In my experience, when working with children and early adolescents, meeting them eye to eye was a simple but powerful way of showing that I took them and their concerns seriously. Kids were tough enough to handle even when they weren’t worried that you might not be treating them fairly or equitably. It was near impossible to make progress with helping them if they thought you were “just another grown-up”.

“What’s your name?” I asked him.

“K-Kreston,” he said.

I nodded. “I’m Dr. Howle.” I patted my hand on my chest. “Though, if you want, you can call me Genneth.”

Andalon leaned forward, arms still crossed behind her back, watching us intently.

He looked askance at her. It was almost amusing. “Who is she?”

“Dr. Howle?”

“I’m sorry! I—I got lightheaded for a moment. Say again?”

“I need some damn bicarbonate solution!”

“Didn’t the console order go through?” I said.

“That’s what I just checked. I wouldn’t be screaming if it had!”

“I’ll go look into it,” I said.

As painful as it was to admit it, I felt like I would be more useful that way. Every moment working on the front lines was a reminder that I was out of my element.

Sorry about this!

Teleportation incoming!

I could have tried to get the three of us to follow my physical body, but I just sighed, accepted the inevitable, and focused on answering Kreston’s question.

“Who is Andalon? Well… she’s Andalon, and, uh…” I tried to put it as delicately as I could, “I guess you could say she’s a kind of psychopomp.”

Andalon crept forward right as we teleported; meanwhile, Kreston yelped in alarm.

Andalon gave me a quizzical look. “Andalon is… pompy?”

“I don’t know what that means.” Kreston’s plight was bright in his eyes.

“You were very sick, Kreston.” I sighed. “Do you remember that?”

His expression stiffened; his gaze trailed off. “I…”

I put on the best smile me and my lucky bow-tie could muster. “Well… you don’t need to trouble yourself about that anymore.” Gently, I let my hand rest on his shoulder after holding it near there for a moment to see if he’d object to the physical contact.

I nodded.

“Andalon is right, you are safe, and I’ll be keeping watch over you.” My eyes drifted over to her. “That’s right, right?”

Being a vessel for the souls of the dead was hard enough, but it was especially difficult when you didn’t even know what being a vessel for the souls of the dead entailed. And I didn’t. The demons were in the details, after all. I wanted to know just what, exactly, I was supposed to do, and for the sake of all the souls within me, not just for my own sake.

Andalon nodded. “Wyrmeh are great because they make everyone happy, ‘specially Andalon.”

“Yes,” I said, “but how?”

She stuck her arms up. “By makin’ stuff!”

So, I had to use my hyperphantasia to make Kreston happy.

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Yeah!”

Still on my knees, I cleared my throat and then met Kreston eye-to-eye.

The quicker I get this over, the less awkward it will be.

“What’s… um… what’s troubling you, Kreston?” I asked. I tried to be as magnanimous as I could.

Nope, still feels horribly awkward.

Kreston pursed his lips. “No offense, Dr. Howle, Sir, but you two are… uh… basically crazy.”

I sighed.

Kreston crossed his arms. He watched me with the utmost suspicion. He frowned. “My mom told me not to talk to strangers.”

Fudge.

I did not want him thinking about me like that.

I patted my hands onto my thighs. “You asked about what a psychopomp was, right?”

“Pompy!” Andalon bopped excitedly.

Kreston’s eyebrows flattened. “I—I guess…”

“It’s a foreign word,” I explained. “Old Èdrugosi. It means… well… it’s from Èrdugosi myths. A psychopomp is a being who guides spirits to their place of rest.”

Look him in the eyes.

Make sure he gets it.

Of course.

The plan was to hope that Kreston would be able to read between the lines and understand that, by calling Andalon a psychopomp, I was very, very gently informing him that he was dead.

Unfortunately, the kid didn’t seem to get the message. His eyes lit up like a Shrovestide stone—excited.

Fudge…

“Oh, so it’s like a kitsune?” he asked.

The plot thickens…

Kitsune were fox-spirits from Munine legend and folklore. They traveled the night in the company of flames that, now that I think about it, were eerily similar to the ones that flowed into Andalon and I whenever I ate. As the folktales told it, kitsune’s flames were the spirits of the dead.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Might there be a connection?

