The silver grass stretched far and wide, shimmering under golden clouds that hung low like a ceiling spun with ochre threads. The world sparkled as if trapped inside a crystal ball, and the all-powerful eyes above looked down, amused, divining the future of all. Far below, the insects swarmed – white, black, and every colour in between. They tore at the grass, ripped it apart until the hills, once alive with light, became brown and bare, as though they were digging graves for the world they were meant to protect. To the insects, it was beautiful. It was all they had ever known and all they thought they could ever be.
But then came the storms. The skies opened; the winds would rise, scouring the land and cleansing it in violent gusts. The grasslands would grow again, untouched for a time. And then the insects would return, those who had not seen the first reckoning, who had not learned. They burrowed deeper, ignorant of what lay above, of the forces that could tear their world apart if they weren't careful.
This time, though, the higher powers looked away. They let the land wither. They allowed the fields of silver to die and, in their place, mud huts to rise, spreading across the earth like some fevered rash. And when the storms came again, the huts fell, and the cycle began anew. But the insects never learned. They saw themselves as a true power against nature, believing they held sway over the land and the sky, ignorant of the true powers that governed them.
Each time, they were punished for their arrogance.
And now, it seemed, even the old powers had grown weary. The skies no longer watched over the earth. The insects had grown fat and powerful, building towers of steel while filling the air with the roar of machines. They poisoned the land they crawled over, their eyes ever toward the golden clouds they, previously, could never touch. And each time the earth shook – whether by storm or flood – the insects persisted. Arrogant creatures. They built monstrous things, structures so vast that even nature could no longer destroy them, at least without taking physical form.
The land continued to wither, and with them, the sky grew dim. Shadows danced across the earth where golden light had shone, the insects still wriggling beneath. Too proud, too sure of themselves, they walked through sodden earth meant only for Pokémon. And one by one, they drowned.
Red-walled buildings rose on stunted trees, scarred and misshapen from the forests. The insects thought they had mastered the land, but in their arrogance, they invited the wrath of native Pokémon. Instead of listening to the wisdom of the world’s ancient creatures, the insects turned to violence, devouring flesh that was sacred and desecrating what they did not understand.
And so, the predators soon became the prey. They pointed fingers at the world, unwilling to see the blame within themselves. No eyes turned inward. Only outward. And so, the old powers stirred once more, casting judgment from what remained of the golden sky. The world wept, great tears of molten gold fell as large as villages. Trees awoke from their slumber, their hateful spirits tearing through the insects' homes, trapping what souls they could within their bark. The lesson was clear: pain, suffering – this was what the insects had sown.
The cycle continued, unbroken.
Red jolted upright, gasping for breath. Thunder cracked overhead, the sound rolling through the sky like a war drum. Lightning, bright as a blade, split the sky into shards of turquoise, branching out before vanishing into a thick wall of steam. Rain lashed at his window, so fiercely it seemed as though the sky itself was trying to force its way inside, desperate to escape its own fury. It was relentless. Blue and silver droplets raced down the glass, weeping as Red stared into them. He half-wondered whether he should start crying too.
Then came another roar of the war drum, closer this time. The bedframe rattled beneath him, shaking so violently he felt his body lift before crashing back down onto the creaking springs. More flashes of light followed; a searing orange made the entire sky burn for a moment, bright as day, before darkness fell again.
Red blinked, still half-dazed, casting his eyes around his room.
The remnants of his incense candles lay shattered on the floor. Pools of thick amber wax spread from them like blood, sifting through the shards as if in search of treasure. His nightstand, precarious as ever, leant against his radiator, three thick tomes and a box of mints stacked on top. But his dresser hadn't fared so well – it was flat on the ground, upturned in the chaos. Photo frames lay scattered, their pictures spinning in the winds that whipped through the cracks in the walls.
His trophies – one for sprinting and another for swimming – had slid out from under his bed, their dull bronze surfaces glinting weakly against the skirting boards. An old board game scraped against the nightstand, threatening to send everything toppling at any moment. Its name was too blurry for him to make out.
Red didn't dare glance toward his television. That was a lost cause. If the storm hadn’t claimed it, he was certain the wind would soon tear it away. No storm had ever managed to force its way into his room before, but something about this one felt different. It felt personal, as though some unseen force was sending a message he wasn’t quite ready to hear. It reminded him of his dream.
Roughshore Point, an uncomfortable land east of Pallet Town, was no stranger to storms. They crashed down upon it day after day, night after night, with a fury that never seemed to relent. Red often wished his mother had moved them inland, to one of the larger cities – Saffron, perhaps, or Viridian. But she’d stayed, and so had he.
With each passing day, his hearing worsened. A dark part of him blamed his mother for it. The constant thunderclaps drilled into his skull until his jaw ached, needles of pain stabbing deep into the night. He’d long since given up on painkillers, which were too expensive for the folk of Roughshore Point. Pallet Town and Starly Point to the west were far better off. They could sleep easy, their ears spared from the storms' relentless rage. Red couldn't help but envy them. They’d never know the fear of waking one morning and realising they could no longer hear the sound of their own voice... or finding themselves adrift at sea, bobbing aimlessly while pelted with sleet.
