen, can she?" She leaned down to Varoom, and she jerked up—aware of where the story was going. "Noooo! So she drove right in, all across the bottom of the river ''cuz she was so heavy."


    Varoom rolled towards Poppy threateningly—or perhaps pleadingly. She revved and spat choking gas upwards in a whine.


    "That Barroskewda was acting all mean and grumpy, and kept on trying to tackle at Linh—Varoom couldn''t have that! So she charged and used Iron Head—yes just like that!" Poppy grinned, hand splayed towards Varoom. She was trying to use Iron Head in intimidation. "But all that was doing was making the river and mud splash all over Linh!"


    Varoom cried out, and she came closer and closer. Iron Head applied to the air until the force sent shock waves that ruffled Poppy''s bonnet. That is, until Poppy reached out and tapped her side—twisting her fingers against the metal until Varoom collapsed, the rumble of her engine stopping. Poppy giggled and stopped her story, instead shifting to rub Varoom''s nose bridge. Christie hummed, "And then?"


    Poppy jolted, "And then! And then Linh sent out Casket!"


    An ''awoo'', as Casket the Greavard approached them. Padding across the gravel with a notebook—like a sketchbook—in her mouth. Her voice came muffled by the paper. Christie inhaled as she saw the book.


    "Casket wasn''t very happy because of the river, but she helped really good," continued Poppy. "She used Shadow Sneak to make these huggee paws, and they picked up Linh and put him down on the other side of the river! But that left Varoom and her next to Barro—Oh! Casket! What''s that you got?"


    She half-scooted forwards, towards Casket, hand outstretched.


    "Ah—No!" Christie reached out sharply, arm stretching across Casket''s barrel, and dragging her across the blanket. "That''s private, no touch."


    "I wanna see." Poppy pouted, hands flat against the blanket.


    "Now now—weren''t you just about to tell us about what happens next? What did Barroskewda do next?" Christie ignored Poppy''s okay, and her story, as she focused on the dog.


    She lifted Casket up, and pressed her against her—no escape now. Her other hand gripped the notebook—cardstock cover textured under her fingers. She lightly tugged at the notebook—and bar the baring of teeth—Casket did not react. She did not let go.


    Christie sighed, "Do I need to take you to Linh?" Surely this Greavard''s Trainer can make her let it go?


    Casket hung under her arm, pressed against her chest, and notebook in her mouth. She made no effort to change the circumstances.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "Poppy," Christie began, "I''ll just pop in to get this girl back to her Trainer, okay? Just call me if you need me."


    "Okay!!!" Poppy waved as they watched Christie power-walk away. Poppy turned back to the Pokémon around her, "So after we beat the Barrowskewda, Riolu tried to—"


    Inside the house, Christie checked the kitchen—empty. And then the living room, also empty. "Boys," she asked the room, and a slew of Yamask and Shuppets phased through the walls, "Seen my other guest?"


    Casket dropped the notebook and barked while tilting her head upwards—upstairs. She indicated. A shadow reached out from inside


    her mouth and stuffed the notebook back in before Christie could snatch it.


    She sniffed. And, miffed, she went upstairs. Casket indicated the Doll Room with a shadow instead of with her head—so as Christie tried to pre-emptively catch the book she failed.


    Christie came to the door—and she heard strange noises come from the other side.


    Without hesitation, with the lock clicking open by itself, Christie opened the door...


    <The Hex Hut>


    "—And due to the rigorous lovemaking with Granny, Bakugo was sweating as he never had before. Allowing him to make an explosion big enough to defeat Sephiroph and save the Hazbin Hotel. The end."


    "What is happening here?" Christie let the door shut behind her, Casket wriggled eagerly.


    Linh startled up in his chair, his foot caught on its leg as he tried to stand up. And it made this most dreadful screech against the floor as he turned—the chair coming with him. He raised his arms, then lowered, then half-way to folding behind. "Nothing! Nothing. Just plain old, wholesome story time. Isn''t that right doll?"


    Laughter—scraping brass against brass and a zipper zipping—from the floor next to the doll. From the ground an illusion fell away and a Cofagrigus and Banette came into view.


    "Isn''t that right?" he pleaded.


    Christie came closer—a semi-mocking grin—"Nevermind Playing with Taph and Pedio. I have something of yours to return."


    Linh, awkwardly fidgeting. "Taph, and Pedio?" He gestured to the two Ghosts on the floor. Still laughing at his story. Or maybe him.


