Phantoms

"This was no ordinary notebook, of course." Kerfuffle sipped the last of her milk, staring through Sunny like rain through the sky. Her potato was starting to go cold.

"Of course," Sunny replied. "I think I've seen it," he added, flagging the waitress down. "Check, please."

"I'm not done explaining, Sunny."

"But you've done a damn good job of traumatizing the wait staff, and if this keeps up you might get banned from the only diner and grocery store in town."

Kerfuffle stayed quiet for a bit after that.

Sunny paid without incident--his bank account was practically endless, a byproduct of centuries of frugal living and tax-collecting--and they exited, Kerfuffle holding her tail between her legs, Sunny struggling to think of a way to reassure her. It's okay, you're just scarred for life, these things happen?

He felt somewhat ashamed to have not picked up on it. He'd gone in knowing that Kerfuffle, if nothing else, knew what a Rakshasa was--how could he possibly think that she had anything resembling a clean bill of mental health? How could he have simply assumed that she weren't scarred?

"...your place?" Kerfuffle says, kicking Sunny out of his introspective fugue.

"Er, what?"

"I said, maybe we could go back to your place? We could keep talking without givin' the waitress a heart attack."

Sunny considered this, briefly. The town hall had felt somewhat empty after Petunia packed her bags. And he did still have that bottle of Glenfilly, bad memories and all.

"Eh, why not?" he said, trotting along. They both knew the way already.

He was probably gonna need the drink to get through the rest of this.

"I want you to know--I'm happy I'm here, Sunny."

Sunny nodded. "I'm happy to hear that."

"I want you to know that because--oh, we'll get to it later. Just--don't worry about it, okay? I want to be here."

"If you say so--oof!"

Sunny rubbed his head as Moody winced--they had collided with each other, lost in their own respective thoughts.

"Ah! Sunny! Good mornin' to ya!" Moody said. "Town's runnin' smooth, hmn? I'm sure you're happy with it."

"Oh yes! Yes, I'm very pleased with how things have gone recently. Sorting out my own little corner of things has made everything else easy by comparison."

"Easy as...whussaword...butter on biscuits?" Moody grinned. "There's another sayin' for your book, Mayor. Feel free to use it."

"I appreciate it, Moody." Sunny tried to match Moody's grin, but found himself a bit more nervous about it. "Oh, and sorry about your truck."

Moody blinked. "Whaaaaat do ya mean?" he murmured.

"Oh." Now it was Sunny's turn to stare in total confusion. "Forget about it, it's probably nothing."

Moody squinted at the Mayor, but try as he might, he couldn't find an explanation on Sunny's face. "If you say so." His expression sprang back into a friendly grin. "Well," he said, "gotta go check on ma' garden. See you tomorrow, Mayor!"

"See you tomorrow," Sunny said, waving as Moody wandered off.

"You understand we aren't going to finish the bottle," Sunny said.

"You? Naaah. I'm sure you'd never drink that much in one sitting," Kerfuffle muttered, as she fidgeted in her chair.

Sunny coughed.

"Was it something I said?"

"Don't worry about it," Sunny grumbled as he poured out two shots. "So, the notebook. It was bright red, right? About yea wide, so tall?" He outlined the shape with his hooves. Kerfuffle nodded.

"You've seen it before?"

"Inside Long Nght's world."

Kerfuffle sat up. "Knew it," she said. "It must belong to her. Or maybe it's just something that shows up when she does her thing?"

"Either way," Sunny said, "I didn't look inside. I didn't spend much time with Long Night. Couldn't stand to be around her, honestly."

"I guess that's fair. Anyway, that wasn't the last time I saw the notebook either."

"What, it followed you?"

"It did. When I woke up the morning after tossing it out, it was back, and it had a drawing of the eyeless Kirin that burned me to death."

"Eugh."

"Really detailed drawing, too. Had the ominous hole in the middle and everything."

