dream eater

General: Write a story from the perspective of the villain.

dream eater

All Pokémon—as Gengar had soon realized—were suckers. Every single one of them.

Even Alakazam, Mr. My-IQ-Has-More-Zeros-Than-Your-Bank-Account, had fallen for his ploy hook, line, and sinker. The simple-minded townsfolk were practically eating out of Gengar’s palm by the end of his speech. It helped that The Other Human just stood there, mute and dumb, sealing his own fate with silence.

Gengar had been mildly disappointed. He’d hoped for more of a fight from his supposed counterpart—an ounce of cleverness, some display beyond pure brawn. But The Other Human was just another gullible fool. Maybe humans weren’t all they were cracked up to be, either, and Gengar was instead a one-of-a-kind genius.

At first, Gengar had trailed behind the search parties. He enjoyed observing the chaos he’d caused. It was funny, really. Absolutely hilarious. What a bunch of morons.

But then night had settled, and the rescue teams settled down too, uninterested in risking unnecessary danger. Boring. So Gengar had struck ahead. And judging by the amber glow flickering further down the tunnel, his decision would soon be rewarded. It was almost impressive how terrible they were at covering their tracks.

Gengar’s grin widened.

Clear blue crystals glowed softly in the dark of Lapis Cave. They blossomed out the cracked quartz walls, bloomed out the shattered glass floor. There was something unnerving about the beauty, though, in its unnatural stillness, in its lack of life. The natural disasters and the mystery dungeon both had driven most inhabitants away.

Gengar’s warped reflection followed him within the crystal panes, a multitude of shadows, flitting about out the corner of his eye. He didn’t like reminders of his appearance. He hated his ghoulish red gaze, his ghastly white grin. So Gengar stared straight ahead and ignored the shadows. A light could be seen at the end of the tunnel.

The Other Human’s lap rat, Pikachu, sat by a campfire. More dying ember than an actual flame, the campfire smoldered low; caught in the mirror house of Lapis Cave, Gengar had still picked it out with ease. Pikachu was crouched, ears pricked forward, nose twitching, staring sightlessly into the dark. Every so often, she glanced over at The Other Human.

The Other Human lay curled in a ball. His paws occasionally batted at nothing, brow furrowed, lost in a restless sleep. He looked like an ordinary meowth, as far as Gengar could tell. And yet he wasn’t; they were the same.

Our insides don’t match our outsides. Gengar banished the thought immediately.

Gengar hung back, lurking, considering his options. He didn’t particularly want to interfere. He’d already fought them once, and the memory of the defeat still stung his pride. Gengar would rather enjoy the circus from a safe distance. Slow them down, perhaps, then double back and let the others know where they’d gone.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t mess with them a little.

Gengar closed his eyes and concentrated. The cave, the crystals, the campfire, the pikachu, all dissolved away. A subtle sweet scent filled the air, vaguely familiar for some reason. He opened his eyes.

Before him stood an enormous tree. Its roots jutted out of the ground, bark knotted and gnarled, branches bare except for a single piece of fruit. The fruit was pale gold in color, speckled brown, shaped to vaguely resemble a meowth’s face.

Gengar sauntered forward and plucked the fruit free. It was lighter than it looked. He inspected it for a brief moment before taking a large, irreverent bite. He munched loudly.

The fruit’s rind was thick and tough, giving way to flesh wafer-thin and almost utterly flavorless. It was like biting into water, water with a salty tang akin to tears.

The dream began:

You sit in a chair shaped like a birdcage. The wicker basket wraps around you, the corduroy cushion beneath not exactly comfortable, but the novelty makes up for it. You rock back and forth, feet dangling a good inch away from the ground, staring down the hall—all the furniture is purple for unknown reasons—and watching the setting sun filter through the kitchen window.

A meowth sits at the sill, staring back at you. She’s a stray that comes around every so often for food, and when storms roll through, your parents let her stay in the garage. The meowth arches her back and yawns, pink tongue stark in her dark maw. She cleans her whiskers with a meticulous dedication you can’t help but admire.

The meowth pads away and you never see her again, never know what happened to her. Your cheeks are wet; you don’t understand why. Now the house’s walls are purple too.

The birdcage chair sways, and your small fingers clutch the wicker basket for balance. An abrupt ‘kehehe’ disrupts the somber quiet.

You look up. An inky purple swirl with a cheshire cat smile looks back down at you from atop the cage: it matches the furniture. You smile back through your tears. The swirl’s answering smirk falters and then fades. Now it’s solemn, entire body tilting until it’s upside down, hovering in front of you.

You study each other. After a moment, it reaches out, dark fingers splaying across your chest. Your heart beats fast in the palm of its hand. You glance—the hand flicks up with a feather-light touch, brushing your nose.

A blink. Then you giggle; the inky blot smiles. For the first time, the smile reaches its eyes.

The dream was over.

The light turned blinding, no longer dying shades of orange and red, but vibrant greens and yellows. Gengar smelled the sweet scent again, stronger now, tinged with peppermint, and he knew her.

“Gengar?”

No.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

A deep, intense terror filled him. Claws tore at his heart, a heavy anchor threatening to drag him down, down, down. Gengar couldn’t move.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she said.

No answer.

He remembered when he was little: he couldn’t fall asleep, afraid of the monsters in his closet. He lay huddled under blankets pulled up to his chin, gazing with wide eyes at the yawning darkness, paralyzed by an inexplicable horror.

And then one day, the closet door creaked open. But there had been no monsters, only a tiny ralts, sweet and gentle, and she had stayed by his side ever since. For the first time in a long time, he had felt safe, for the first time in a long time he had slept through the night untroubled.

“Gengar?”

No.

“Go away,” he said.

The half-eaten fruit fell out of his loose grip. White maggots wriggled in the now blackened flesh; they reminded Gengar of his own smile. He picked it up, stuffing the rest of the fruit in his mouth.

The nightmare began:

The walls ooze purple.

It’s late and dark. You’re home alone. Your parents are gone.

You let the stray meowth sleep under your bed—

Now the tree was crumbling too, burnt charcoal, bits and pieces decaying in a series of soft, sad sighs as it withered away. The sky became overcast, sullen and grey. Nothing had changed.

—you let her lick your hand—

And yet she paid all of it no mind, stepping closer. Too close.

—the walls are oozing purple—

“Jacob?”

No!

—you let the meowth (suddenly she’s a ralts, then the meowth again, then some nightmarish amalgamation of both, staring with dead eyes at the window) dangle from a noose in the garage—

He slapped her. Palm open and directly across the cheek. He heard the crack, loud and clear; watched her head snap to the side. An ugly red weal burned her pale skin, matching the color of his eyes.

—it’s everywhere, you’re disgusting, filthy, don’t let them gawk—

She looked at him, hurt, and beneath the hurt brewed silent anger and tired disappointment. The reproach seared more painfully than any flame.

—there’s words written in blood on the window:

HUMANS CAN LICK TOO

The nightmare ended.

Gengar was back in Lapis Cave. His reflections glowered at him in the many facets of the crystals dripping off the walls, and he loathed each and every one more passionately than the last.

“Who’s there?!” The Other Human was awake, voice a hoarse yowl, fur bristling as he stared wildly out into the dark.

Sparks crackled off Pikachu’s cheeks. She stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him, her expression defiant. Gengar hated them both with a quiet desperation.

He wanted to fight, wanted to scream, wanted to beat his breast and throw a tantrum on the cracked glass floor of Lapis Cave. But Gengar did none of those things.

Instead, he did what he did best. He turned tail and ran, ran all the way back to Pokémon Square, never once looking back.