Red often strained to hear his mother’s voice, her words slipping away like echoes in a cave. He nodded when he couldn’t understand and shook his head when he felt the weight of her gaze, but it hurt. Her sad eyes made it worse, always thinking he was angry – angry at her. The truth was different. He loved her with everything he had, but telling her that knowing she had kept them in a storm-ridden hell was challenging.
On her birthday, he remembered to write how much he loved her. That always made her day.
He rubbed his eyes, yawning as the cold night air nipped at his skin. Sleep wasn’t coming back, not tonight. His ears howled in pain, and no one would ever know just how bad it got. He was almost a man now, and that meant carrying pain without complaint. It was said those born in Roughshore Point aged quicker than anywhere else; it was hard for him to find a reason to doubt the saying.
A figure was sitting on the windowsill, rain soaking her thick black hair, the wind whipping it around her face. Red froze. The girl held a silver lighter in one hand, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag with the other. She didn’t move, except to slowly turn her head when she heard him stir.
Red leapt from his bed, legs trembling. “Get out,” he growled, fumbling for something, anything, to use as a weapon. “Get out, before I kill you!”
She kicked off the windowsill with lazy steps, moving toward him. Lightning flashed, and for a moment, her face lit up. His anger softened, though frustration stayed in its place.
“Leaf,” he hissed, exasperated. “What in the hell are you doing here? It’s late, I – damn, I don’t even know the time! You’re drenched!”
“Mornin’, Red,” Leaf called out, her voice loud and thick, her accent biting as she wrung her soaked hair over his floor. The cigarette hung from her lips, smoke curling upward. Then her eyes drifted lower, and she smirked. “Mornin’ ta ye too, Sir.”
His face burned. He grabbed a slipper and threw it at her. It smacked her square in the face, knocking her cigarette down her throat. She tumbled back out the window, arms flailing. She caught the drapes, clinging on in a panic. Red yanked her back inside, but there wasn’t a hint of guilt in him.
“Y’fuckin’ twat!” Leaf spat, coughing up the cigarette. “Tryin’ ta kill me now, Red Fletcher?” She punched his leg, hard enough to make him yelp. “Serves ye right, y’bastard. Here’s me, thinkin’ I might get a hug at least, an’ what do ye do?” She waved her arms in mock outrage. “Y’try an’ toss me out the bloody window! Rattata-brained, ye are. Shoulda crawled through ye mam’s window, safer that way.”
“You blame me?” Red grumbled, rubbing his leg. “Are you daft? I’ve scraped more sense out of pumpkins than you.”
Of all the people to call a friend, Red thought bitterly, I get stuck with her. Leaf, the girl who’d scale the side of a house in a storm and watch him sleep from his window sill. He helped her up, stepping back to avoid another punch, then went to his drawers for some clothes.
Leaf stood by the window, dripping wet, her ratty green bonnet plastered to her head, her shirt and trousers sticking to her like sticky notes. She was his age now, not much different in build – slim, wiry, with long, soaked hair sticking to her like a drowned Teddiursa. Her emerald eyes gleamed under dark, arched brows, and her cheekbones flushed with a faint, permanent redness she always complained about. Her shoes were caked in mud, so much so that Red doubted they could ever be cleaned. He frowned. Why had she come all the way here, four miles from Pallet Town, in a storm like this?
“Y’up fer some ship spottin’?” she asked gravelly.
“Ship spotting… in this weather?” Red gave her a bewildered look, glancing at the storm raging outside. But Leaf was determined, and before he knew it, he was getting dressed, following her out into the howling wind.
They slipped out his window, climbing down the rain-slick wooden panels. Red hated how close his room was to the cliffs. It would take one misstep, and he’d be done for. But Leaf, as always, seemed unbothered by the danger. When her grip faltered, he grabbed her arm, pulling her up as the wind tried to tear them both off the wall.
They jumped the fence surrounding his garden and darted under the old shed that barely stood upright anymore. The weeds grabbed at his ankles, and he stumbled, landing flat in the mud as Leaf collapsed on top of him with a grunt.
“Playin’ games, Fletcher?” Leaf muttered, half-laughing as she rolled off him.
“I really ought to deal with those weeds,” Red grumbled, sitting up and trying to shake the mud from his clothes.
Leaf just laughed again, lighting another cigarette. She must have filched a pack from work, he thought.
“Great. Now my mum’s going to think I smoke,” Red muttered.
“Dunna care,” Leaf shot back. “I smoke when I wanna. Stress’n tha’.”
She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, pulling hard enough that Red had to stop her when a few strands of it started to fall out. They sat in silence for a while, the storm’s roar muted by the shed’s thin walls. Lightning cracked overhead, and Red felt his hair stand on end. Leaf handed him something small – a four-leaf clover.
“Luck?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Nah, ye the lucky one,” she said, her voice softer now. “Found it near Pallet Town. Oaky ain’t gonna be happy, but it dunna matter.”
Red chuckled, twirling the clover in his fingers. Leaf looked at him, aghast.
“Oi! Careful with tha’, ye git!” she snapped. “Break it, an’ I’ll make ya pay fer it, Fletcher.”
Red grinned. “Why would I pay for a gift, you idiot?”
Leaf scowled, but there was no real heat in it. Something flashed in her eyes... He could see it now, in the way her eyes seemed distant. She was worried.
“Why are you really here, Leaf?” Red asked, more serious now. “You're never awake so early. Look at you! You're soaked through to the bone…”
Leaf looked away, taking a long drag before answering. “Can’t stay home, Fletcher. Ye know why.”
