Explain It Like I'm Tree

Chat Log 1

Boredom was the reason Lewis saw the chat request the moment it came through.

Vivi was out at the bookstore and had Mystery with her. Arthur was at the shop. Chunks of chicken and vegetables were stewing in a spicy fajita marinade and wouldn't be ready to stir-fry for another couple of hours. Every room in the house was spotless.

Given that he needed neither sleep nor rest, Lewis didn't have nearly enough to do. Vivi had ward charms on her room so he couldn't clean that. That had hurt. He'd have stayed out if she just told him to.

She'd also put ward charms on Arthur's room, but they had come down pretty quickly. Lewis had taken this as a sign that Arthur welcomed his efforts and so kept Arthur's room clean and organized. Only in Arthur's absence, though. He didn't enter when Arthur shut the door for the night. Even if the light under the door—often on until early into the next morning—worried him.

But he'd done everything to the max for the day. Now Lewis leaned against the back wall of the office, signaling the Deadbeat ghostling to keep refreshing the web browser. They'd gotten a few spam bots trying to post, but those were quickly deleted. There'd been a few responses to his first post as Mod Skull.

"Welcom back! exited to see ur new adventurs!" Lewis winced, a list of corrections running through his head.

Hey, pretty sure my neighbor's dog is haunted. It drops glowing turds all over my Dad's lawn. Think you can bust it? Lewis rolled his eyes.

Is your love life struggling? With this one trick, have her screaming—Deleted.

Good to see a group taking paranormal research seriously. There aren't nearly enough like you. Interesting case with that ghost. Ghosts aren't my field, but someone in my group may know. I'll be in touch. Signed "Mothman." Lewis hummed thoughtfully. That handle sounded familiar. Someone had mentioned it before. It might give him an excuse to ask Vivi. Maybe even have a normal conversation with her.

Mothman's comment kept Lewis requesting refreshes every two minutes. The Deadbeat seemed to think it was a game, often giggling or cheering for itself when it successfully carried out Lewis' command. Lewis softened a little, watching it enjoy itself.

Ping.Lewis straightened. His skull drifted forward a few inches to read the chat.

Mothman: Hi! I left a note on your blog earlier. My contact came through pretty quickly. Let me know when you've got time to talk.

Lewis signaled the Deadbeat, who readied for the more challenging task of transcribing Lewis' words.

Mod Skull: Hi Mothman. I'm here. Thanks for getting back to us. What do you have? And who's this contact?

Mothman: An agency friend. Can't say more. He went through a kind of branching-options talk with me.

Mothman: So first branch was, malicious or non-malicious ghost? Your post said non-hostile, so I said non-malicious.

Mothman: Next question was if there was an anchor. Small physical object, location, or person that the ghost seems particularly attached to?

Lewis hesitated, his hand drifting up to the cracked locket hanging on the front of his suit. Best to not be too specific.

Mod Skull: There's an anchor, yes.

Mothman: Didn't have that answer when I talked to my contact so I'll tell him and get back to you with what he says. Any other issues with the ghost you wanna run by him?

Mod Skull: It fries any electronics it touches. We've seen other ghosts, but not one that does that. This ghost even has other, smaller spirits that seem to assist him and they don't fry the electronics. Same reason as the voice issue? Different? Input would be great. Both issues together makes it really hard to communicate.

Mothman: Ten-four. I'll get back to you.

Mod Skull: Roger Roger. Thanks a bunch.

Lewis pulled his focus back. The walls pulsated steadily in and out, like four massive chests breathing, shrinking the room inward a fraction with each cycle. The ceiling dripped thick ink into puddles on the floor. Each drawer on the desk was now a separate mouth with lips sprouting razor sharp teeth. Three wind-up clowns were stabbing themselves and laughing on a shelf, while the fourth was clinging to the whiteboard, using a dry-erase marker to illustrate a certain spiky-haired man with a noose around his neck—

Lewis grabbed that clown and hurled it to the ground. It shrieked like a child on fire before bursting apart into a swarm of tiny spiders. Disgusted, Lewis wiped the drawing away with his sleeve. The door was shut and locked, so the effects were confined to this room. Hopefully it would all fade out before anyone got back. Or needed to use the office.

Hopefully Mothman's contact would get back to him soon.