The Ghost Specialist

Morty led Sam into another room deeper into the Gym. It wasn’t a battlefield or any space dedicated to Pokémon, but it contained a low-lying table with pillows to use as seats, and its back wall was covered by a floral, paper divider.

The Gym Leader knelt down in front of the table, offering Sam to do the same while also bidding for him to send out his Pokémon. Cyndaquil and Mankey both joined them on pillows of their own, and Morty took out a Pokéball to release a new team member.

This Pokémon was not any species Sam expected. It was tall, purple, and had an innate witch's hat as part of its head. Its arms hung down like loose sleeves, and it had red gemstones embedded into its neck. Upon being sent out, a cackle left its mouth as it floated over to a shelf. It gathered up a tea pot and several cups before beginning an intricate and methodical process of politely serving tea.

Sam thought the Pokémon’s use of Will-O-Wisp to heat up the water was inspired.

“Do you know what species she is?” Morty suddenly asked out of the blue.

Sam jumped. He had been utterly enthralled by the Pokémon pouring the water.

“I, uh, I—” He sat up straighter, trying to better present himself with confidence. “It’s a Mismagius...Sir?”

He wasn't sure why he said “sir.” It was dumb. Too polite. Too revealing of the roiling nerves in his stomach, but Morty took Sam’s response with an amused smile.

“Good,” one of the most famous Ghost Type specialists in the world said. “I'm glad you recognized it. What else can tell me about her species?”

“Mismagius is a pure Ghost Type and the evolved form of Misdreavus. They evolve through the use of Dusk Stones, which usually can't be found in Johto. Like their prior evolution, they aren’t great in melee battles, but they’re exceptional at range and have the speed to support that. Behavior wise, the species is... Well, from my reading, they’re a bit obsessive, aren’t they? They’re known for eclectic collections of specific items not unlike Murkrow, and they tend to torment those that stop them with cries that sound like a witch’s incantation.”

Sam blinked, having been caught up in his own fast-paced description, and he turned to the Mismagius actively serving him at the table. The Pokémon was now staring at him, one eye closed, the other large and red with malicious intent. A shiver instinctually went down Sam’s spine—he had called it obsessive to its face! Cyndaquil pushed next to him, trying her best to stand tall in the face of such a powerful Ghost Type, but then the moment was interrupted by Morty’s sudden laugh.

He threw back his head and guffawed.

“Hear that, Mismagius? Obsessive!”

The Pokémon turned and glared at Morty instead of Sam. That just made the Gym Leader laugh even harder than before. Mismagius did nothing, to Sam’s surprise, before she huffed and turned around, vanishing from the table by floating away and passing through the back wall.

Morty wiped an eye and thumped his chest before he was able to properly recover.

“Ah, I’m going to pay for that later,” he said with a surprising amount of levity in his voice. “No, I wouldn’t call Mismagius obsessive. Dedicated, absolutely. Her species tends to throw themselves utterly into one concept or another. You should see just how much work she’s done to master Johtonian tea ceremonies!”

He took a sip of his drink before immediately wincing. Sam picked up the handleless cup and did the same.

It took all of his effort not to gag. The ceremony from before had been an impressive display of Mismagius’s control, but the actual drink itself was extraordinarily bitter.

Morty pushed away his cup, and Sam did the same. At his side, Mankey poked at the green liquid with his finger, and Cyndaquil sipped at hers before letting out a contented sigh. Glancing down, Sam saw that Cyndaquil's drink had a slightly different color than the rest.

“Unfortunately, you don't see many Mismagius in Johto,” Morty said, sounding a little sad about it. “You’re right about Dusk Stones. They don’t form here and have to be acquired from out of region, and then there are League rules about acceptable species, too.”

“Acceptable species?” Sam repeated.

“It's nothing you have to worry about.” Morty shrugged and waved Sam off. “Old clans and older folks have pushed laws to ‘maintain the cultural identity of Johto.’ That’s been slowly chipped away at thanks to all of our growing deals with other regions. You’d be surprised at what the promise of trade can do, but most Gyms are still limited to species that can be found in Johto—at least, for Gym battles before the fifth badge.”

Sam glanced down and stared at the unmoving tea below him. He thought back to his own Gym Challenge—the only one he’d been a part of so far.

“...That explains a lot about Olivine.”

Morty snorted.

