The Ghost Specialist

The creak of the crystal chandelier came so suddenly that Sam almost jumped out of his skin. He froze, stock-still, the teenage boy now resembling some kind of dark jacket-wearing statue. Slowly, he panned his flashlight around the dusty entry hall but saw nothing more than the aged building around him.

“There’s definitely something here,” he said. “This mansion’s been abandoned for years. I can’t see the chandelier moving like that unless something causes it.”

A gulp was pushed down his throat as he took another step forward. His sneaker squeaked against the flower-patterned floor that was somehow still intact despite the lack of care. For all he strained his ears, Samuel was unable to piece together anything else going on.

Well, save for a bit of sniffing at his side. A blue, shrew-like creature flicked her head around while remaining on a fear-ridden, high alert.

“Hey Cyndaquil, I know we’re hunting for Ghost Types, but I think we should make some kind of plan,” Sam said. “We haven’t really practiced battling, but I know you know Smokescreen. A cloud like that might be a good way to escape.”

A short squeak came to acknowledge him. Cyndaquil pushed closer to Sam’s body. She was only a foot-and-a-half tall when crouched on all four legs, but as his closest friend and only member of his eventual Pokémon team, Sam trusted her with all his heart. He’d be relying on her for his purpose here.

After all, he had come here for a reason. A life-changing goal. This wasn’t just a teenage boy’s wild excursion; this was something he could use to prove himself.

Mom won’t let me take on the Gym Challenge, and I don’t want to wait another four years until I’m eighteen. If I want to become a proper Ghost Type specialist, what better way to prove that I’m capable than to catch one all on my own?

All children dreamed of becoming a Pokémon trainer, but they usually grew out of it. More realistic expectations would settle in, and while most would end up taking on a Gym or two, the vast majority never caught more than a single Pokémon. Sam, however, had a dream he had stuck with for as long as he could remember.

He was going to become the very best Ghost Type specialist in the world.

He just had to prove to his mother that he could do it, first.

This building was an abandoned mansion, though it wasn’t as large as a true mansion, and it had fallen into disrepair from years of neglect. Outside, windows hung slack on their hinges, and the building’s exterior was covered with wood rot. The abandoned home was tall enough to loom over him when he had first approached, yet almost as if inviting him in, the iron gate that sealed off the property had been unlocked.

Inside, however, the place was still mostly intact. Opulent wood carvings decorated the walls, and its tile floor had only the faintest coating of dust. It lacked furniture, though, with the entry hall consisting of only a single staircase. Nearby openings led to a similarly empty dining room and a carpeted study that lacked any books or even a chair.

“I heard Mom talking to a customer about this place. Some kids heard crying coming from here when exploring. Considering it's been abandoned for years, the cry has to have been from some kind of wild Pokémon. Based on what I know... I bet it was from either a Duskull or a Shuppet.”

Sam didn’t move forward, choosing to remain in place. His lack of confidence got the best of him as he remained just past the paired, front doors. Despite his flashlight providing light, it was mostly only a beam. Occasionally, the tiles reflected it back at him, but it otherwise only revealed small sections at a time.

“Shuppet are pure Ghost Types, relatively frail, and tend to rely on physical or Dark Type moves,” he continued, mostly speaking just to provide some life to the area around him. “They feed off of negative emotions, so maybe one won’t be in an empty place like this. Duskull, however...” Sam let out a low, nervous chuckle. “Duskull are a bit different. They’re also pure Ghost Type, but they’re more capable of sustaining a hit. More importantly, they like scaring people.”

Like by letting loose a spooky cry near some young kids.

He gulped again. At his side, Cyndaquil began to shake. Sam had left his realization go unsaid, but the small Pokémon seemed to have put the pieces together anyway.

“...How long can you maintain your fire?” he asked with a dry throat.

Cyndaquil’s back sparked and popped. Briefly, this entry hall was illuminated with flickering flames that created unnatural shadows. Only a second later, all of that faded away.

“Only a second or two, then. Useful for attacks, but that’s it.”

Sam scoured his mind for any further reason to delay. Did he have anything else to bring up with Cyndaquil? Did he have any other pertinent facts to share? Maybe... Maybe Sam had left something at home?

No!

The tense moment was interrupted by a sharp noise; Sam slapped his own cheek.

“We came here for a reason! No point in getting lost in our own fear! We’re going to catch a Ghost Type or die trying! Now, come on, Cyndaquil! Let’s go!”

He marched forward, heading directly up the set of stairs ahead of him. Cyndaquil squeaked in alarm before scurrying forward, doing her best to stay at Sam’s side.

Sam purposefully kept his expression hardened, his lips pressed tight in a scowl. Sure, his hands might have been shaking, but at least he was no longer stalling just past the front door.

Truth be told, Sam wasn’t sure how his love for the Ghost Type had started, but between all the spooky stories and tall tales that had piqued his young mind’s interest, he was determined to at least meet one. Nothing ever happened on the island he called home, and he had a feeling this would be his only chance to actually do something about that.

Heavy footfalls brought him to the second story, where a moth-eaten rug lay tattered down a long hallway. A row of decaying yet impeccably carved doors stretched out to both of Sam’s sides. Opaque, glass windows let in the faintest amount of light from the manor’s exterior, but it remained that Sam’s flashlight was the only thing that let him see past those few inches at the ends of the halls.

Quickly, Sam shined his light to his left, but there was nothing there but more doors. Then, just as fast, Sam shined his light to his right—

“Quil!”

Cyndaquil shouted and dashed to hide behind Sam’s legs. At the very end of the hall, something small and dark darted into a room. The door it pushed past squeaked and remained partially opened.

“D-Duskull,” Sam mumbled.

His eyes were wide, and Cyndaquil pressed herself against him even harder than before.