He did. Her mother was ill, worse every time Leaf mentioned it. She never went into detail, but Red knew enough to understand why she never wanted to be there. Seeing Leaf so beaten down worried him. He wanted to help, but what could he do?
“How’s she doing?” Red asked quietly.
“Bad,” Leaf whispered, shivering. “We gotta get outta here, Red. Sooner the better. Ain’t nothin’ left here fer me… ‘cept ye.”
They talked for a bit, Leaf telling him about strange dreams and nightmares of bones falling from the sky, crushing the earth. Red tried to comfort her, but when he shared his own dream, the one with silver grass and golden skies, Leaf’s reaction startled him.
“I had tha’ dream!” she said, eyes wide. “Only I was one o’ the ones down below, drownin’ in the blue air… looked like air, anyhow.”
“I woke up before I saw what happened next. How could we share a dream? Is that even possible?”
Leaf looked troubled, more than he’d ever seen her. “We cursed, Fletcher?”
“Maybe,” Red muttered, grim. “But if we are, I’d rather face it alone and not rope you into my mess.”
The storm faded away after half an hour. They stepped out into a world that looked untouched by rain; even the air was clean, with the only dampness coming from both himself and Leaf.
They moved southeast, deeper into the heart of uneven ground and terrible pathways. Daybreak’s Tears had begun to fall, cherry-red rains that ate through the skies and melted anything they touched. Overhead, the ammonia-laden clouds swirled, the ranches on the far eastern cliffs teetering near the edge as if to escape them. When those tears came, it was a sign – time to wake up, drag the weary from their beds, and get to work, though not before the tolling of the bells.
Leaf had seen the rain too. She looked down at her muddied shoes, frustration plain on her face. Red hurried her along, eager to keep her spirits up before he had to head home. He didn’t know how she'd manage it – getting to Pallet Town, drying off, and being ready for work in the next few hours. But he didn’t say that aloud. She needed her job more than she needed rest, however, a selfish part of him wanted to steal a few more moments with her. Just for now.
As they climbed Killspot Tall, abandoned bushel baskets were scattered around them, half-buried in the mud. The cursed farmhouse of Daryl Swarm stood crooked at the base of the hill, sinking deeper into the grey trench with each passing year. Daryl had been dead for twenty-four years, and not a soul from the headland had dared claim his land. The way he’d died had rattled folks, and the tale Red’s mother had told him since he was a babe kept him far away from it.
Leaf circled the property, smirking. “Believin’ them ol’ stories, Fletcher?”
“I’m not scared,” Red puffed out his chest, though his heart was already hammering. “Even if there was a ghost in there, it wouldn’t be Daryl. Couldn’t be.”
“Ye said his name, ye twat!” Leaf hissed, her eyes widening. “Now he’s gonna wake, ye bloody fool.”
Goosebumps prickled up Red’s arms. Ghost Pokémon had always been feared, he thought, and with the opening of the borders, who knew what kind of new horrors had slipped into Indigo? Red felt his legs tremble.
“Leaf,” he gulped, trying to stay calm. “Maybe… we should just watch from up here. No need to go further south, right?” His voice cracked, betraying him. “Not that I’m scared or anything… Just, y’know, thinking of your dignity.”
“Wha’?” she barked.
He raised a finger to his lips, shushing her. Leaf’s cheeks burned bright red with fury.
“Digni-wha’? I canna even say it!”
Red smiled, though he barely caught a word of what she said. Before he could reply, she turned and stomped straight toward Daryl’s farmhouse. He heard the soil breathing beneath her shoes, the sound carrying in the stillness of the hilltop.
Leaf, he thought, not unkindly, why would someone like you care about dignity when you’ve got that fire in your belly?
“We could always turn back…” he offered half-heartedly.
“Pussy.”
His blood ran hot. “Don’t call me that.”
“Pussy,” she repeated, grinning wickedly before darting off into the thick grass.
Red’s heart thudded as he chased after her, leaping over the decayed wooden fences that surrounded Daryl’s property. The fear was still there, but so was the thrill. He vaulted over another fence, but this time landed knee-deep in grey, foul-smelling muck. Of course, Leaf had dodged it with ease. She hadn’t even warned him.
Ghostly sounds drifted from an old Torchic coop nearby, making Red suck in a shaky breath. The scent of decay mingled with the sharper, burnt musk of Ponyta from the ranches to the south, like ozone after a storm. Red found it almost comforting. He rarely saw the sunrise anymore, but any warmth, even from Pokémon, was better than none.
Then he heard a dull whump from the hill ahead. Leaf had found an old haybale and was rolling it toward him, grinning like a madwoman. She let it go, cackling as it picked up speed, barrelling toward him. Red’s eyes widened in horror as it smashed into the dilapidated walls of Daryl’s home.
The impact triggered a spray of rusted, ancient sprinklers, and Red’s breath caught as more of them activated, weeping in strange, rhythmic bursts. He froze as something cold and clumpy brushed against the back of his neck – a hand, grey and mottled, its scabbed fingers nearly burning his skin. He stumbled back, watching in terror as crimson blisters formed at the tips of Daryl’s fingers. Silver eyes gleamed in the darkness, just out of reach.
