Paranormal Paranioa

Purity is not imposed upon us as though it were a kind of punishment, it is one of those

mysterious but obvious conditions of that supernatural knowledge of ourselves in the Divine,

which we speak of as faith. Impurity does not destroy this knowledge, it slays our need for it.

Georges Bernanos

The noise erupting from her mouth is ragged, forced, scratchy. But still, it was a horrid sound, her screaming. I just wait for her to stop, knowing that even though this house is old, and there are holes everywhere, we are too far from town to be heard. So... she screams... and screams... and eventually yells.

I roll my eyes and float closer. "Okay, okay, stop."

Her screaming ceases and is replaced by a sound similar to a whimper. She begins to move out from under the pile and that send more wood and plate fragments to the floor, where they break even more.

"No, stop, stop," I say to her, getting closer.

Dorothy seems to be deaf, because she won't stop moving. She gets behind the pile and slips and trips on her own feet, still making noises.

"Stop, just stop!" I say again.

But she doesn't. Dorothy turns and heads towards the back door. When she does, she slips again and kicks a large hole in the wall of my counter. I yell at her again, but she's already in my backyard. Dorothy trips over one of my pumpkins and falls flat on her face. She rises, crying and covered in dirt and mashed pumpkin, but once she sees me again her crying turns louder. Dorothy run over to my well and jumps on the edge, then leaps at the nearest part of my iron fence. It's too far away and she lands on her stomach again.

"He-help! Please!" she yells into the air.

My head shrinks between my shoulders as she yells. "Stop, stop!" I yell at her.

But her yelling just gets louder. "Please! Somepony help me!" I yell at her again, but that's does nothing. She continues her screaming. "Please help!"

At this point, I've had it. I triple in size and gain a pink hue. Red illusionary flames circle her and I raise my voice. "Stop this instant!" This time, she stops. Dorothy sniffs and stares at me with watery eyes. I don't change my size, or my color, but the flames around her fade. I cross my forelegs. "Now... get your sorry ass inside, right now." I wait for her to move, but after a few moments she does nothing. "Now!" I yell at her, and she begins to stand.

Dorothy takes slow, small steps as she gets close to me, and I move aside to let her back into my home. Once she's inside the kitchen, I follow her and blow the door closed with a gust of wind. She stares up at me, and I float there in the air, waiting.

"...Go. Into the living room. Now." She does what I say, clambering over the pile of rubble and broken wood, and I follow. I then go into my study, and Dorothy seems to have learned to follow me now. She sees the green flames in the fireplace and stares into them. Tears flow from her eyes, but they're slow-coming.

I settle into my chair and look at her. She looks at me. I point at the floor right in front of me. "Sit right here."

Dorothy does, hesitantly. I lean forward until our faces are a mere foot apart. And so, I look her over. Her gray coat is matted with mud and pumpkin, and there are clumps of dirt and seeds in her mane. The ribbon that was in her mane is gone as well. It must still be under the pile in the kitchen. Her shirt, which the knot has been undone and her barrel is now showing, is filthy. Her short red skirt is matted with orange and brown, and I even see that she has on a pair of white delicates. She has a cut over her left eye, but it's not bleeding; it must have happened last night when she was covered by the pile in the kitchen. I look her up and over, then my vision reverts back up at her face, and I notice something big. Her horn is broken; split off at a ragged and sharp angle just below halfway.

I lean back into my chair and let Dorothy relax. "...Why are you still here?" I ask her.

She looks at me. "...I... don't know."

"Of course you don't," I say softly. "...I told your friends to take you home last night. Obviously they didn't. Too scared to care about you, huh?"

She begins to snivel again, still scared about talking to a ghost. She begins messing with her skirt.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

She looks back up at me. "Just... nothing."

I roll my eyes. "Mares these days. Always thinking they need to dress like a slut for Nightmare Night."

She forces a small smile, but it falters and makes her look pained. "It's supposed to be fun..."

"Fun," I say sharply, "is a word that ponies take for granted and misuse. It's fun to fight with one another. It's fun to to go into a dark cellar and look for a slipper or something." I turn my head, lean forward, and look right in her eyes and say, "It's fun to steal from somepony."

Dorothy just looks down at her feet. "...I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

I can't help but lose some of my fury. "...Well, so long as you are. I take it that the idea was not yours?"

"Yeah. We could have easily bought some at the market," she says softly.

Leaning back in my chair, I rotate my hoof in the air. "Yes. You could have." I look at her again. "...You got a name?"

She nods. "My name is Burning Star." I can tell she's still scared, but at least she's truthful. "...Am I going to die here?"