    Christie clicked her tongue, then pointed to the Cofagrigus, and the the Banete. "Taphonomy, Pediophobia." Then she held out Casket. "Dog."


    "Right, right?" Linh took Casket, "You want the book?"


    Christie nodded. "It''s not much—but it''s important to me." So he gently tugged on the book and Casket let go easily. Christie tsked at the sight.


    Linh started to hand over the—"Hang on, it''s got spit all over it."


    "No—wait—"


    Linh wiped his sleeve roughly over the notebook, and the cover dragged with his arm until it tore off with a faint rip. Revealing a paper stack held by threadbare stitching. "Ah—shit, sorry," he started to apologise, before he saw Christie look away from the book—embarrassed about something?


    Linh looked at the notebook again, he saw that it wasn''t really a notebook at all. Unless notebooks had perforated lines for cleanly tearing pages off, and those pages had thick ink strokes in large foreign characters.


    He looked up, Christie had that nervous look—the one creatives wear as their work is being observed in front of them. "Well, I have no idea what these mean—but they''re pretty."


    "Really?"


    "Well yeah. A calligraphy hobby is sophisticated, innit?"


    Christie''s mouth quirked downwards. "Not calligraphy—not just calligraphy. These are Tags. Spell Tags."


    Ah. Held item that strengthens a Ghost Pokémon''s power. Linh knew these both before and after he came here. "Well, they''re very neat. Do they work?"


    "Maybe."


    "What''s maybe? Either they do or they don''t?" he asked.


    Christie crossed her arms, "They''re not very good," she flustered.


    Linh just pursed his lips. He flipped through the pages again. "I don''t really know what ''good'' looks like with these. What''s the problem with them?"


    "The paper''s poor—my brush isn''t perfectly shaped—hand''s aren''t steady—it''s only five percent—"


    "—with making these at all, are these Tags embarrassing to you?" Linh commented idly, "If I knew I could make things that made my Pokémon stronger, I''d be proud of that." He winced a bit internally—he''s just noted the bluntness to his words. He didn''t want to sound like that, not like his mother.


    Silence. Linh looked up. Christie was half shying away.


    "It''s... old-fashioned. Isn''t it?" she whispered.


    "Is it? I''m not the cleverest—who''s making these?" He offered the notebook.


    "It''s... For Mediums and channelers. It''s just their tourist trinkets—they sell it for cheap at shrines." Christie gently took the notebook back, and tried to get the discarded cover to stick back on.


    "Also for Cleanse Tags?"


    "Those, those are more popular yes." She nodded, "But what kind of Hex Maniac would I be if I made those?" she chuckled to herself.


    Linh sat down on his chair, and a moment later, Christie sat down on the dolls. Placing that doll on her lap. A moment later, the Banette—Pediophobia—crawled into her lap as well. Taph stood behind her.


    Linh started again. "So, I haven''t actually thought about um. What a Hex Maniac is, or does." He looked her up and down—swirly eyes he admitted to himself looked nice, purple dress-shawl loose but not flowy. "What is one—is it like a, gang, or something?" he threw out randomly.


    At this conversation change, Christie brightened up. She sat up straight and laughed shortly, "No, no! We''re not that connected. We''re just... We''re a like-minded people who all really like certain things we can share with each other. Like Ghosts, and paranormal phenomena, like actual human-ghosts, and cryptids that are not Pokémon, rituals, psychic powers—Occult things."


    "A sub-culture."


    "Exactly! Oh, and we all have this uniform—well it''s not an uniform really—look that we can use to recognise others also in the scene!" Christie stood up, and she swished her dress around, "Look at this, this is real antique style fabric. It was made with traditional methods; even has pockets!"


    Linh nodded, "A dress? I suppose it would be odd for any male Hex Maniacs."


    "Ah—um. Not a lot of men interested in this," Christie explained, "Most of us are women. It''s—this thing—this subculture, was formed from Kalosian and Hoenn witches. Not many men are interested in the rituals and unguants and stuff."


    "Mmm." Linh nodded, eyes closed. "And you—collective—don''t make Cleanse and Spell Tags?"


    "Ah—no." Christie started closing in again, which was not in Linh''s plans.


    "Could you teach me how to make those tags? I''d like to make one for Casket."


    Christie paused, blinked, then leaned inwards. "Really?"


