PK's Request
| ||||||||||||||
The room was mostly silent, save for the sound of soft charcoal making contact with and slowly making its way across a thick, canvas-like paper. There was only one light in this room: a small lamp which hung precariously from a makeshift holder fashioned from what appeared to be cotton string nailed to the ceiling. The lamp swayed gently, spurred on by a breeze which no doubt came from the drafty windows in other parts of this Pokemon’s house. Charcoal does not move by itself, though, and a lamp certainly has no business in lighting an unoccupied room. A creature existed here; a charcoal enabler who went by the alias of Palette. The sounds stopped. Palette set the braid of charcoal down, stood up, and backed up a bit from her work in order to examine it for obvious flaws. The finer inspection would have to come later, as it was rather dark outside and she couldn’t help but feel a bit tired. Seemingly satisfied with her progress for the night, she took the piece off of the stand and leaned it against the wall. After making sure all of her supplies for the day were put back well within their places, she set off outside the room and up the flight of stairs to her bedroom. She walked outside into the main hallway, closing the door behind her.
Her stomach growled. It had been quite some time since she’d last eaten; drawing took most of her concentration, and, unfortunately, hunger was almost never enough to break it. Not that it would have mattered if it had, anyway. She had very little food stored away and couldn’t yet afford to buy more; she hadn’t been able to find any buyers recently for her artwork and as a result had a good old case of “down-on-your-luck” syndrome. Regardless, she decided to head off to her kitchen to see if she had anything that qualified as edible before she retired.
She was about halfway down the hall when she heard something. A very faint, very slow sound made itself known to her as she passed the open door on her left. She halted and poked her nose inside the unlit room and attempted to sniff out the source of the sound. Nothing. Well, nothing that she could smell, anyway; this room was filled with oil paints and various thinning agents for said materials and it somewhat hampered her ability to discern anything. She advanced further into the room once she was reasonably sure the sound wasn’t coming from inside, but outside near her window. She liked to keep the window open all the time in order to prevent the fumes from her paints making her dizzy in this room, but something about the sound put her in a state of unease, even if it was no longer present.
She closed the window, and, for good measure, locked it. Pressing her face close to the glass to peer outside as best she could, she gazed outside. She could spot nothing moving save for the gentle swaying of trees and grass in the distance, undoubtedly caused by the same breeze that made the basement drafty earlier. Drawing the curtains around the window closed, she took one last peek through the gap they left near the middle of the window.
Something outside near her window moved. She couldn’t get a good look at it, but it scared her.
Backing away from the window with a start, she made sure not to make any noise as she scrambled out of the room, closing and locking the door behind her. She ran to the end of the hall, stopping at the entrance to the kitchen. For the most part, the room was dark. Faint light made its way into the room by the moon and the stars from the skylight, which was merely a glass panel that could not be opened. She had always enjoyed that skylight, but now it brought her no comfort. She couldn’t help but feel that something was staring down at her from outside in the darkness, and she didn’t particularly want to hang around in the kitchen to find out if she was right. Her hunger would have to wait until morning, where she would take a look outside to see if anyone truly was creeping about her home.
Backing out of the kitchen while never taking her eyes off the skylight, she quietly went down the hall and made her way to the living room, where the only door in and out of her house resided. This room was small, and pitifully lit by an even smaller candle. Her bookshelves, which at one point in time were filled with books, and her only chair and table cast eerie shadows along the wall. They danced and bobbed to the flicker of that small flame. She wanted to extinguish the candle, but there was a window in this room, and she felt very exposed.
Why did there have to be a window next to the door?
A silly question, she told herself. She loved windows. They gave her a sense of being outside even when she wasn’t, which was often. She knew the window wasn’t what she was afraid of.
She was afraid of what was scratching at the door.
Wanting very much to shriek, she bit her tongue and remained quiet. A surge of adrenaline rushed through her as she ran as quietly as she could to the candle and snuffed it out, hastily drawing the curtains along the window. Whatever was outside couldn’t see in anymore. This also meant she was unable to see outside; she would be unable to see what the thing was doing! Struggling not to panic, she made sure the front door was locked and, for good measure, took out a key and locked the deadbolt on the top of the door. Now there was no way in without breaking a window or that key, and she’d be able to hear a window breaking.
