I’ll say this for the transformation hunger: it helped keep the bad thoughts—and ghosts—at bay. The hunger drowned out nearly every other thought and sensation, overwhelming it, like a photograph overexposed.

I didn’t need to worry about my guilt at having gotten Maryon Palmwitch sedated and carted away to a sequestration room. I didn’t need to worry about my feelings of inadequacy. I didn’t need to worry that I wasn’t just losing my humanity, but my mind, too. All I worried about was getting something in my belly.

I made due with three bags’ worth of fruit gummies I pulled from a vending machine—bags included. Eating them took just enough of the edge out of my hunger that I could stand still and think of something other than my next meal. It also brought forth another stream of blue flames—my wyrm-transformation experience points. Granted, I still had to swallow the saliva that seeped into my mouth, but at least I could think and reflect.

I felt several somethings move about in the space behind my eyes and nose as I chewed and swallowed my artificially flavored snack. Tinnitus tones briefly rang in my ears. It didn’t hurt, but it definitely itched, enough so that I had to fight to keep myself from trying to scratch the itch by sticking my hand in my mouth.

I patted my head down, trying to feel if anything was different, but I couldn’t find anything. If this latest change had some kind of effect on me, it had yet to make itself known.

Andalon re-appeared a moment after that, and that was fortunate, because it meant I could focus on her rather than the feelings of hunger still gnawing away at my insides.

I needed to fight against the changes for as long as I could. I could gather much more information if others saw me as a human doctor rather than a transformee patient, and I intended to keep things that way for as long as I possibly could.

“Andalon, what’s happening to me? These dopplegenneths? Am I going crazy?”

“No.” She shook her head. “It’s your supah-mind.”

I blinked as Andalon’s words from earlier that morning came rushing back to me:

Wyrmeh are supah good at thinksing. They need to be, to hold all the ghosts they save. They can think so many many thinks, all at once. It’s like… here’s a think, and there’s a think, and there’s another think. Lotsa thinks, but they’re all the same think, and they’re all in one wyrmeh.

I let my head thump against the vending machine’s plastic window.

I should have asked her more about it, but I didn’t.

Well, I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

“Why is this happening? And why couldn’t I control it? What went wrong?”

Andalon floated up to me, to eye-level, her lips pursed. She tilted her head contemplatively. “I think it’s because you haven’t gotten enough wyrmliness yet. It should get easier as you get more wyrmeh.” Suddenly, her eyes widened. She twirled around mid-air. “Oh! I remembered something!”

Thankfully, I didn’t need to ask her to tell me.

“You know how Andalon has the not-here-place?”

“Yes?”

“Well, you’ve gots them, too. Lotsa places. And havin’ a supah-mind is how you can be in those places but also be in this place, too.”

“Like how we were in that screensaver?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Nuh-uh. That was here, in your sees.” She pointed at the floor, and then at me. “You’re not ‘sposed to put so much stuff here. It needs to go in the other places, just like the ghosties.”

“Is… is that why I got a headache, because I was doing too much?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

I slammed my fist against the vending machine’s plastic window and moaned.

“Fudge… I don’t think I’m cut out to be a keeper of Paradise, Andalon. I made a mess of things.” I shuddered. “I think I can still feel the spirits wandering around in my head.”

And I really could. They were like unwanted thoughts surfacing in the back of my mind. If I focused on them, I could start to see faint silhouettes coalesce in front of me. Shaking my head, I willed them away with a frantic mantra:

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Go away. Go away. Go away…

“I don’t know how to do this, Andalon! I—”

She looked me in the eyes. “—Everybody needs help, Mr. Genneth. Even the peoples who help need help.” Her gaze lowered. “Andalon needs help…” but then she brightened and looked up at me again. “But you’re helpin’ Andalon. So,” she nodded, “I think I can help you help.”

Closing her eyes, Andalon briefly shimmered. The feeling of whispers wandering behind my eyes faded. The spirits within me had been quieted.

“Did that help?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, smiling in relief, “yes it did.” But then I pursed my lips.

Always be wary of a possible catch.

“Andalon… what exactly did you do just now?”

“You’re not very wyrmeh yet, so Andalon thinks maybe we should wait a little bitty until Mr. Genneth is more wyrmeh.”

“I don’t understand.”

Sticking out her hand, Andalon made a person with her hand, walking the fingers as legs. She pointed at her hand. “This is a ghost.” Then, she brought her other hand and laid it in front of her “ghost” like a wall. She shook her wall-hand a little. “This is what Andalon is doin’.”

“You’re hiding them, is that what you mean?”

“Yeah!” Andalon nodded. “There are lotsa lotsa ghosts, and I don’t want them to make you supah stress. Now you won’t see so many.”