At this point, anything’s possible.

Kitsune collected spirits who were weighed down by woes and regrets. The negative emotions were powerful enough to trap the spirits in their phantom existence, preventing their next rebirth. This was where the kitsune came in. They traveled the land with their ghostly companions, always on the lookout for something that might end their sorrows—and, of course, to snatch up any lingering spirits whose paths they happened to cross.

Fortunately, running off to see what was wrong quickly proved to be the right decision. The nurse carrying the bicarbonate had collapsed around the corner, coughing up a storm. Bending down, I picked up the bicarbonate, stuffed it into the pocket of my PPE gown, wrapped my arms under the nurse and then helped her up, trying not to think about the fact that I was also thinking about kitsunes and ghosts at the same time.

“Not quite?” I grimaced slightly as I answered Kreston’s question.

Andalon examined herself, patting herself down, swishing her nightgown from side to side. “Andalon is kit-sue-nay?”

Kreston gasped. Instantly, his disposition toward her changed. It was as if he was seeing her through a new pair of eyes. “She’s a kitsune?” he asked, with a whisper.

He wasn’t getting the message.

Then give it to him straight.

All we can do is hope he won’t take it poorly.

Taking a deep breath, I looked the boy in the eye. “Kreston, I don’t know how to say this… it’s not something I or anyone else has ever said before—so,” I exhaled, “I’m just going to say it. You’re dead, Kreston. You died of the Green Death.”

“W-What?” Kreston grimaced. “No.” He shook his head. “How…? I can’t be dead.”

My head hung as I sighed. Sure, he wasn’t freaking out, but… what a thing to have to say to someone!

“Well…” Kreston clenched his fists. He glared at me. “Prove it.”

Looking at Andalon, our recent topic—kitsune—gave me an idea.

Should I?

Do it!

It’s not very professional, though.

To heck with professionalism! It’s from the heart!

Speak from the heart, and get Kreston talking.

Unlike Frank, he hasn’t turned into a demon yet.

We want to keep things that way!

I shook my head.

Fudge, this is weird.

It was like talking to myself, except I also talked back.

One day, this was going to make for one heck of a weird story.

I looked Andalon in the eyes.

As far as I knew, Andalon worked just like my hyperphantasic hallucinations. And so, with all my might, I did something completely unbecoming of a self-respecting adult, husband, and father of two: I imagined Andalon having fox ears, kemonomimi⁠-style.

And it worked.

Kemonomimi, meant “animal-ears” in Munine, and referred to a humanoid character adorned with the ears of an animal atop their head, and often with a tail at their backs. In decreasing order of popularity, these were: cat, fox, rabbit, dog—though some argued dogs actually came in third.

I had to fight the urge to cover my mouth (well, translucent F-99 mask) with my hand to hide my astonishment.

Sorry about that…

“Wha?” Andalon looked about in confusion. “Whas happening?”

What was happening was that her ears were elongating into blue and white fox ears as they crept up the sides of her head.

Kreston’s jaw dropped.

Before I let common sense tell me otherwise, I poofed a completely gratuitous fox tail on her behind—blue, with white tip—while also making sure to imagine all the necessary modifications to her nightgown.

Andalon wriggled her new parts in amusement, rubbing them with her fingers. It took all of three seconds for her to curl her new tail around and start petting it. Her ears twitched with every stroke.

Kreston pointed and yelled. “K-kemonomimi!” For an instant, the boy’s expression was bright with magic and wonder, and then his smile fell off a cliff.

Looking downward, he swallowed hard as he grasped the significance of Andalon’s cosmetic transformation. He stepped back and sat down cross-legged on the floor.

“I can’t be dead,” he said, softly. “I can’t.” He started to cry, his head shaking, bobbing up and down. “It’s not fair. I—I haven’t even lived yet. How can I be dead?” He looked up. “Mom? Mom?”

Oh God…

The boy was right. It wasn’t fair.

I was used to comforting people who’d lost their loved ones to death. But… this? How the heck was I supposed to comfort the dead?

Just warm up to him. Talk to him.

A person is still a person, even when they’re dead.

True enough.

I mean, it wasn’t like there’s anything else I could do.