“Yeah. I kind of feel bad for Jasmine. We have meetings between all the Gym Leaders every so often, and she hasn’t held back her complaints about the current system. Can't use Aron. Can't use Bronzor. At least with how uncommon Steel Types are at low levels, it gives her an excuse to bring in a wider variety of Gym Trainers to her Gym.”

Sam nodded silently, and Morty shifted back into a more comfortable position. He was no longer kneeling, now leaning back with his weight pressed onto his hands. His legs moved around to be crossed instead of underneath him. Pale eyes stared at Sam as if to take in even the slightest reaction he displayed.

This situation was weird. Morty was a Gym Leader, and Gym Leaders were meant to be professional—elite. Yet, here Morty was, casually talking to Sam as if they were both just average people. Sam couldn’t get over the fact that the man before him regularly posted on an online forum too, at least enough to have noticed his post and quickly respond.

Silence stretched out between them. Sam found himself looking away. Neither of them spoke as Sam felt more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

Finally, he couldn't resist the burning curiosity in his chest and blurted out a question.

“You’re MatsubaEnju!”

Though, it was less like a question, and more like a declaration that he was having trouble believing.

“Yeah. I am,” Morty said, repeating the same thing he had said back in his Gym’s arena. “It’s not the most subtle username, to be honest. It’s basically just my name and my town. ‘Matsuba’ is my name in the old Johto language, and then the same is true for ‘Enju’ and ‘Ecruteak.’”

Sam’s face flushed red. He couldn't help but to feel a bit embarrassed. If he had been a bit more culturally aware, he would have sooner recognized one of the foremost Ghost Type trainers on this side of the globe.

“So Hex, huh?” Morty said, and Sam straightened his posture yet again. “Your description of the move was unusually specific. It’s rare to get an idea that thought out. Of course, when I saw it, I absolutely had to test it.”

“Oh,” Sam said.

He had tried to keep his description vague and general.

“And then, imagine my surprise when my Pokémon worked it out in less than an hour!” Morty said excitedly, now speaking quicker. “A new attacking move, one completely separate from the likes of Shadow Ball and Night Shade! Not just that, but it slots in perfectly with how most Ghost Types already fight. You’re awfully clever for figuring it out—clearly well-read, too. How long have you been a trainer?”

“Just under a month. ...Sir,” Sam said with a wince.

“It’s impressive to have figured out a new attacking move before you even started.”

The Gym Leader looked over Sam, seemingly analyzing him, but Sam could not meet the man in the eye. Morty had absolutely no clue about the New Pokédex and how Hex hadn’t been his idea at all. The move was stolen from its pages, but now Sam was getting all of the credit for its “invention.”

He took a sip of his tea to try to distract himself only to gag at the harsh flavor. Mankey kept doing the same with his own drink, but each time the monkey sipped, it was like he was expecting it would taste completely different.

“I want you to know that you’ve helped me,” Morty said, tone serious. “To me, that move wasn't just a new move, it was a way to increase my team’s strength.”

He breathed out, and for the first time, his gaze turned away from Sam. Letting his head fall back, Morty stared off at nothing at all, seemingly getting lost in thought inside of his own head.

“I... there's a certain Pokémon I want to become worthy of meeting. I want to prove that I have the potential to be in its presence. Hex... the move you named, I owe you for it.” Morty rolled his shoulder and returned to looking Sam in the eye. “There are limits on what I can offer you—no money, no sponsorships, no Pokémon, and no TMs—but I will return the favor.”

Sam visibly gaped at him.

“But you’re a Gym Leader. You can't owe me. This isn’t... What?”

“You helped me improve my team,” Morty replied simply. “I can help you improve yours.”

Sam opened his mouth, and then he closed it. He knew that he wasn’t technically responsible for the existence of Hex, but he had unintentionally shared it. He wasn’t going to reveal the advantage he had in the form of the New Pokédex, but he wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass him up, either.

“I want to be a Ghost Type specialist!” Sam declared, not willing to wait even a second longer. “No, not just that! I want to be the best Ghost Type trainer there ever was! I want people to see me and see my team and immediately recognize all our hard work! I want people to look up to us. I want to be the foremost expert on the Ghost Type in the entire world!”

Morty blinked at Sam. He pushed off the ground to better lean forward.

“You’re motivated, for sure,” he said with a grin. “And for your team?”

“I’ll have a team of Ghost Types,” Sam said.

The Gym Leader turned to where Cyndaquil and Mankey sat, turned to Sam, turned back to his Pokémon, and this time, he was the one to open and close his mouth before shaking his head.