    "Well, yeah!" Linh grinned, "Learning new skills can never be wrong."


    <The Hex Hut>


    "To begin," Christie sat side by side to Linh, both facing the candle-lit desk. "For the tools, we need an ink stone, a brush, the paper, naturally. And your nails."


    Linh nodded four times, then paused, "Nails?"


    She held up a nail-clipper, and snatched his hand. "How fast do yours grow?"


    "Uh, pretty fast—why?"


    "Because the faster they grow, the more I need to cut—we need to make your brush. And to make it your brush, it needs to include parts from]you. Now hold still." She gently tugged his hand closer, and leaned close—hunching over until Linh could feel the slightest edge of her breath on his skin.


    ...


    She lifted each finger one by one—nestling the clipper''s blade up against the corners of his nail and snip! Snip! The nail clippers went. Each cut she paused, shifting Linh''s finger as she placed the single, cut nail on the table.


    Christie worked from one hand to the other. An array of keratin, and Linh''s fingers feeling slightly off; that almost-rawness as his fingertips shifted to fill in open space. He shifted in his seat, vaguely touched.


    "All done," she said. "Now—see that brush? Uncap the brush head—yes, like that—there should be a hollow inside it. Fill it with your nails."


    Linh flexed his hands, and held up the completed brush. "Okay, and next?"


    "Next—I''ve already made your ink. Water, stick against stone, mix until right—nothing special. You dip the brush in and call your Pokémon over."


    "For what?" Linh asked, his hand was already reaching down and snapping. Until Casket toddled her furry butt over.


    "So they can give the Tag it''s power—remember, we humans never generate Type Energy. They do, our bond lets the energy flow: They turn the wheel, we guide it true," Christie spoke cheerfully, "Place the Pokémon on your lap—it''s just easier logistically."


    Linh looked at Taphonomy, in the corner. The giant coffin winked back.


    Christie followed his gaze, then laughed, "Yes, smaller Pokémon are preferred. Taph''s just as big as his heart. That''s why I use Pediophobia." She snapped her fingers upwards. From the ceiling, the Banette dropped down. She caught her, nuzzled her, and let her sit in her lap.


    Linh nodded, he then lifted up Casket up into his own.


    "Excellent! Now, how this works is you will draw a shape on the paper, while instructing your Pokémon into the mindset. And then you command them to use Ominous Wind to dry the ink. Now—there are these—"


    Linh froze, "Ominous Wind? None of my Pokémon know that."


    Christie paused. "Oh? That''s unfortunate." She hummed in thought, "Well, you can borrow one of the Shuppets—should work, just not as well as it coul—"


    "Wait wait wait. Hold on." He leaned forwards, an arm bracing his head, "What precisely is Ominous Wind for?"


    "It''s to dry the ink. As it dries it soaks up the Ghost type energies from the Move—and how the Tag expresses itself is based on what the Pokémon is thinking as they do it."


    Linh took that in, "Keep talking, please."


    "Uh. The point is that Ominous Wind gives both medium power at a very controlled flow rate. But it spreads it out, thinly, unlike a Shadow Ball or Hex, which expels everything at once."


    "Maybe—Menace, where you at? Menace!" he called. From his shadow Menace rolled out. He plucked him up, and placed him in his lap—Casket pushed out with a pout.


    "What''s... Bramblin don''t know the Move either?"


    "Nightshade—Menace is the best with Nightshade. Okay, Menace? We need a wind—spooky like. Soft really." Linh brushed down Menace''s thorns as he explained. "Just over the paper, alright? Go."


    Menace rasped something grouchy—yet he obeyed. And an illusion took over the desk. One that could only be felt, not seen. A soft wind telled by the (fake) waving of the candle fire. And the (not actually happening) sight of the paper corners flicking.


    "Does that work?"


    Christie frowned hard, stuck her hand into the illusion. And then pulled Pedio''s arm in. "Does that work?" she asked Pedio.


    Pedio waggled her arm, then made a fist high up, and gestured down with waggling strips of fabric.


    Christie turned to Linh, "Try a mini rain cloud, have the raindrops fall slowly on top of the paper."


    Linh looked down to Menace. "You heard her—let''s do it."


    Menace rocked side to side, confused. But he complied. Small wisps formed above like cotton candy. Stuffing together into one cloud. A cloud that spat fat wet droplets down silently. These droplets hit the paper, but did not bounce, and did not blue it wet.