I nodded in gratitude. “I appreciate that Andalon.”

Even so, I couldn’t help but feel guilty that I’d left Kreston and the others in such dire straits.

“Will… will Kreston and the others be alright?”

She nodded. “You just need to talk to them again. Otherwise they’ll be supah sad.”

I frowned. “That’s not exactly reassuring, you know.”

Andalon tilted her head at that, puzzled, but then my console buzzed in my gown pocket and other matters took precedence.

I wonder what’s going on now…

It couldn’t be any crazier than what I’d just been through.

I pulled out my console and tapped the screen awake. The message on the screen was harsh and to the point:

Ileene Plotsky is dead.

That sent a shiver down my tail.

I was not looking forward to telling her parents. Then again, given that the Green Death stole away its victims’ memories, even if I told them, the news of their daughter’s death would not live long in Mr. and Mrs. Plotsky’s minds.

Exhaling sharply, I walked up to the double doors that lead into Ward E’s heart.

“Mr. Genneth,” Andalon asked, “what about Miss Leen?”

I nodded solemnly. “That’s exactly what I’m going to find out.”

I was about to walk through the doors when I stopped myself and turned around.

“Wait…” I took a step over to Andalon and knelt down, getting close to her eye-level. “Why are you bringing this up?” I asked.

“I can hear her baby.” Andalon stared off into the distance, quiet and mournful. ‘He’s very sad. And he’s scared. He’s so, so scared.”

In shock, I staggered back, falling on my bottom, yelping in pain as I crushed my tail yet again. I pushed off the floor, rubbing my backside and then adjusting my tail’s position in my pants.

“Why can you hear her baby?”

Andalon tilted her head to the side as she pondered my question. “He’s becomin’ wyrmy.” She nodded sternly. “I think I can only hear the wyrmehs.” She looked off to the side. “There’s lots of peoples I can’t hear, but all the ones I can hear sound like they’re becomin’ wyrmy,” she looked back at me, “so… yeah, I think he’s ‘becomin wyrmy!” She smiled broadly.

“Oh fudge.” I cursed under my breath. “Oh fudgey fudging fudge!”

Now there were wyrm babies?

Or was it baby wyrms?

I started pacing around, but I managed to stop myself. I needed to be proactive, even if there was a strong possibility I’d just screw up and make things worse.

Stepping through the double doors, I walked over to the reception desk as quickly as my stone-numb feet allowed without outright running, locking eyes with the receptionists at work behind the countertop.

Angel…

Even the receptionists were being ground to the bone by the pandemic. They were sweaty, haggard, and nervous. I didn’t want to think about how long it had been since they had last changed their PPE. One of the receptionists had sat down on the floor and leaned back against the polished reddish stone of one of the support pillars at the center of the room, behind the countertop. She was in the fetal position, her arms wrapped around her legs as she tucked them against her chest.

Things were getting bad, and I knew they were only going to get worse.

I walked up to the other receptionist. Stand-mounted console screens clustered around her like drums around a drummer. Her fingers darted from one to the other in almost constant motion.

“Is she okay?” I pointed to the woman on the floor.

Beside me, Andalon hovered upward, trying to see over the counter. She did not like what she saw.

The receptionist in front of me looked over her shoulder at the woman on the floor. “You okay, Lizzy?”

The woman on the floor—Lizzy—started to sob. “My brother… his whole family… they’re all dead!”

Oh God…

“Mr. Genneth, what about Miss Leen?” Andalon asked. She tried tugging at my arm, but her phantom hand simply phased through mine.

Stay on topic! I told myself.

Having had two minds, I’d stopped suppressing some of my impulses and wandering thoughts. Now that I was an individual again, I had to do it all on my own.

I took another deep breath.

“Is it true that Ms. Ileene Plotsky has died?”

The receptionist narrowed his eyes at me after clearing her throat from a coughing fit. Faint, dark green spots dampened her face mask’s inner surface.

I hoped it was just sputum.

“And who are you to ask that question?”

Leaning forward, I scanned my right hand over the main console at the receptionist’s workstation.

She nodded bleakly. “Yes, Ms. Plotsky is dead. She passed in surgery not too long ago.”

“Is there going to be an autopsy?”

More taps of the console screen. The receptionist’s eyebrows rose. “How’d you know?” she asked.

I sighed. “Just a feeling.”

“Yes. It looks like Dr. Brand Nowston is supervising the—”

“—Brand?” I said. Finally, some good news! “That’s exactly what I needed to hear.” I nodded graciously. “Thank you!”

I pulled my console out from my coat and dialed up Dr. Nowston.