“I suppose even the best of us have exceptions sometimes,” he mumbled.

The man rubbed his chin before grinning. He stood up and grabbed the end of his purple scarf, which he threw over his shoulder to better wrap around his neck.

“Mismagius!” he shouted.

His Ghost Type poked her head out through the back wall.

“We’re heading out. Do you want to come with or stay here?”

The Pokémon glanced at Sam before muttering something under her breath. Sam felt a chill run down his spine, but he didn’t let the feeling show on his face.

Then, she moved back over to Morty, and the Gym Leader returned his Pokémon.

“Alright. Follow me,” he said.

“Where?”

“As the local Gym Leader, I have responsibilities to fill. You wanted my assistance, and I’ll provide my assistance. If you follow me, I'll show you something you won’t ever be able to forget. You have my word that you’ll learn something new about the Ghost Type that you wouldn’t be able to learn anywhere else.”

Sam didn’t hesitate. He stood to join Morty.

“Alright” he said. “Where are we going?”

“The local shrine. I’m supposed to visit once a week, and I’m already a bit late today,” he said, chuckling slightly. “So, let’s be quick. We wouldn’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

Sam stood off to the side of the Gym’s entrance. Morty stood a few feet away with his sleeve pulled back and his eyes locked onto the face of a watch, a growing dusk behind him. Sam did his best to speak quickly, not wanting to take up any more of the Gym Leader’s time than he already had.

“Look, I’m really sorry, but Morty is a Gym Leader! I can’t pass up this opportunity! I need to learn absolutely everything I can!” he said.

Redi sent a side-eye to the man, uncomfortably shifting between her feet.

“I don't know. This feels weird.”

“He trains Ghost Types! Ghost Types always feel weird!”

She sighed, pressed her lips together. “If you asked him for help, why is he bringing you somewhere else? Couldn’t he, I don’t know, just show you how his team trains? Or give you more books to read from like you’re already always doing on your own?”

She sent a pointed look at Sam, and Sam sucked in air through his teeth.

“I don’t know. I’m not a true Ghost Type specialist yet.”

Redi shrugged and leaned back.

“Okay. I guess if you’re willing to trust him...”

“We can meet up later at the nearest Pokémon Center!” Sam said quickly, beginning to step back towards Morty. “I really didn’t mean to leave you in the Gym! I’ll make it up to you later!”

He waved as he returned to Morty’s side, with Redi waving back, sending one last, suspicious gaze to the man as she did. The Gym Leader sent Sam a glowing smile before quickly descending the nearby stairs. Sam didn’t wait at all to follow and keep in pace.

“It’ll be a short trip to get where we need to go. The shrine is at the end of a main street not too far away. In the meantime, feel free to ask me anything about the Ghost Type. I’ll answer the best I can,” Morty said.

People were already recognizing the Gym Leader. Locals waved, and some tourists tried to approach. Unfortunately for the tourists, Morty didn’t slow down to greet them. Sam felt like he had to run just to stay by the man’s side.

“Can you describe the Ghost Type for me? As a Gym Leader, you have to have a unique perspective, right?”

Morty chuckled. “I suppose I do,” he said. “Ghost Types are... Well, they’re mischievous. Their actions tend to lean towards the malicious more often than not, and when not satisfied, they frequently fall into phases defined by negative emotion.”

“Then how do you train them?” Sam asked through his growing, panting breaths.

“Carefully.” Morty laughed at his own joke. “No, but Ghost Types are still Pokémon, and as long as you keep the Type’s various quirks in mind and treat them with respect, most trainers will come out just fine. I know some people tend to focus on how dangerous Ghost Types are, but all Pokémon are dangerous. Just look at the Rock Type! One improperly thrown stone, and...”

He winced and shook his head.

Stores and shops passed them by as they hurried down the street. The road was cobblestone, made specifically for pedestrians.

He soon turned a corner, and Sam turned just as sharply. The change in scenery was so abrupt that Sam paused before hurrying to catch back up.

This was the main street Morty had mentioned led to the shrine, but this place wasn’t an empty road. Instead, it was a festival, complete with bright, colorful lanterns hanging on strings above the path and booths lining its sides. Peddlers hawked their wares while skeevy-looking people advertised games that were likely just scams. People dressed in old-fashioned, Johtonian clothes idled about and explored the road. Most were too caught up in their own sightseeing to recognize the Gym Leader, but a few people pointed at him in amazement. Morty smiled back in polite acknowledgement but kept going.