She heard the window in her paint thinner and oil paint storage room shatter, and loudly. Whatever broke it evidently wasn’t concerned at all with subtlety now and obviously wanted a confrontation, and that she could handle. Running out of the living room and towards the storage room’s locked door, she pressed her ear close against the adjacent wall. Nothing. She was able to hear the faint sound of wind now blowing through the broken window, but sounds of an intruder she did not. Seeing as she wasn’t about to unlock the door to make sure, she started back down the hallway towards her bedroom this time. Another window broke, and this time it was the one in the living room. She realized now that the first window was a distraction -- whatever was creeping around her house knew that there was a lockable door in the storage room.. and no door at all in the living room. A sense of dread crept up into her again as she ran into her open bedroom, closing the door behind her. There was no lock on this door, so a barricade was in order. She moved her bed frame as quickly as she could to the door, which admittedly wasn’t very fast, as it was made from solid oak.
As the bed frame approached the door, she saw the handle slowly turn. Adrenaline surged through her again as she made the final shove, slamming the almost open door closed, hopefully for good. She would be safe here now until morning, at which point she would be able to climb out the window in her bedroom and sneak around the house to see just what in the world was causing this.
The window.
In her bedroom? She never had a window in her bedroom, yet there one was. Fairly large and cracked slightly open, it offered a clear look of the world outside, but not the world she was familiar with. This view was something dark. A forest, maybe. Something was out there amidst the sickly, twisted trees, watching her with malicious intent. She had to escape this room, and quickly. Glancing back towards her door, she saw the handle had stopped moving. Whatever was stalking her knew it could no longer gain access from this avenue. She couldn’t leave from that avenue, either. The bed frame was far too heavy to move quickly, and the sound it would have made would alert anything in the house to her plan.
“Won’t you come out, my dear Palette? We need you to disappear for us.”
She knew that voice, and that wasn’t a good thing at all. She knew what it was capable of; of what it intended to do. Her mind numb with fear, she started down the stairs to the basement - her last resort. There wouldn’t be a window down there. She was at the bottom of the stairwell when she heard the window in her bedroom slide open further. Knowing full well what would happen if she stopped to look back, she kept her gaze focused on the door right in front of her.
Unlocking the door and opening it was easier said that done, as she was more than a bit panicked. She did it though, and she did it before the thing made its way down to her. Slamming the door shut and placing the lock upon it, she fell to the ground leaning against a wall, covered in a thin layer of cold sweat. She sat there for a while lost in her thoughts, of which there were surprisingly little. She’d just survived an encounter with something evil, something she had no defense against. It wasn’t fair, really. She had been prepared to deal with anything but what came for her this night. For now, though, she was alone in the quiet solitude of her darkened room; just her and her thoughts, and her art.
Her darkened room? She never extinguished the lantern earlier when she left, did she?
She came to a very final realization. All of the windows and the darkness had been a trap to lure her away from any means of escape, and now she was trapped in a small room with no way out.
She saw it, then. How she managed to see something in that pitch black room she did not know, but that really didn’t matter at all now.
A smile. An impossibly long row of razor sharp teeth made itself evident below cold, staring eyes. Countless claws made their way towards her along the wall, floor, and ceiling. There would be no more running now, no more escaping.
As the claws and teeth closed in on her, she wished she at least had gotten something to eat.
A few days later, a small crowd of Pokemon surrounded the house of Palette. Many whispers were flowing, and rumors abounded. A fire had evidently ravaged this poor artist’s residence, and the inhabitant had not been seen for quite some time. The only form of law within Tao Village, the Patrat Patrol, finally emerged from the burnt ruins of the very modest home. Trailing them was a very small, very sad Cubone. The wagon he pulled was filled with the charred, broken skeleton of a Zoroark.
The afternoon sun shone perfectly through the hut’s window, illuminating the room just enough to give it a pleasant, warm feeling, even if the air was a bit chilly. Any artist before their easel would cherish such a time to paint their thoughts onto the canvas.
For Pal, this wasn’t the warm scene anyone else would cherish. It was miserable. Despairing, even. He sat upon a single chair across the room from his easel, feet pulled up into it and long tail curled over his knees.
His eyes fell upon the canvas. He refused to use it right now. What good was displaying his grief upon it, only to inflict it upon others? It was pointless. At the same time, it was as though he was the only one that cared, anyway.
That was when he heard a knock at the door to his hut. It was gentle and polite. “Come in...” How could he turn them away? Though he attempted to raise his voice enough for the visitor to hear, he couldn’t will himself to sound any less depressed. He could hear the door swing open, then close, followed by a pair of feet shuffling up behind him. Whoever it was didn’t have much to say... or perhaps didn’t know what to say.