“I… I’m sorry!” he gasped, knees shaking. But the figure was gone, vanishing as quickly as it had come. The sprinklers fell silent, leaving Red alone in the eerie stillness. “I’m so, so sorry…”
He turned. Leaf was nowhere to be seen. In the distance, he caught a glimpse of her standing on an old wagon, waving her ratty green bonnet at him. She was laughing, he could tell, but he wasn’t.
Red picked his way through the farm’s remains, climbing over old tractors that lay like forgotten soldiers. He stopped to look over his shoulder every so often. The rusted, broken-down machines were caked in mud, their wheels stripped bare, the smell of engine grease in the air. He paused at one tractor, his eyes catching on a jagged metal rod that had pierced the windshield like a lance. A dried stain marred the seat inside, and Red felt a chill creep up his spine.
Was Daryl murdered? He shook the thought off, but the sight of the rod’s rusted teeth made him shudder. Dying on the other end of such a weapon was a cursed man’s fate, to be certain.
Red spotted Leaf waiting by the grain silo, her impatience written across her face as clear as day. Her expressions shifted with each mood like a Kecleon changing colours – flushed red with irritation, then a quick pink flare when her patience faded.
There had been two silos once but the storm last winter had torn the first one apart, tossing it into the sea like driftwood. Now the second one stood alone, leaning slightly, its rusted surface giving it the look of some old drunk swaying on the edge of collapse.
“Y'comin' or na?” Leaf wheedled. “Ships er comin’. Keep me waitin', an' I'll throw ye straight in the water.”
Red smirked, walking toward her with lazy confidence, though something in him still raged at her. “Oh, yeah? You know you just made some ghost think I rolled a haybale into his house?” He grabbed her shoulders and shook them, making her head bounce. “You idiot, Leaf! What if he follows me home? What will my mother say?”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Yer cursed already, fool. Told ya that.”
Red threw up his hands, not trying to hide his frustration. “How can you – how could you – what the hell, Leaf?”
She thumped his arm playfully, though the hit landed hard enough to make his arm go numb. He forced a smile, though it took a second for the feeling to come back.
As they walked, they made a game of messing with the scarecrows dotting the fields, spooking Murkrow from the last rows of wheat before the coast. Leaf took to drawing crude faces on the straw men while Red clambered on top of one, letting the floppy hats brush against his ears. Pidove flitted overhead, feathers falling into his hair and Leaf’s ratty bonnet like autumn leaves.
The low rumble of several ships’ horns rattled through Red’s chest as they reached the coast, the sound blending with the hum in his ears. For a moment, it felt like the dead tractors were alive again. Red couldn’t shake the image of a ghostly hand on a steering wheel, silver eyes fixed on him, waiting for the right moment to run him down.
They reached the cliffs at last, settling on the four-pointed slab of stone that jutted out dangerously close to the edge. There was a worn-down bench circling the stone, with two rusted telescopes facing east, set to pivot from north to south. Red, always wary of heights, inched away from the edge, but Leaf moved closer.
“How many can you see?” he asked, his stomach doing flips as he tried to ignore the dizzying drop below. “And why do we do this to ourselves?”
Leaf’s first reply was lost to the crashing waves. He leaned in, asking her to repeat herself.
“I said four, ye deaf prick,” she snapped, “an’ we do it 'cause it's fun.”
Red frowned. Four ships. That was strange. There were usually nine small fishing vessels with their white flags bobbing harmlessly out at sea. He’d grown used to the routine, watching as the sea-faring Pokémon drove off any strange boats that dared to venture near the coast. If the Pokémon failed, the Fizzing Pools to the south – the boiling, steaming waters – would make quick work of any intruders.
He shifted his gaze north, toward Celadon Bay. There were thousands of bright towels blanketing the sand in a sea of colours – pinks, apricots, and reds blending together in waves. Tangerine umbrellas lined the shore, casting shadows over the creamy white sand. It was all perfect and peaceful. The rock pools to the far side of the beach offered some distraction for the families, but Red still didn’t understand why anyone would want to fish for Feebas in those dirty waters. Even Krabby were pretty compared to them.
He could almost smell the coconut-scented sunscreen and overpriced hotdogs from where he sat.
A hundred beach balls lay still, untouched by any breeze. The sight unnerved him in a strange mix of anger and sadness. Part of him wanted to tear through the beach in the afternoon, driving the crowd into the sea to face what he did every day.
His gaze wandered, finding the bodies still hanging from the old pier, their corpses rotting in the sun. Thieves, rapists – dregs of society left as warnings, half-eaten by the tide. Leaf had laughed when they first saw the bodies, pointing out the signs listing their crimes and mocking the mutilated remains with a grim smile. It had been Leaf who dragged him out to see his first human corpse – a child-killer, melted to the side of an old water tank. The police hadn’t bothered to remove or investigate the corpse. Red thought that was cruel. The woman deserved, despite her crimes, to be laid to rest. Leaf thought otherwise.
Red had been sick for days afterwards. He had never fully recovered from the shock. Leaf had apologised in her own awkward way, but the memory still stung.
A spray of saltwater hit his face. He wiped it away, edging further around the bench. The wind was picking up already – he wasn’t about to lose his eyesight as well as his hearing.
“Four container ships,” Red muttered under his breath, staring through the telescope.
“Four,” Leaf repeated, her voice a little more serious now. “Ain't tha’ strange? I got a bad feelin’ ‘bout ‘em.”