“This festival happens every Friday. It’s why I need to head to the shrine today,” Morty explained. “But back to the topic of Ghost Types—”

“Can you give me any tips on figuring out a strategy?” Sam asked.

The Gym Leader hummed and rubbed his chin. Pale eyes flicked around, as if he were searching for something.

“I would say that it varies from person to person, but I think you have a unique opportunity since you know about Hex,” Morty said. “Hex is an incredibly powerful attack—comparable to Shadow Ball when used in the right circumstances. I wouldn’t be surprised if you could shape an entire team around it considering the strength the move brings.

“The way I see it, you have three different ways to make Hex work for you. The first is to simply use it as a surprise, strong attack, structuring your team around a powerful offense.

“The second is to focus on creating situations to maximize Hex’s potential, which would entail strategies based around status conditions and weakening your foes.

“Finally, the third option would be to build your team around one or two Pokémon that have the power to set-up and sweep your foe. Wear down opposing Pokémon until they’re unable to sustain a defense, and then send out your chosen sweeper to quickly faint everything they have left.”

Sam wished he could take out his journal and write all this down, but the street was too dense with people, and the sounds of loud music gave the place a chaotic atmosphere that made it difficult to listen in. Morty kept talking, and Sam felt like he was fighting just to keep up. He had questions to ask—specifics he wanted to be explained. Yet, it was like he had to swim against a current just to keep in pace.

“For you, with your Pokémon, I’m not able to give any specific advice until you have more members on your team,” Morty continued. “The best thing I can say is that at your level, strategy isn’t as important as having a decent offense. True strategy is something to work on at a higher tier of competition, when your team is capable of branching out and implementing more options.”

“But I want to have a way to direct my Pokémon! I don’t want general training, I want to give them something to focus on as a guide!” Sam shouted.

Morty didn’t hear him. The Gym Leader kept talking. The crushing force of the crowd around him made him feel like he was choking.

Morty went on to discuss specific, local species. Gastly, and their use of poisonous gasses and their keen insight into Hypnosis. Haunter, with similar skills but now with a pair of proper hands. Gengar were speedy, agile, and capable of a surprising amount of tricks that manipulated shadow. And then there was Misdreavus, a Pokémon with surprising control over its own special attacks.

As expected of a Gym Leader, Morty was a veritable fountain of advice, but Sam hadn’t yet heard what he wanted to hear. He kept pushing after him, and the Gym Leader kept talking, seemingly ignoring his constant struggle just to keep up.

What about capturing a Ghost Type? Training a Ghost Type? The New Pokédex is clear enough about a species’s potential, but what should I do to add one to my team?

Morty slipped around a corner, and Sam chased after him. Escaping from the crowd, he managed to grab onto the Gym Leader’s arm to get him to stop and shouted a question at the man.

“How should I catch a Gastly?” he yelled.

His voice echoed around him. Morty blinked.

Sam took a look at his surroundings and realized he was now somewhere else entirely. The festival was no longer around him; the street had fallen silent.

There were no booths, and there was no crowd. All festival-goers had been firmly left behind. The road was no longer as cobbled, having turned into something more akin to pressed gravel. Wherever Morty had led them, they were definitely not on the main path.

“...Where are we?” Sam asked.

The only light came from infrequent hanging lanterns and the glow of the moon itself. This place was like an alley snug between the backs of buildings, but no windows opened up to this side.

Morty took a step forward.

“Follow me and don't speak.”

Any amusement or levity in his voice was completely gone.

Sam wanted to push for another answer, but the Gym Leader wasn't even looking at him. Any friendly expression had left the man’s face to be replaced with an unreadable gaze.

He chose to silently follow along as Morty pushed deeper in. The pair walked slowly, and their footsteps echoed ominously around them.

It was cold. The chill of the night pressed into Sam. He found himself wrapping his arms tight around his chest and debated whether or not it was worth sending out Cyndaquil. For now, he figured she’d be more comfortable in her Pokéball.

He wasn't sure how far into the alley it happened, but eventually, a voice called out. It was faint, requiring Sam to strain just to listen. The voice came like a fading whisper, almost caressing Sam’s ear.

“...Hello.”

Morty stopped. Sam stopped as well. The two of them turned around to face the newcomer—a woman standing about a dozen feet away.