    Christie watched the cloud for a few moments, then ordered. "Concentrate your illusion entirely on the cloud itself—let the rain drops be the illusion fading away as they fall."


    Menace did so—the rain became thinner, erratic. Less realistic—it phased through the table instead of splashing into nothing.


    "That should do. Remember this for later, and stop now, please, Menace?" Christie grinned. She turned to Linh. "Now there''s the next part. Actually drawing the shape you want. Just put brush in ink then brush to paper—then draw your shape. Make it large, make it cover the page. Make sure the lines are smooth and consistent—so the energies stick right."


    "Any shape I want?" He looked up.


    "Any one," she answered.


    Linh drew.


    A straight horizontal line, then a curving one downwards. Two tick marks at where they met. Apostrophes on the sharp corner. A long horizontal line just below, long and sharp. Followed by a slanted exclamation mark below.


    ブ


    ー


    !


    Christie''s head tilted as she looked at it—her hair flopping to the side and revealing a very distracting neck. "I don''t recognise this?"


    "It''s Bū. Katakana. It can mean... several different things. But I''m referring to the sound itself."


    "How so?"


    "What does a kid shout when they jump out and try to scare someone?" Boo.


    Christie blinked, Then her smile turned wide—lip''s over her teeth in characteristic fashion. "That''s adorable."


    Linh huffed. "So, what''s next?"


    "Right—now you need to coach your Pokémon into the right mindset for it. There''s these pre-written soliloquies to use, but it''s better to adjust for each Pokémon; And we may have to make new ones because of Nightshade. The one we''ll use goes by—"


    <The Hex Hut></abbr>


    "Careful now—starting to slow down. Consistent speed, always. And... Stop! Good."


    Christie waited for the last of the raindrops to fade away—until the cloud itself smeared into the wood of the walls. She pulled the paper—now a Tag-hopeful—closer to herself and inspected the letters. "Smooth."


    She then picked up Pediophobia, still in her lap, and pressed her arm against the paper. She waited a second, then (to Linh''s alarm) twisted Pedio''s head a full one hundred and eighty degrees. Instead of snapping like a real neck, the doll''s fluff just compressed and twisted. Christie leaned down so she could look into the Banette''s eyes. "Hmm. Half-dilation."


    "Is that good?" Linh asked.


    "Hmm." Christie hummed. She let Pedio slump back into her lap, boneless flopping. "Yes, this is a Tag. But this is neither Spell nor Cleanse. It''s a Practise."


    "Practise?"


    "Practise—look at the ink? Compare it to this one." She placed a second Tag next to Linh''s one. Both sheets long and wide. Wide enough to cover a face, or act as a napkin. "The ink here is less something then in mine. The Ghost energies haven''t adhered perfectly. So it''s a Practise Tag."


    Linh glanced between both tags. It was true: His Tag''s ink, the way it looked, it had less something then the other. Some small imperfections he unconsciously noticed. "Huh. What''d I do wrong?"


    "Either brushwork or mindset—you''ll just have to keep getting better at both until it gives more something." Christie nodded, smiling, "But it''s not bad at all! Look—Practise Tags can do some stuff Cleanse and Spell''s can''t."


    She lifted up the paper and stuck her hand underneath. "How many fingers am I holding up?" she asked.


    "Well I can''t see—I, can?" Linh blinked. "Two."


    "And now?" Christie''s grin widened. The joy of showing something to your student.


    "Three."


    "Now?"


    "Five—Two." He flicked a finger upwards, reproachful to Christie. "Don''t change on me—that''s cheating," he faux-scolded.


    Christie laughed, then continued. "See? Practise Tags may not have all the Ghost energy they should, or they don''t have the correct ideas inside, but they still do stuff with that energy. In this case, a sort of transparency. It''s creator-bound, however. Only you can see through the Tag."


    Linh picked up the Tag. "Huh. What else can it do?"


    "Oh, minor things: radio interference, random levitation, does not move in harsh winds but does without, generates a slight chill in the air and all other things that can signal an invisible Ghost."


    "That''s a lot of things for just one slip of paper."


    Christie''s smile softened, "It''s less what they do, and more what they are—think. We''ve stored a mass of Ghostly energies in one place. Energies which are the sole consistent thing between every Ghost Pokémon. What can be described as ''the essence of a Ghost''. What can this Tag be other then the prototype of a Ghost?"