Red peered through the lens again, focusing on the distant vessels. They were massive, towering over the water like beasts of iron, their hulking shapes built to withstand more than just the waves. He swallowed hard, unease creeping in. They were floating fortresses.
Orange spots swam in Red’s vision as the searchlights from the ships struck the lens of his telescope, blinding him. He blinked hard, shaking his head.
“What do they think they’re doing?” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Trying to blind us?”
Leaf didn’t even hear him. She was already on her feet, waving her hat like a madwoman. “O’er ‘ere! Give us a honk, fellas!” she shouted, her voice full of wild cheer.
Red cringed but couldn’t help but smile as the ships actually answered her, one by one. Their horns blared out into the quiet dawn, echoing off the cliffs. Before he knew it, she’d grabbed his arm and hauled him up, making him wave too. He felt the heat rising in his face. It wasn’t so bad once the ship closest to shore gave them a final, long blast of its horn.
That’s when he saw the stretch of Route Seventeen, Heaven’s Crest. The thin, dark ribbon of sea stretched out, weaving through the waves all times every day. It was the path all vessels followed until they reached the Pallet Shield. Red’s eyes lingered on the towering cliffs in the distance. Their chalk-white walls stood tall and sharp, jagged as broken glass, with Pincurchin clinging to the rocks near the base, turning the stone an eerie yellow as they crackled with electricity. No ship dared get too close to that mess.
His gaze dropped to the waters between the Shield and Roughshore Point. Even from up here, he could see the wrecks. Battered hulls, shattered masts, remnants of ships unlucky enough to find themselves too close to the deadly strait. His chest tightened. He imagined the fear those sailors must’ve felt as the waves tore their boats apart, stranding them for death's hands alone.
Leaf stood beside him, her hat clenched in one hand, pointing down at the wreckage. “Sad, tha’,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “Dyin’ in the water... can’t imagine a worse way ta go. Reckon they saw it comin’?”
Red frowned. “Against waves like that? No. But... look at those marks, just beyond the wreck. There – see them? Suction cup marks. Huge ones. Curling up like...” His voice faltered. “I think they had more to fear than waves...”
“...Tentacles?” Leaf whispered.
He met her gaze, feeling the same fear creep into his bones. “No way,” he said, shaking his head. “Not this far north. They hate these waters. Too shallow, too rough. And even if they got this close, the Fizzing Pools would’ve dealt with them.”
But Leaf wasn’t convinced. She bit her lip, leaning over the cliff’s edge for a closer look, her bonnet clutched to her chest like a talisman. “Dunno, Red. Look at those marks. Must’ve been somethin’ huge. Remember when I said I dreamt o’ drownin’ in blue air?”
“Dreams don’t mean much. If they did, we’d be rich by now. The full might of Kanto, Indigo, whatever they’re calling it these days, wouldn’t stand a chance against us.”
“Unity is strength, an’ strength is –”
“Unity,” Red finished, rolling his eyes. “That line’s driving me mad. I’d take nightmares over listening to that tripe again.”
He looked back to the ships as they neared the Pallet Shield, veering sharply to starboard, running parallel to the cliffs. Up on deck, hundreds of tiny lights flashed from the hands of the crew. It took Red a second to realize they were electric devices, lighting up the dark like fireflies. Envy flared hot in his chest. He’d been saving for months, hoping to find one on sale at Starly Point. Now, seeing them all around, he wanted one more than ever.
“What d’ya think o’ that, huh?” Leaf said, eyes narrowing at the sight. “Blinkin’ lights, nasty things. Can’t say why folk want ‘em so bad. We’ll be campin’ soon enough anyway. All o’ us.” She looked uneasy at the thought. “Don’t fancy ‘ose smooth-faced city folk comin’ to Kanto, do ye?”
“I wouldn’t camp with anyone from Starly Point,” Red muttered bitterly, “let alone anyone else.”
Leaf went quiet after that, her fingers nervously twisting her bonnet. She was trembling. Normally, she’d say something – anything. But not now. She’s afraid, he thought suddenly. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. You’re not supposed to be afraid. You’re the one who laughs at dead men, stares down bloody battles like they’re entertainment, and now you’re scared of camping? What’s happened to you? Be brave again... please.
A splash of movement below caught his eye, pulling him from his thoughts. Shapes broke the surface of the water. He gasped, leaning over the edge to get a better look.
Leaf was already on it, her face lighting up with excitement. “Oh – ma – days! Look, Red! It’s ‘em Lapras! Right down there!”
Sure enough, the graceful Pokémon swam in formation around the wrecks, their sleek bodies moving through the water with a kind of calm elegance. He’d learned to tell them apart by the patterns on their shells – some curled to match the delicate spirals of their ears, others were marked randomly by the icy caves deep beneath Pallet Town.
The lead Lapras broke from the group, floating toward the first container ship, letting out a soft, melodic cry. The others followed suit, guiding the ships along the shallows toward Vermillion Harbor, their heads swivelling to check for Sharpedo or other threats lurking beneath the waves.
But Red’s eyes drifted back to the wrecks and then to the cliff's scars. He didn’t feel comfortable. If whatever made those marks were still out there, watching, waiting, the Lapras might not stand a chance. No one would, not against something like that.