Again, I roll my eyes. I ignore her question and continue. "What is with parents naming their foals ridiculous names like that? Why can't they be like everypony else in the world, giving real names to their offspring? Something like Annabel or Rick... Just... still, it is." I wait a moment, and it seems agonizingly long. I look around the room, but I can't seem to stop glancing at the mare in front of me. Burning Star...

"Um," she says softly, so soft that I barely hear it. But I do.

"What the hell am I doing, talking to the living?" I float out of my chair and hover in front of Burning Star. "Go on, get out of here. You know where the door is."

And now it's her turn to be confused. But she doesn't argue; Burning Star walk out of the room in a wary manner as if I'm some feral animal about to spring at her. She goes into the living room and begins messing with the door. I sink back into my chair and sigh. The spectral flames in my fireplace wink out, and I decide that this is too much trouble. My choice is simple; I'll go dormant for a few years, see if everything can go back to normal. Yeah, that's what I'll do. Yeah... yeah...

"Um, excuse me."

I open my eyes again, looking around. My home is still the same, but I don't think any time has gone by. Burning Star is still here, sitting right where she was when I was examining her.

"What are you still doing here? Waiting for an encore?" She looks scared, but I don't give. "Go on, before I decide to possess you or something."

I think she believes that I will too. She shrinks down and points into the other room. "I-I tried, but the door won't open. And there's no way out through the back."

I look at her again, and something catches my attention. Her shirt is still open, and I can see fresh bruises on her chest. "What happened?" I ask her.

If Burning Star's head went any lower, her chin would touch my floor. She points to the kitchen. "In your yard, the fence is bent open slightly. I thought I-I could, you know, squeeze through, but I got stuck."

A gap in the fence...? I think I know what made that. But if I tell her now, she might do something I wouldn't want her to do. What am I talking about? She's already doing that; she's still here! I shake my head and sigh. "So you can't leave...?" She shakes her head and I get out of my chair. I go into the living room and look at the door. There are marks all over the door and I glare back at Burning Star, who shrinks back near the fireplace. I then phase outside and circle the house. With all my windows boarded up and the upper window too high to jump from without injury, she really was stuck in my house unless she wanted out in one piece. But... an injury is something she may want to risk.

"So, the door is stuck tight, the backyard is closed off, and the windows are boarded," I say to her. She looks up at me. "...All except one."

"What?" Burning Star asks.

I nod. "To the left is another room, well not really. A stairwell. It leads to my bedroom. The window on the upper floor isn't blocked off, but its a pretty big jump to the ground from there."

Before I can continue, Burning Star is on her way to the other side of the living room. She heads through the doorway and turns again, disappearing from sight. And then a loud crash echoes throughout the house.

I rush into the other room and stare at the stairwell. "Oh, come on! Give me a break here!" Burning Star isn't in on the stairs; she in the damn basement! She fell through the stairs! Damn it! I throw a bit of a tantrum in the air, thrashing about and shouting obscenities that should probably never be said in general, before heading down into the basement.

Burning Star is upside-down in a large cardboard box with her rump sticking over the edge. She's trying to cover her backside with the skimpy shirt that's bundling around her hips, exposing her white delicates. Using a gale that was probably too strong for her, I throw over the box. She lands on her back with a thump and shakes her head. Burning Star looks up at me and shrinks in on herself. She has a damn good reason too; I'm fuming with rage. "Ever since you came here, my house has been falling apart! First the front door, then the kitchen, and now the stairs!" I lean forward and press my nose against her own, or at least I would have if my nose didn't phase through hers. "You're so damn lucky I can't touch you, otherwise I'd lock you in the backyard and call the Quartzkrit!" I'm pretty sure she doesn't know what a Quartzkrit is, but I can't explain it right now in my current rage. I point to the behind me at the stairwell that leads to the ground floor. "Get upstairs, now!"

Burning star doesn't waste any time; she zips upstairs before I can yell at her again, but I'm not entirely finished. I phase through the ceiling and find her sitting in front of the fireplace, waiting for me apparently. I float closer to her, uncomfortably close, to get my point across. "The door is stuck tight, the windows are boarded up, the staircase leading to the only way out is no longer an option..." I shake my head and close my eyes. Floating back into my chair, I continue talking. "The fence out back is too much of a risk to get over as well, so unless you want to be skewered, I suggest you sit right there until I can figure out a way to get rid of you. This would be so much easier if you're horn wasn't broken."

