Agatha had woken up this morning in a cold sweat. Her pillowcase was saturated and her clothes stuck to her body as she bolted upright.

What the hell was that dream?

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Agatha pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. She replayed the images again and tried to make sense of it all.

Everything was dark. She couldn’t see or feel anything even as she flailed and stumbled in the inky nothingness. In the realm of dreams she drifted, untethered, where all sensation dissolved. A canvas of nothingness enveloped her as her subconscious mind tried to make sense of it; forming colors and sounds where none were. Emotions like breezes whispered in her ears.

Anger.

Despair.

Hopelessness.

Amidst the boundless void Agatha thought she saw swirls of purple. Giddy laughter echoed from nowhere as it drew around her. The giggles were somehow comforting, as if her soul was being embraced. Agatha no longer drifted in solitude but in a cherished place. A wetness slapped her cheek and ran up it. She would scream, but she had no voice. The laughter subsided and the vision changed.

Fire consumed everything.

Buildings she had never seen before burned. People she had never met screamed and fled in every direction. The air pulsed and shook as blinding white energy slammed through the city and into the sky. Peals of laughter came from a ruined stadium. All around her was the rubble of a ruined city, laughter, and screams.

Laughter and screams.

Agatha shivered as tears came unbidden to her eyes. She pulled on her sleeve to wipe at them and stopped as she made contact with her cheek.

It was wet.

Her scream of shock reverberated throughout her room and down the hall. Pounding feet came in response as Agatha’s bedroom door was thrown wide open.

“Agatha dear! What ever is the matter?”

Maude Smith was one of those people who aged gracefully. Her coal-black hair was tied into a neat bun wrapped in a mizuhiki. The intricate knots looped over each other and were the only silver to be found on the woman’s head. No laugh-lines creased her face and no blemishes detracted from its youthful appearance. Agatha’s mother swooped in and pulled her into billowing white sleeves. “Another bad dream?” she asked.

The ivory bundle shivered as Agatha retold her dream. Throughout its retelling, Maude’s face became more grim.

“Agatha. Do you remember what I told you?”

“About what?” The girl’s voice was tiny.

Maude sighed as she pulled her daughter in closer. “Women in our family have all been blessed with a gift. Shall I tell you the story again?”

“Yes please.”

Idly stroking the girl’s hair, Maude began. “Once upon a time, there was a village called Sinjoh nestled deep within the mountains. In this village there lived a young girl named Kiko. She was in charge of taking care of the village’s shrine, dedicated to the Gods of Creation. From a young age, Kiko displayed a deep connection to the spiritual realm, often sensing the presence of ethereal beings.”

Agatha interrupted. “What’s e-e-ether…”

“Ethereal means not of this world. Ghosts, dear.”

The girl nodded her comprehension and her mother continued the tale. “One fateful night, when the moon was shrouded in a blanket of clouds, Kiko ventured into the forest to gather herbs for the village healer. As she made her way through the whispering trees, a soft voice echoed in her ears, drawing her towards the shrine. As Kiko approached the shrine, she felt the ethereal presence that always seemed to follow her. But this time it had taken shape as the God of Distortion.”

Agatha lifted her head from where it was buried in her mother’s gown. “Oh! Oh! I remember now!”

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Maude smiled. “Would you like to finish the story for me, dear?”

“No, no! Sorry mom! I want you to finish it!”

“Then shhhh.” Maude placed a lithe finger upon the girl’s lips. “Now…as I was saying. The God of Distortion looked upon Kiko in wonder, marveling at her connection to his realm. He acknowledged her heart and unyielding courage, for even as she quaked and shivered, Kiko stood firm before the God with her back as straight as an arrow. The God of Distortion decided to bless Kiko and all of her descendants, so they might all be able to communicate with those of his realm.”

Maude paused for a moment, bringing Agatha’s face up in her hands so she could see the girl’s starry complexion. “Kiko was your great-great-great-grandmother. When I wasn’t much older than you, I inherited her gift. Now…it seems that your time has also come.”

Agatha’s face screwed into a look of confusion. “What does my dream have to do with that story? I thought it was just a fairy tale?”

“No, dear.” Maude beckoned her daughter to stand with her and leave the bedroom. “It is no fairy tale. Your dreams are messages.”

They came to a wooden sliding door. Paper covered the slats and openings, allowing only light to pass through in a dim glow. Maude pushed it aside and ushered Agatha into the room beyond. The room was colder than the rest of the house.

“I think your father would be able to explain the meaning of the dream better than I.”

Agatha frowned as she crossed her arms. “Mom. Dad is dead. Just because I had a scary dream doesn’t mean that I’m suddenly able to talk to ghosts! You know what they all say about you, right? Everyone calls you crazy!” Her eyes shimmered as if the girl was forcing her tear ducts to close. “They call me crazy.”

If Maude was offended by her daughter’s words it did not show on her face. She simply approached the small shrine that housed pictures of family members that had departed from the land of the living. Kneeling down, she reached out a hand and gently caressed one framed photo in particular.

“Honey? Stop teasing your daughter and come out.”

Agatha froze in place as two blazing red eyes opened within the shadows, followed by a grinning mouth full of teeth. Her knees felt weak as the shadows coalesced into a round form. It stepped forward, wispy spikes of umbra forming arms, legs, and finally…two pointy ears.

It giggled.

Agatha collapsed to the floor as she recognized the giggles in her dream, her mouth agape. A voice all too familiar came from the cavernous maw before her.

“Aggie my girl! Sorry for the fright. You know I never could help myself when it came to pranks.”

No sounds came, even as Agatha’s mouth opened and closed.

Maude tutted, “Even in death you never change.”

The ghost of Ryan Smith grinned and let a tongue far longer than his body loll out in a grotesque display. “Too angry to pass on, too childish to let go.” His voice was the sound of Noctowl feathers falling in the night. Whisper quiet, yet potent. He turned his attention back to his daughter.

“I know that you’re in a bit of shock at the moment, but you need to listen carefully to what I’m about to say, Aggie.”

A soft popping noise was the only response as Agatha’s mouth continued to cycle. Her eyes were transfixed on her father’s odd form.

“What I showed you in your dream was a hint of a possible future. One where many perish in fire and light.” Ryan’s voice grew serious. “I was only able to show you because it came from your perspective. For whatever reason, you will be involved in something greater than yourself. Greater than this town, greater even than all of Kanto.”

Agatha’s mother and father each took one of her hands in one of their own before speaking in unison. The eeriness of the overlapping voices drove deep, deep within the girl’s heart and lodged there.

“Blessed is the one guided by The Trickster, for unto them the mysteries of the world unfold. Blessed is the one led by knowledge, for under their banner may the two worlds unite as one.”

“You must prepare.”

“You must be ready.”

“You must be willing to fight.”