A cool mist, faint but crisp, drifted up from the sea, surrounding the Lapras like a veil. Red felt it brush his face even from where he stood, the air crisp and cold, as if winter itself had crept into the morning. He half-expected snow to start falling, the sky growing frigid, though nothing came. Still, there was a shift in the atmosphere – one only Lapras could bring.
It had been years since Red had seen snow. He remembered the feel of it in his hands, wet and cold, and the way Leaf had slid on that patch of black ice, yelping in surprise. He’d spotted minutes earlier, hadn’t said a word, and laughed to himself when she ran towards him with snow clutched in her fists. She had skated into three elderly women like a bowling ball. It was one of his better memories.
“…whatcha think?” Leaf’s voice broke through his thoughts.
He nodded absentmindedly, not really following.
“Thou’ so!” she grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “I knew y’hadda crush on lil’ Veira. I’ll tell her later. Who thought you were into a sly mix like her?”
“What?!” Red shot to his feet, face burning. “No, you will not! I don’t even know her that well – I’m not in love with her or anything – who even told you that –?”
Leaf burst into laughter, hugging her sides. Red felt the immediate urge to throw her off the cliff.
“Next time listen ta me, Fletcher,” she said between fits of laughter, wiping her eyes. “I wonna say it twice. ‘Em Lapras, they’re on thin ice – look at ‘em, floatin’ ‘round that spot by the landslip. If that hunta’s near, they’re gonners.”
“Professor Oak trained them himself. They’re meant to keep us safe. We don’t have anything to worry about, accidents happen here and there all the time!” He tried to sound confident. I’m not giving you the satisfaction of being right.
Leaf scoffed. “ ‘Ere and there he says, but ‘ere and there’s gonna be nowhere if tha’ sucka keeps comin’ back.”
Red froze. Keeps coming back? Had she seen those marks before, acting all surprised earlier just to play him? He wouldn’t put it past her. She had a knack for dragging him into trouble just to see how he'd react. He couldn’t help but admire her for it, even if it drove him insane.
His eyes drifted southwest, beyond the Pallet Greens. The rocks there seemed to crumble before his eyes, cliffs diving lower into the sea. Cracks split the chalk, small caves nibbling at the base like hungry mouths. It was only a matter of time before it all collapsed. The locals called it the Tip of Hell, a treacherous place people avoided unless they were daring enough to try the Chalk Reach – a treacherous seaway, riddled with pirates and other dangers, eventually feeding into the Cinnabar Steamway. The Steamway’s true name was known as Route Twenty-One, where thick plumes from white smokers turned the sea into a rolling cloud of thick smoke.
The Nestlecut loomed in the southeast. It was a jagged ruin of stone, once proud and monstrous, now nought but the bones of a castle long claimed by the hungry sea. The black rock, slick with brine, jutted out like hellish picket fences, catching what light it could to warn off sailors – though many a fool had tried their luck. None dared anchor there anymore. Those who did found themselves broken and torn beneath the waves, joining the cold and silent wrecks of the Moored Graveyard, a stretch far east of the only passage the Nestlecut offered.
“Wonderin’ somethin’?” Leaf asked, startling him out of his thoughts.
Red nearly jumped out of his skin. He’d forgotten she was there. “The Cinnabar Steamway... how long’s it been since we last saw it?”
“Month’n half?” Leaf propped herself on her elbows, chewing her lip. “Nah, more like three’n a quarter. Good thing too – I ain’t goin’ back there till I’ve got some Pokés saved up. You oughta do the same, Fletcher, or you’ll be fucked.”
“Boats cross all the time.”
“Boats sink all the damned time, too.” Leaf gave him a hard look. “When’s the last time you saw boats comin’ back from that cloudy sea? Not goin’, but comin’?”
“Never... not once. Maybe Cinnabar’s just a nice place? Plenty to see, an active volcano and all.”
“Love me some pollution,” Leaf smirked, blowing a puff of smoke into his face. He swatted at the cloud.
“There ya go, Cinnabar Steamway right ‘ere, on land. ‘Way from the –” Her words trailed off, lost in the ringing in his ears. She tossed him her cigarette, shaking out her hair with one hand, completely unbothered by his confusion.
“What are you doing?” Red asked.
“Fixin’ ma hair, ya prick.” She laughed. “Lend us an eye, will ya?”
Before Red could respond, he tried to step back and stumbled, falling right off the rock. His body flipped, and his head hit the bench with a sickening crack. Pain exploded through his skull, stars swimming in his vision. He blinked, but his sight only worsened. Leaf loomed over him, her face multiplying until she had six heads and her hair twisted into a Tangela.
Olive-green suns glared down at him, burning brighter and closer with every blink. He tried to whisper a prayer, but the words were lost in the haze of colours swirling in front of him. His mind drifted to a darker place – a place where Leaf had no eyes, and her long, thin arms reached out for him. He tried to stand, but something sharp and golden held him down.
Then came the voices, singing:
Come here, boy, don’t be afraid,
We’ve waited long in the silent shade.
Our arms are long, our fingers thin,
To reach you, love, to pull you in.
Come closer still; come closer yet,
Don’t struggle now, don’t fret, don’t fret.
Just let us feel those eyes so wide –
We’ll stroke your lids till they go blind.
We mean no harm, just want to share
The light we lost, so sweet and rare.
We’ll cradle you, so safe, so tight,
Till dark is all, and gone is sight.