Eventually, he’d have to face whoever it was. His head turned as the unknown visitor shuffled up next to him. Before him was a younger Smeargle than himself. He knew this one as a student of sorts. The sad look on his face gave away how much he knew about what was going on.
The younger Smeargle’s eyes darted downward for a moment, as though he really didn’t know what to say. They found their way back up to Pal soon after, followed with a sort of forced smile. “It’s... it’s a nice day, huh mister Pal?”
“Yes...” Pal’s voice was dull. Lifeless. Crossing his arms over his pulled-up knees, he buried his face into them. The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of what a ‘nice’ day this was, right down to having to see it. “Forgive me, Spectrum, but I would rather not paint right now.” His accent was more noticeable as he attempted to be polite to his visitor and speak at some degree at length.
“I... I know.” Spectrum’s voice sounded a little more shaky that time. Actually seeing his idol so distraught had him pretty distraught as well. The buzz was all over the village about what happened at Palette’s hut, and yet no one else was here to console Pal? How could they be so heartless to their star painter?
Finally, Spectrum had to say something. He couldn’t just leave Pal to his grief. “... I heard about miss Palette... I always thought she was really nice. I’m sorry that... well...”
“She’s gone.”
Pal abruptly finished the sentence himself, lifting his head from his arms to look down at Spectrum once more. His mind seemed to overflow with the worst of his thoughts, and he stood from his chair, grumbling down at the other Smeargle. “She’s gone! Dead! Never coming back! They made her suffer!” he yelled out, likely loud enough for other nearby dwellings to hear.
He couldn’t help himself. There was anger mixed in with the sadness, and it had to come out, somehow. Unfortunately, this left him with a rather frightened Spectrum, backed up against the wall of his hut. Upon seeing this, his expression immediately softened. Pal fell to his knees with a thud, now at eye-level with his visitor.
“I’m so sorry...” he apologized. His own voice was wavering, and he could feel tears welling up in his eyes. There was no excuse for what he just did. He couldn’t even look Spectrum in the face, focusing down at the floor instead. “I’m... angry, but not at you. It’s not fair...”
It was expected that Spectrum would leave after seeing him break down like this, practically to the point of sobbing. It would leave him to deal with this himself rather than inflict it on the poor little fellow. Instead, the younger Smeargle approached him, coaxing him to tilt his head up just in time to have those slender arms wrap around him in a hug, with Spectrum’s head resting on his shoulder.
That was something he didn’t expect. Sure, others had come, offered their condolences, and gone, but the first one who cared enough to stay would hug him even after an outburst like that. Pal’s arms clutched around the younger Smeargle in kind, hugging him close as he let the feelings out. Everything he held back while he was sitting there isolated seemed to wash out at once as he cried on the offered shoulder.
Minutes later, Pal pulled back with a sniffle, looking Spectrum right in the eye. He looked sad too. It pained him to feel that he caused that, to some degree. As a result, Pal actually managed a smile, which brought one to the younger Smeargle’s face as well. It was strange, how his spirits could be lifted, albeit not exactly healed, by not a single word.
Briefly wiping his eyes with the back of his ringed wrist, Pal stood himself up, looking down at Spectrum and placing a palm upon the beret-shaped top of his head. “I fear I still cannot paint for you, but... why don’t you paint for me?”
The younger Smeargle suddenly looked bashful, covering his own cheeks to hide any blush that may have ended up visible. “Oh... are you sure, mister Pal? I’m still not very good...”
With a sure nod, Pal returned to his seat, though he sat normally, rather than curling his knees up against himself as he did before. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he concluded. As he watched the other blue-tailed Smeargle approach his canvas, he couldn’t help but notice that his own smile had stayed, even if his grief was there too.
“Did I tell you about my new friend, mister Pal?” Spectrum asked as he picked up his tail, beginning to make strokes across the canvas in a hopeful attempt to make something that would please the artist he looked up to!
The older Smeargle simply shook his head. “Tell me all about it.”
Palette would probably never leave his mind, after all they’d done together, but having a kind-hearted visitor was certainly helpful in dealing with it. He found himself appreciating the visual warmth of his room, for the first time today.
The room was rather frigid when he awoke. This was somewhat puzzling; the door and windows had been firmly closed and locked the night before, of that he was sure. After all, what had happened to...her, well, it made him a bit uneasy to think that anyone could just barge into a room. So, it was always a priority at night to make sure no intruders had an easy time entering his tiny abode. Despite this, the room was much colder than it should have been. The weather from Tao had apparently invaded his room sometime in the past few hours.The windows were still shut. The door was shut. He slowly sat up, and then the draft blew over his back, causing him to shudder. The draft...