So, with a sigh and a hard smile, I walked over and sat down beside Kreston.

“Do… erm…” I exhaled, “do you mind if I ask you some questions, Kreston?”

“What for?” Crossing his arms, the boy buried his face into the crook of his elbow, rubbing it into the sleeves of his hospital gown. “It’s not like it matters.”

I leaned back onto the wall. “That’s not true.”

I noted the wall felt solid against me. I felt the fabric of my coat brush against my back. I didn’t have the slightest clue as to how it worked, but I wasn’t going to question it, not when I had much bigger questions to ask.

“Things don’t ask our permission to matter.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Look at me. In the past few days, my life has gotten gosh-darn weird.”

“Not as weird as being dead,” Kreston said, bluntly.

“Actually, I was dead—or, well… my mind was convinced that my body was dead.”

Kreston grimaced. “What?”

“Kreston, tell me: how do you feel right now? Do you feel like you are dead?”

“No.”

I put my hand on my chest. “Well, I did. I thought my body was a rotting corpse. In fact, I still do.”

Technically, this particular dopplegenneth didn’t feel that way.

But, over here, I—First Me—did feel that way, tail notwithstanding.

So, it wasn’t a lie.

“What the Hell?” Kreston said.

I nodded. “One of the weirder bits is that, apparently,” I let my gaze wander over to Andalon, “I’m going to be responsible for watching over the spirits of the dead.” I turned to Kreston. One of his eyes looked up at me from over the edge of his forearm. “Spirits like you.”

“Why? How?”

“We’re still trying to figure it out, but I think the best answer is that we need to fight off the forces of Hell.”

Kreston stared for a moment, but then tilted his head and yelled, glowering at me. “Are you making fun of me?!”

I raised my hands defensively as I shook my head. “No, I’m dead serious,” I groaned, “sorry about that; I didn’t intend the pun.” I fidgeted with my lucky bow-tie. “I’ve never done anything like this before—who has? I’m terrified I’m going to screw up. Well,” I shook my head and sighed, “I’ve already screwed up.” I lowered my voice. “People have died because of my mistakes. That’s on me, and…” my voice trembled. “It’s never going away.”

The anger vanished from his face. He lowered his head into his arms.

“S-Sorry for yelling.”

“It’s okay. You were upset. People often do stupid things when they’re upset.”

“You’re really going to fight off the forces of Hell. What does that even mean?”

I shook my head. “I’m still not entirely sure. But… I want to find out, and I want to learn how to do better.”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m dead. My life is over. I’m a failure, just…” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “just like Dad said.”

I was about to counter with the standard “You’re not a failure” reply, but I was worried that might only make him feel worse. One of the hardest things was figuring out the right way to help someone. Sometimes, they really did just need support and encouragement. Other times, the heartache ran deeper, and, by trying to counter their destructive self-image, you just reminded them of the thing they wanted to be, but felt they weren’t, and that would only make their pain ache even more.

So I settled for the middle road.

“I don’t know about that,” I said, somewhat dismissively, “but… you know what I do know?”

The boy slightly raised his head. “What?”

“Right now,” I pointed at him, “you can help me, and that’s a fact.”

He stared at me. “I don’t believe you.”

“I’m a neuropsychiatrist, Kreston. One of the things I do is help improve the way people’s minds and bodies interact. I’ve written research papers, and, let me tell you, in all of recorded history, no one has ever done a psychiatric—let alone neuropsychiatric—evaluation of a ghost in a clinical setting. From what Andalon tells me,” I shot her a glance, “I’m going to be dealing with a lot of ghosts in the near future, and,” I laughed nervously, “let me tell you, I’m really worried about how I’ll perform. You’re the first ghost I’ve talked to for this amount of time who hasn’t tried to kill me. If I could learn how to help you, maybe I could learn how to help all the others.”

“So… what do you want from me?”

“I need you to help me help you, so that I can help everyone else.”

“That sounds like a lot,” he said.

I nodded. “It probably is.”

A moment of silence passed, during which Andalon sat down beside me, leaning against the wall.

Eventually, Kreston spoke. “Okay, I guess. What do I have to do?”

I smiled. “You’re already doing it.”