She reaches up with a hoof, as if she didn't even realize her horn was half the size it was before, and feels around it. A second later I see her grimace in pain as a blue spark flies from her broken horn. "Ow... mmm...."

"With no magic," I continue, "you can't do anything really. You're just like an earth pony now."

I open my eyes and look at Burning Star, who's staring at the fireplace. "What about going up the chimney?" she asks.

"What?" I ask back in complete awe at her stupidity. "You think you're like that fat bear parents tell their foals about? What's his name? Santa Claws? Whatever, you go ahead and try, but I don't see you fitting at all."

Burning Star looks at the fireplace again, then hangs her head. "...I'm sorry about all this."

"You should be," I spit back. I lean back in my chair, the crackle of the spectral fire softening as I lower the fire.

We sit in silence for a while, maybe an hour or so. I try and relax, but it's pretty hard. I think Burning Star is still sitting in front of the fireplace, but I haven't checked. My little question is answered when I hear a growl, followed by a soft moan. When I open my eyes Burning Star is still where she was. She's sitting up with her head hung low.

I lean forward towards her. "Hey, you okay?" Burning Star looks up at me. "Come on, say something. Are you okay? I don't want you dying here."

She nods. "I'm fine."

I hear the growl and nod. "You're hungry." It's a statement, not a question. She nods, but I shake my head. "Sorry to say, but the only thing to eat around here are pumpkins."

She looks at her feet before looking at me again. "Um... Mister Ghost, may I please have your permission to go get a pumpkin?"

Permission? I didn't know fear could turn into politeness. "Uh..."

She looks at me, making eye contact again. "Please Mister Ghost?"

I grimace. "...Yeah, I suppose so." Mister Ghost? What the hell? "...Just don't call me that. It makes me feel... uncomfortable."

Burning Star stands and heads to the kitchen. "... What should I call you then?"

Now she's getting cocky. "Just go get your pumpkin," I snarl.

Scared, Burning Star heads through the doorway and I hear her begin to climb the pile. I don't think three seconds pass before I hear her yelp. I float out of my chair and phase through the walls into the backyard, where Burning Star is huddled near the well. She looks like she's seen a gho-Ahem, like she's seen a monster.

"What now?" I bark.

Burning Star points to the far fence, the one with the gap that she tried to slip through before. "I saw something! Big!"

I roll my eyes. "It's probably just the Quartzkrit. Now get your pumpkin and come inside."

But she doesn't budge. "What's a Quartzkrit? That thing was huge!"

"It's like a cat," I say. "Just get inside."

This time she does, but she dashes back out and grabs a decent sized pumpkin and then returns to the kitchen. I glance back at the fence once more before heading in after her. I close the back door with a gust of wind and return to my study, where Burning Star is already seated in front of the fireplace. At the moment, she's trying to figure out how to open the damned thing. I settle into my chair again and watch her. The fear in her eyes is still present, but it's more or less concentrated at starvation, not at me. I guess that's good. Or not.

Keeping my tone, I lean forward and warn her. "Don't make a mess." I wince as she pounds on the thing with my fire poker. It cleaves the pumpkin in two, but splatters that carpet. "Hey," I snap, "I said don't make a mess!"

Now the fear is pointed towards me again. "Sorry," she mutters, and then she gets up and walks out of the room. A moment later, she returns with a still rag that was probably buried in the pile in the kitchen. Burning Star dabs at the pumpkin sinews that lay in the carpet, trying her best not to smear the color into it. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

"You talk like you're going to be here forever," I say. She looks up at me with an unreadable face. I shrug. "Don't like it as much as you do, but I will figure a way to get rid of you."

She goes back to the carpet. "You sound like you don't want to kill me."

"Of course not!" I sputter. I recover before she can look up. "I mean, I don't want you dying here, yeah. That would bring too many of the living around. You're just one pony, I don't want to even think about what could happen to my poor house if ten or twenty come barging in and find your corpse rotting in my living room."

The emotion in her eyes has softened a bit. The finishes her cleaning and sits back up. Burning Star looks at me, then at the two pumpkin halves in front of her. "Are they safe to eat?" she asks.

I shrug. "Depends. If they've been properly grown, the worst thing you could get from eating one raw is a tummy ache. I don't know what will happen if you eat one of the wild ones here." Burning Star eyes it, so I continue. "You'll be fine. It just tastes like, well, you ever leave cereal in a bowl too long and the milk gets it soggy?" She nods. "Yeah," I say, "it tastes like that, but with a potato-like kick."

"You sure know a lot about pumpkins," she says as she grabs a hoof full of the wiry sinews.