In the split second before Pal turned his head to look in the direction of the unwanted breeze, he contemplated a thousand ideas, mostly wondering the hows and whys of her death, wondering if he would meet the same fate, if the wind was a harbinger of his demise, if really it was just a fire that had taken her life, if--
Oh. A dirty Pokemon had found its way inside (by digging, no doubt, as there was, directly beside the poor creature, a pile of evidence heaped next to the gaping hole that went under his crude wall). It had fallen asleep. Pal relaxed his shoulders, exhaled softly. His heart was still fluttering from his brief moment of panic. Obviously, a Pokemon like this was much more a welcome sight than everything he had conjured up in that dreadful instant.
The dirty thing shifted in his sleep, and then Pal realized that what he’d mistaken for just part of its head was actually a skull. He recognized it as a Cubone, and then noticed its signature bone club was sticking out of the hole somewhat. It did strike him as odd that anyone would choose to enter a home--his home--this way without having any obvious purpose. Pal thought to himself that he certainly wouldn’t have chosen this small hut to break into; it wasn’t exactly luxirous compared to some residences in the area. So then... was it trying to escape the cold? Was it hungry? Neither of these questions seemed to fit.
Then he noticed the bow-tie that adorned the Cubone’s neck as it stirred further on the floor, still asleep. Then he noticed the gem in the middle of that little bow-tie. His mouth instantly went dry and his arms began to tremble slightly. He couldn’t quite place a finger on it, but something about that simple accessory was frightening. Maybe not the accessory itself, but...
Well, that had to be nonsense. He didn’t go into Tao Village that often, and if he’d seen this fellow around before, he wasn’t able to recall from where or when. It was time to see if his guest had any explanation for the missing chunk of his floor.
…
Well, that was the plan. It wouldn’t utter a word. Though, it continually tried to get Pal to leave via the new exit. He had nothing else to do, so he left through the front door. This seemed to be good enough for the Cubone, who, through message of frantic squeaks and arm waving, signaled Pal to follow through the snowy brush and toward the village.
It didn’t take long at all until they reached the frozen fountain, where lay resting the Merchants’ dragon that had brought with it sickness and an early winter. This wasn’t their goal, though. It walked right by the beast, turning to look back at Pal to make sure he was still following. And he was... until he was led behind the Merchants’ hut...
The Cubone turned back again, excited until he spotted the worn painter going right back the way he’d come. This was the wrong move on Pal’s behalf. A chorus of angry squeaks was a prelude to a tiny hand tugging on his tail, urging him back down the rejected path. He turned around slowly and met a determined gaze peering out from sockets of the over-sized skull.
Well, Pal knew inordinate stubbornness when he saw it. He had no energy left to argue, nor did he have much energy left for anything these days. It was a miracle the plague hadn’t hit him in his exhausted state.
While he was busy contemplating how much he might not have terribly minded if he’d fallen ill, the Cubone had taken to uncovering a hole. A very deep hole. Actually, it was more like a tunnel, from what he could see, peering into it. He could have considered the depth for quite some time further, but this train of thought was broken by his little guide jumping straight into the hole. While holding Pal’s tail.
The tumble down lasted longer than he would have liked, and he was certain that his tail splattered against his face and thigh and arms and whatever other body parts were strewn about during the fall. The landing was rough, but he was at least grateful that the tunnel wasn’t a straight drop-- it was kind of harsh and seemed like it would be somewhat difficult for him to climb back up, but he didn’t smack anything too hard. Well, that he could see. He couldn’t see much.
He felt the tiny paw grab a hold of his arm and knew he had to be led forward. Unlike his guide’s eyes, his own weren’t quite adept enough to see around with the dismal amount of light that managed to make its way down the tunnel drop. Besides that, they were quickly leaving behind what pitiful light that there was, and in that time he became completely reliant on the Cubone, whose pace increased dramatically with each passing moment.
And so he ran as fast as he could, keeping up with the tugging at his arm as best he was able, tail occasionally bumping off the dirt as he ran, most definitely leaving behind blue splotches of paint he’d never get to see, but that regardless left a trace of his presence. It kind of worried him to leave behind markings he didn’t deliberately place, but suddenly it didn’t matter. No, it didn’t matter at all, because he heard, somewhere still further in the pitch-black cavern, a voice, and he thought that that moment he could yelp, but he did not.
Instead, he kept running, and then wasn’t seen again by anyone for a long time. No one noticed. Or, that he could think of, anyway. He was gone.