He tried to fight it, but it was no use. The song drowned him in shadows, pulling him deeper into the dark. Eyeless things crawled closer, begging for his sight, clawing at him with cold fingers. They gripped him with such terrible strength he screamed. He could feel his brain trickling down his cheeks, followed by laughter... his laughter.
i’M HAPPY SOOO HAPPPY it’s GOOD GOOD YES this is good this is NICE yes soft n sweet like honey drippin’ drippin drippin... NO NO NO IT HURTS IT HURTS too much too MUCH somethin’s wrong wroNG WROOONG WRONG they’re EATING me ohgod ohGOD THEY’RE EATIN ME i feeeeeel it FEEL IT FEELIT tiny tEETH bItIn n cHewIN inside my HEAD TICK TICK TICK CARVING CARVING BIT BY BIT PIECING ME APART i’m dyin oh GOD i’m dying. they’re laughing NOW LAUGHING don’t you HEAR them HEAR THEM?? little tiny voices clawin n scratchin in my BLOOD in my BONES eating ME LAUGHIN LAUGHIN LAUGHIN OHHGOD now i’m laughin too HAHAHA it’s funnY SO FUNNY CAN’T YOU SEE?? all of us here ALL OF US all their voices SCREAMIN all their laughing LAUGHIN LAUGHIN LAUGHIN.
Suddenly, light cut through the fog – bright, blinding. Red screamed, feeling fingers in his hair, nails digging into his scalp. He shuddered, fear gripping his chest, suffocating him. The fire was there too, green and burning, staring him down. He wanted to escape, to flee, but there was nowhere to go.
“Red, y’ok?” said Leaf.
He swore he had a dream... something terrifying, but it was gone now. He wished for it to come back, for how awful could a dream be to be forgotten so soon?
He could have kissed her then and there. He blinked, groaning as he sat up. “My head... that hurt pretty bad. Am I bleeding?”
Something hit him square in the nose. He yelped, feeling warm blood trickle down his face. His hand shot to his nose, pain spreading like wildfire. Leaf was watching him, her expression somewhere between amusement and guilt and terror.
“Didn’ mean ta hit ya that hard. But crawlin’ away like I’m some plague... that hurt ma feelin’s. An’ then yer eyes started actin’ all off. Ye scared me.”
Red glared at her through the blood and the pain. Of course it was Leaf. Who else would punch him?
She was still sitting on the rock, hands in her lap, her eyes wide and watching him closely.
“You’re bleeding only one way, Fletcher,” she said softly.
Red swatted her hand away when she tried to help, though she didn’t seem to mind. After a moment, he helped himself back up to the bench. Leaf was silent, staring down at her own hands now, her knuckles raw and red from where she’d struck him.
“Here,” Red muttered, his fingers brushing her shoulder, motioning for Leaf to turn. He wrestled with her hair, clumsy and unsure, trying to twist it into something embarrassing; tears pricked his eyes. After a few tangled knots and half-hearted attempts, he gave in to frustration and tied a simple ponytail. Three tries, and it still looked off-kilter. Fashion had never been Red’s strong suit – he preferred hiding beneath his old, worn cap, head down, eyes on the ground, avoiding anything that demanded attention.
“Thanks...” Leaf shot him a grin, her teeth bright in the morning light.
They stood together, watching as the container ships drifted lazily into Vermillion Harbour. Leaf’s voice filled his mind, painting pictures of distant sails and the shapes of Lapras breaking through the water. But then, something changed. The sea below them darkened, its surface turning a deep, blood-rich rufescent, like the aftermath of a ghostly slaughter, before the water reflected the sky’s bruised, stormy hue.
“Ay, Red,” Leaf’s voice cut through the uneasy quiet, casual but weighted. “Reckon tha’ Pokémon with them markin’s an’ whatnot’s out there? Near Moored Graveyard, or maybe further?”
Red turned, slow as stone, the brittle curl of a smile barely touching his lips. His voice, low and tight, tried for calm. “Far out at sea, I’d bet. Won’t bother us.” He stepped closer to her, each movement quiet and deliberate.
“‘Cus I’ve got a feelin’, y’know,” she muttered, “ ‘Tha’ thing’s smart, aye? Might be lookin’ to lure in the livin’. Who’s to say, Fletcher, tha’ it ain’t still down there, watchin’, waitin’... blendin' in like –”
The cliffs shifted in a grotesque, living spasm before Red's eyes. The solid rock face split and peeled away, the stone crumbling as though it were brittle skin, revealing beneath it thick, oozing flesh the colour of blood. It slammed into the cliffside, the force sending Red onto his backside. Another blow, then another – the cliffside heaved with a rhythm as steady as a heartbeat, each pulse exposing countless limbs thrashing wildly.
Leaf pulled him away, yelling they should crawl on all fours. “I fuckin’ knew it, Fletchy, I knew tha’ it was down there!”
“Kind of you to mention that after the fact,” he bit out, the taste of dirt and salt on his tongue. His hands were smeared with cold, wet mud. “We should get out of here before we end up like those poor sailors out at sea.”
----------------------------------------
The sun crept higher now, a pale streak of gold against the brooding horizon. Every inch of Red screamed to run, to sprint until he couldn’t breathe. He’d make it home, but that wasn’t what made him sick to the stomach. Leaf had sworn to keep quiet about the attack to the Professor; it didn't make him any less terrified. Things couldn't go wrong now... they just couldn't. They had spent a good hour arguing the species of the Pokémon that attacked them; Professor Oak was mentioned far too often for Red's liking.