I nod. "I should. I had one as my cutie mark after all."

"What's your name?" Burning Star asks.

I stare at her for a moment. "...Why do you ask?"

She shrugs. "I... I don't know. I mean, we're talking, but I don't know what to call you."

I cross my forelegs and sink into my chair. "...Lanturne."

"What?" Burning Star asks.

"Lanturne, like the oil lanterns. Just call me that."

"Is that your name?" she asks.

"It's what you can call me. Now drop it." That seems to have shut her up. Burning Star stares at her pumpkin for a moment before raising it to her mouth. I close my eyes and relax as I hear her take a bite, ripping the stringy flesh of the squash from the rind. I hear her gag, but ignore it. But before long, I hear her chewing in a normal rhythm. Beggars can't be choosers, I suppose.

Her voice brings me back. "So Lanturne, can I ask you something?" I open my eyes and look at her. She's barely made a dent in her meal. I nod for her to continue. "In the basement, you said that I was lucky that you couldn't touch me. Does that mean you really can't touch me?"

"What do you think?" I mumble.

She looks down at her pumpkin. "...Can't you, like, possess other ponies?"

I raise a nonexistent eyebrow. "Are you asking me to possess you?" She shakes her head in a hurry. "Good, 'cause that just doesn't feel right. Going into another pony's body and fighting their soul for control, that's way to uncomfortable."

"You can feel things?" Burning Star asks.

I look at her like one would look at a foal who just broke something. "I'm an ectoplasmic entity that has all the otherworldly powers of Death himself, of course I can feel things."

She backs away from me. "...All Death's powers? Like in the stories? So if I touch you...do I die?"

I shake my head and close my eyes. "No. I don't have all of Death's powers. I only have one."

"What is it?"

"This," I say gesturing to myself. "I can exist outside of Limbo."

I think I created a moment of tension, because Burning Star has stopped talking. She eats quietly, and from the few sounds she's making, I take it that the pumpkin is sitting rather well. No gagging, just mindful chewing and the occasional hiccup.

How can this be happening? A live being trapped with me? Ugh, as if I didn't have enough problems. There's something about Burning Star; she seems good natured, which is weird for the living. All I really know about them... Actually, I don't know much about the living anymore. I always thought they were nothing but troublemakers, bullies, and problematic in general. But this one, Burning Star, she seems like... somepony who's forced to be good mannered. Somepony like me, no, somepony like who I used to be. I was always forced to behave at the orphanage. It was the worst two years of my life. And the beginning of it wasn't so great as well. Eight years alone then jammed into small house with fifty other foals, and then, when I finally owned this house... I died...

I open my eyes and look a Burning Star, who looks back at me and offers a small smile of thanks. The gesture... annoys me.

"Hey," I say a bit louder than I should have, "doesn't this bother you?"

"What?" she replies.

"This!" I say while looking around. "Being trapped in an unfamiliar house with a ghost. A damn ghost!" I raise my forelegs out towards her and move them like swaying branches. "Doesn't that bother you? I'm dead, a spirit, and you are here, at my mercy, against your will might I add."

Burning Star cocks her head to one side. "You... don't like that, huh?"

"Don't like what?" I ask.

"Me not being completely terrified of you."

"You were about to wet yourself when you saw me for the first time a few hours ago," I snap.

She shakes her head. "I don't think you really think that way. Lanturne, you're not like the ghosts in the story books, you know that? You don't throw lamps at ponies, don't make the wallpaper peel, you don't really haunt, you know..." Burning Star looks at the empty pumpkin rinds, then at me. "...Thank you Lanturne."

And there, there it was. That look in her eyes. It looked like... genuine gratitude. And... compassion?

I shake my head and scowl. "You're damn lucky I... I... Ugh!" I float out of my chair and up to the ceiling. "If you get cold, there are blankets in the closet next to the staircase leading upstairs. Don't freeze to death, or I'll kick your spectral ass back into your body." And with that, I left her in my study to do what she may.

Up in my old bedroom, the only room on the second floor, my ghostly form casting no shadow on my bed, my floor, my walls. The large window overlooking a vast amount of nothing, and in that nothing sits the outline of the town, Burning Star's town. I sink to the floor, almost phasing through it, and pout. I pout, and whine, and thrash, and fight the facts all saying that I now have a responsibility; I must get rid of Burning Star. I float over to my bed and lay my form upon it, no dust rising form the old covers as I do. And with the thought of Burning Star leaving my home, her skimpy shirt barely hiding her backside, time flows past me like a gentle river carrying a current of dreamless passing.