Sunny decided not to ask anything else about the kirin. "What did you do with the book then?"

"Tossed it into the sea."

"And then?"

"I found it again the day after, with notes on the time it took for me to drown in blood in the nightmare I had that night. Then I burned it, and the next drawing I found was a butcher's diagram of my body. That's when I started to think I needed professional help..."

Ramooh and Daiya lived out of the local temple--making a living by giving advice for donations. They seemed like they'd know what to do about this--you know, they had the mysticism, they had the spot at the temple, they seemed legitimate.

They were a bit more dressed up today--probably because they weren't planning on hiking through a soggy forest, hauling stone blocks, or getting chased by terrible monsters. Ramooh had these strips of cloth wound around his horns, and Daiya's were capped off with a pair of softball-size orbs made of something that looked soft and shiny. He wouldn't let me touch them.

"So, are you here for a tour? I must warn you, Father's going to be very busy today, so--"

"I've been having nightmares," I said, and that got their attention. Ramooh immediately started asking questions, but Daiya shushed him, leading us into a back room.

It was tiny--barely large enough for a pair of beds, which were the only furniture in it. Daiya sat on one, pointed me to the other, and guided Ramooh to sit next to him.

"Detailed?" Daiya said.

I nodded.

"Would you say they are..."

"Gruesome," I offered.

He nodded. "And how often do you have them?"

"Every night."

He frowned. "I had hoped this would not happen," he said, "but it is understandable. The beast haunts you."

"Is that a euphemism?" I said, tilting my head. Daiya tilted his in turn. "You know, for going loopy and stuff. PTSD? That kind of thing?"

Daiya sighed. "I am afraid not."

"The rakshasa will stay in your nightmares," Ramooh explained, "until it drives you mad with pain and grief. Then, it will take you to its world."

"...and kill me?" I asked.

Ramooh and Daiya shared a glance. "We cannot say for sure," Daiya replied. "What I know is this: You will not be freed by simple patience."

"Father, are we going to train her?" Ramooh said.

"It is the right thing to do," Daiya said softly.

There was a moment's silence. I'm ashamed to say I was kind of excited--would I be learning some kind of ancient martial art, or something? Would I be training to have crazy Bovist mind powers? I let my mind run wild for a bit before I remembered the notebook.

"There's one last thing," I said, as I pulled it out. "I found this earlier..."

I opened it up. Ramooh and Daiya studied it with the kind of distant academic interest that one can only have after a lifetime of studying everything under the sun.

"Did you draw this?" Daiya asked.

I stared at him, blinking. "I...what? No. I found it like this."

Ramooh shook his head. "Father, these drawings are too accurate--"

"It is not hard to believe that she is a good artist."

"--and she could not have drawn her heart in so much detail, even if she were not in pain--"

"As I said," Daiya muttered under his breath, "It is not hard to believe that she is a good artist. Drawing from memory is not unheard of, either."

"But I didn't draw these!" I said. "I swear! I didn't even have the notebook until the day after I had the nightmare!"

"You are traumatized. Perhaps you simply forgot what you did, to ease your pain."

I groaned, putting my head in my hooves. "Then what about the fact that it's following me?"

"What?" Daiya tilted his head, the tassels on his horns swinging slightly.

"It follows me. I tried throwing it away, throwing it in the ocean, I even burned it! It. Kept. Coming. Back."

"Nightmares are not always obvious. You must have dreamed about destroying the book."

I stared at him, slack-jawed.

"Trauma manifests in many ways." Daiya said with a shrug.

"Father," Ramooh said softly, "I do not believe she drew this--from memory--with a notebook she does not remember having before the nightmares. There must be something else going on."

"But who else could have drawn these?" Daiya said. Neither of us had an answer.

At the end of it, they had agreed to teach me everything they could to prepare me for fighting the monster. I went back to my apartment, carrying the notebook. They told me to keep it around--both as a way of tracking my nightmares, and in case it was more than just a sketchbook.