The Professor was always working, busy beyond reason. He barely had time for a nod in Red’s direction when he passed by the lab in the mornings. But if Red disturbed him now, with tales of nearly getting himself and Leaf nearly killed, all for the foolishness of ship spotting, all without telling his mother... He didn't dare imagine the old man's disappointment.
His mother would kill him before the wild Pokémon ever got the chance. And that, somehow, brought him an odd sense of peace. The further he walked from the cliffs, the slower his heart raced. He started thinking about how to excuse his lateness, how he’d sneak back in through the window. Not that he could manage it in clear weather, let alone now.
“Yer a worrier,” Leaf teased, her voice light, unworried.
“Warrior,” he corrected, casting her a sidelong glance.
“Aye, ye worry. Ye wet yeself earlier, din’t ya? We coulda died... dragged under by somethin’ large enough to flatten Roughshore Point...”
She blinked slowly, her lashes heavy, the tease on her lips like a blade ready to twist. Red couldn't help but think something else had made him urinate... the blank dream...
“That trick worked once,” Red muttered, shoulders sagging with defeat. “I still haven’t financially recovered from it.”
“Nah, ye did right by me, Fletcher! Needed ‘ose trainers fer runnin’.”
“You’ve three pairs, and you’ve not worn the ones you made me buy!”
“Ye gave me a broken collarbone!” Leaf called from behind him, and he spun just in time to see her fall.
“And you broke my thumb!” he shot back, his voice rising. “Yet I paid for you anyway. How did you get me to do that?”
“A blink o’ the eye,” she grinned, smug.
Red trudged on. A blink of o’ the eye. It was always that simple for her. If only he had her talent, her ease... She could keep her mother’s sickness, though. He wanted no part of that.
“Speakin’ o’ Professor Oak,” Leaf’s voice broke the silence, “think tha’ Starly Wimp’ll be joinin’ us later?”
“You have to stop calling him that.” Red shot her a harsh look. “He’s skittish, but we need him. Remember who’s giving us our starter Pokémon, Plains.”
“Don’t eva’ call me tha’ again!” She yelled, cheeks reddening. He quickened his pace, widening the distance between them. She closed it with swift, quiet steps, whispering something he couldn’t quite hear but felt like a threat. Her smile made him wonder if she’d snap his neck before he had time to call for help.
They vaulted fences, climbing northward until they could see the black clouds rolling far to the southeast. The storm over Route Seventeen brewed like something living, and there was a reason Route Seventeen bore Heaven’s Crest as its name – its predecessor, Route Eighteen, was far crueller. They called it Hell’s Trough.
The sea beyond churned, inky black waves rising thirty or forty feet, caught in vicious vortexes that spanned hundreds of feet across. Whirlpools wide enough to swallow ships opened near the Carmine Artery. Sailors who dared Hell’s Trough were always considered mad. The black blood of the sea, thick with patches of crimson seaweed, was named for a captain whose carotid artery was pierced by a Barraskewda. He’d made it to the Pallet Shield, just barely, before death claimed him.
He and Leaf stood watching as fishing ships and an oil tanker vanished, drawn deeper into the monstrous maelstrom. The cries of the doomed reached them on the wind. Then came the explosion, far too powerful to be from a ruptured hydrothermal vent, and for a moment, the whirlpool calmed, the churning waters taking their direction toward Heaven’s Crest, before the chaos started all over again.
Leaf eyed the waters darkly. “Better the Steamway than tha', Red. Look at it, a nightmare waitin’ to happen.”
“A decent water type could make it through.”
“If ya think Professor Oak's Blastoise, the one tha' split the headland an’ made the Pallet Shield could be bothered, maybe. But look at tha’ mess. Prettier than Starly Wimp, it is.”
He sucked in a breath through his teeth.
“Red?”
“Fine, Leaf. Blue will be coming with us… and he might go for a Squirtle. He knows what I want.”
Leaf sniffed at that, dissatisfied.
Red stared at his boots as they neared Roughshore Point. “I’ve wanted a Charmander for as long as I can remember. But... I’m nervous, Leaf. I hate that I am, but it’s the truth. Leaving... starting a journey, it makes me sick to think about.”
She looped her arm through his, pulling him closer. “Leavin'? That what’s eatin’ ya?”
Eating? Eating. Eating. Eating. Eating. Eating. I remember eating something... it reminded me of myself... was I eating in my dream?
“We’re supposed to bond with our Pokémon, be their friends. But I don’t know if I can. I’ve barely interacted with anything more than a stray Pidgey on my roof. How can I take care of something I don’t even understand? How can I love what I don’t know?”
Leaf gave his arm a soft squeeze. “Leap o’ faith, Red. Ye gotta straighten ye back, stare it in the eye, an’ never flinch. Ain’t no good bein’ stuck in ya head all the time. Love, hate, fear – it’s all out there, waitin’. You ain’t gonna see nothin’ if ya stay blind. Life’s short enough. Don’t waste it thinkin’ ‘bout what ya don’t know. There’s plenty ya can still learn, even if it’s hard.”
Red breathed deep, feeling the cool, damp air on his skin. “Thank you, Leaf.”