She was young, older than Sam but younger than Morty. Skin as pale as the moon itself, her face was framed by perfectly straight, jet-black hair. She wore an old-fashioned, Johtonian kimono, but Sam couldn’t see her expression. Held in one hand, a paper fan covered both her nose and her mouth.

“Hello,” Morty replied. The barest of smiles appeared on his face.

The woman bowed her head ever so slightly in greetings. Morty did not bow back.

“Forgive me for bothering you, fair travelers. I wish to ask for your assistance. There is a question that must be answered.”

Sam looked at her strangely.

“A que—”

Morty's hand cut him off. It hit his shoulder, grabbing on and squeezing him, the sudden pain telling him to shut up and stay quiet.

The alley became deathly silent. Sam stared at the woman, eyes wide. Yet, Morty seemed entirely unbothered. The Gym Leader maintained that casual, polite smile.

“My apologies, but we have business elsewhere. We are already running late as it is.”

The woman bowed her head. Her hair and kimono shifted slightly along with the movement. Sam thought she looked like a picture perfect example of ephemeral grace.

“I understand. I do not wish to be rude,” she replied.

Morty smiled one last time and turned to leave. Sam returned to hurrying after him as they began to walk away.

“Was that—”

“Do not speak. Do not turn around. Stare straight ahead, no matter what you hear.”

Something about Morty’s voice made the hair on the back of Sam's neck stand up. His tone offered no room for any question, and Sam’s movements came out more stiff than before.

Each successive footfall was like the stroke of a clock—and a heavy thud against Sam's heart.

The voice spoke up again. The woman called out.

“Oh, but sirs?”

Sam didn't respond—he couldn't. Morty's hand returned to his shoulder. It inched over to grab the back of his neck, where it squeezed and made it impossible to turn his head.

“Keep going,” Morty whispered. “Do not turn around.”

His footsteps came to him faster. His breaths came to him quicker. He felt colder—far colder than he had ever felt before. That icy feeling settled into his gut, and he began to truly understand that entering this alley had not been a wise choice.

“Before you go...”

Her voice was closer. There had been no sounds that signaled her approach.

“I do want one of you to respond...”

She was right behind them. He could hear her breathing behind his ear.

“I’ve been asking for so long. Won't someone answer my question...?”

A shadow at the edge of his vision. Morty squeezed his neck even tighter. Sam was unable to ignore it—a silhouette appeared in the corner of his eyes.

The woman pushed her head forward to place it just right between him and Morty. It was held perfectly level and without any support, as if there was no neck attached to its base. It crept forward ever so slowly—too smoothly to be natural—and Sam held his breath as the profile of her face became visible. She was no longer holding up a fan.

He would never forget her jagged smile, or how it cut from ear to ear.

And then she was gone. And then they were back in the festival. He and Morty reached the end of the alley and turned the corner, rejoining the chaotic sounds of life and the heavy warmth pervasive to this atmosphere, just one street over.

Feeling as though he had just run a mile, Sam collapsed to the ground while Morty arched his back and pressed on his lower spine to stretch.

“What... What was that?” Sam all but yelled.

The Ghost Type specialist merely smiled and shook his head. Morty laughed despite everything they had just gone through, and he turned his pale eyes to where Sam lay on the ground.

“Do you really want to know?”

Sam hesitated.

He stopped, and he considered.

He grew up reading scary stories. He grew up absolutely obsessed with the Ghost Type. He always knew there was something more to it, some terrifying, horrifying, otherwise unknown truth. Yet, despite that, Sam had to admit that the current thrumming of his heart wasn’t anything he disliked.

“I do,” he said.

The Ghost Type specialist offered a hand, and Sam took it, allowing himself to be yanked up. Morty dusted the dirt off of Sam’s jacket, and Sam glanced back down the alleyway.

It was empty. Lifeless. No sign of that woman remained.

“Ghost Types wield a spiritual power, but they would be unable to do so if such power didn’t exist,” Morty explained. “There are times where conditions line up just right to create something like what we just went through. Was it an illusion? Was it a hallucination? All I can say is this: it was dangerous, and it was good that you listened to my warnings.”

He smiled. A shiver shot through Sam. There was something about the look in Morty’s eyes that told him the Gym Leader was telling the absolute truth.

“So!” Morty patted him on the shoulders, a far different feeling than when he had been grabbed before. “As resident Gym Leader and local Ghost Type specialist, let me be the first to congratulate you! You’ve just had a successful encounter with a real-life ghost. Good job!”