“L-Like I said, we’re here for a reason, r-right?”

Sam hated how shaky his voice was.

This time, while walking forward, Sam made sure to keep his footsteps light. He forced his breathing to slow and his movements to come deliberately. Anything to reduce his noise and presence, he did.

It was perfectly silent and perfectly motionless around him. Sam could already feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck. He had no clue just how terrified he looked. He imagined that his black hair might have turned partially white from fear.

Though, as far as Sam could tell, that change hadn’t happened. That was something that only ever happened in cartoons—the possibility didn’t actually exist. Ghosts, though? Ghosts were real.

Sam kept that in mind as he slowly inched forward.

Once he reached the point where the shadowed-thing had disappeared, Sam carefully grabbed the bronze handle of the cracked-open door before throwing it the rest of the way open. There, he shouted to mimic some semblance of bravery, and he rapidly moved his light around to search through the room before him. As he did, in his pocket was a weight he was intensely familiar with—a minimized Pokéball that had taken two-hundred dollars of his pitiful savings to purchase. It would serve as the tool to capture whatever Ghost Type he found.

Yet, in this room, the beam of his flashlight illuminated nothing more than a dusty bed, a collapsed wardrobe, and a chair covered with a white cloth. Cyndaquil was screaming, but she remained clutched to Sam’s leg. He would have been disappointed, but then the light settled on what was in the room’s very center: a clump of old blankets that had been pushed together to form a makeshift nest.

There, right in the middle of that clump, was a Pokémon, but it wasn’t the Duskull that Sam expected. Instead, it was small, pink, and staring at him with a warbling mouth. Curved, rabbit-like ears stood on their ends out of fear.

“That’s—” Sam had to quickly get ahold of his own emotions before he could properly identify the species. “That’s a Whismur! It’s just a Normal Type! There wasn’t any Ghost Type here, a Whismur found itself a home!”

He almost wanted to laugh, but when he saw the Whismur start to shake, he took a step back instead.

“H-how about that Smokescreen now, Cyndaquil?” he asked.

She was hanging off of his leg. Instead of using the move, she whimpered.

The thing about Whismur was that it might not have been the Pokémon Sam wanted, but it was still a Pokémon capable of using Pokémon moves. In its case, there was a likely reason those kids had heard its cry; the Pokémon was like a living speaker-system with how loud of a noise it could make.

Sam reflexively tried to cover his ears, failed to do so thanks to the flashlight he held, and then shoved it into his pocket to be able to scoop up Cyndaquil. After that, he began to run.

Behind him, an awful screech rang out. Terrified from Sam’s chaotic entrance, the Whismur began its ear-piercing cry. The unconscious move it used, Uproar, sent out soundwaves so deafening and violent that the very supports of this manor began to shake.

“Run! Leave! Let’s get the heck out of here!”

Despite yelling, Sam couldn’t hear the sound of his own voice. He clutched Cyndaquil to his chest and sprinted out the front doors.

This manor hadn’t been built in town; rather, it was located down a small, stone path inside a section of nearby forest. Sam ignored the overgrown front yard, ignored how the trees cast a spooky dim light around him, ignored how the few wild Pokémon gave him strange looks as he darted past, and he ignored the burning in his legs all the way up until he had properly made his escape.

He was panting by the end of it, and Sam collapsed onto the ground. Having emerged out of the forest, he was now at the cliffside that overlooked his home:

Dewford Town.

A sea of red-brick buildings stretched out below him, grouped up around a small dock at the edge of the island. The cliff he sat on wrapped around the town’s edge, perfectly framing it while also acting as a limit that would never allow the place to grow any larger.

“I...” He took a deep breath. “I should have known it wouldn’t be a Ghost Type. Nothing interesting ever happens here.”

He rolled onto his back. Cyndaquil squirmed to free herself from his arms. When she noticed he was resting, she also relaxed, and her head pressed down against his chest.

“I’m sorry, Cyndaquil. I should have never brought us into that mansion,” he said. “But I want you to know that I’m going to keep trying. No matter what, I’ll eventually get a Ghost Type, and once I do, Mom will have to let us go on a Pokémon Journey.”

The idea of exploring the world. Encountering new people and Pokémon. Building up a team that would be undefeatable at its peak.

Yeah. That’s the dream.

Sam knew why he wanted to have a team of only Ghost Types. He wanted to do that because it was cool.

While resting, Sam breathed out, and the shift of his stomach caused Cyndaquil to unintentionally be pushed off his chest. She squeaked in alarm as she rolled onto her back, and after a moment of flailing, Sam found her having somehow settled into the crook of his arm.

“I’m never going to abandon you, though,” he said. “Just because I want to train Ghost Types doesn’t mean you’d be off the team. Even some of the best Type specialists out there have one or two exceptions. Besides, there isn’t anyone else I’d want to travel with. You’ll always be right by my side.”

She smiled, and Sam smiled back. He had never expected to meet her, as Cyndaquil tended to be a rather rare species. However, Sam had the advantage of having an experienced Grandfather, and though the man had passed, he had made sure Sam wouldn't start his eventual journey alone. Sam had met with Cyndaquil young and befriended her quickly. They initially planned to explore the world together years ago, but when his Grandfather departed this world, some things had fallen apart.

“For now... ugh.” Sam unconsciously grimaced. “Mom’s not going to be happy if we get back late. I know we want to rest, but we should probably get going.”

Cyndaquil groaned out of annoyance and pushed away to return to her feet. Sam did the same, brushing off loose grass from his jeans and jacket as he did.

From there, a staircase brought them down the cliffside and into the paved streets of Dewford proper. His home wasn’t too far away, so Sam slowly made his way directly there. He arrived at a building labeled “Bookstore” only a few minutes later. Standing outside, he took a deep breath, and then Sam moved within.