Forum Thread

tw// general creepiness, manipulation, unhealthy relationships, mutilation, self-harm, racism (between species), and possible ableism.

Final Word Count: 3763

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Memories of Ghosts

“‘I never knew being a ghost would be this crowded,’ said the ghost. ‘But a lotta people died, so it makes sense. Lotta dead people means a lotta lost space.’”

“Come on, Brooksookkkk,” a girl whined. “Ya know that ghosts don’t take up space! That’s the basic rule of ghosts! They pass through things!”

A boy chimed in his agreement. “Yeah! It don’t make sense for it to be crowded up. With the ‘mount of dead people, you’d choke to death right away!”

“My uncle choked to death,” a girl muttered.

“Ghosts are already dead though!” Brooksook stomped her foot. “And in my story then they take up space. So there!” she finished viciously.

The other children shuffled their feet and muttered to themself. Brooksook sensed she was losing her audience.

"But the ghost said-"

"Brooksook!" A voice called

"Do you see ghosts?” the girl asked. “With your magicky elf stuff?” There was a sneer in her voice.

“It’s not ‘elf stuff’,” Brooksook retorted. “Elves are cooler than just stupid magic!”

“Brooksook!”

“Looks like you have some magic lessons, Miss Special.”

A flare of anger sparked in Brooksook. “So maybe I am special! Then don’t make fun of me, if I’m so much better than you!.”

“Brooksook!”

Veriss’a Myel’s head poked around the corner. “It’s time to go! Come on!” She ushered her forward.

Brooksook stuck out her tongue at the girl, and bounced after her sister. “Coming!” she chirped.

—-

The village murmured uneasily as they passed. Veriss’a’s hand grew tighter on Brooksook’s shoulder.

“Why do they not like us?” Brooksook whispered.

“It’s our name. It’s not elflike.”

“Eh? But we’re elves, aren’t we?”

“We bring trouble if we’re not purebred. So in their opinion, either we’re halfbreeds- or that’s the safer way to play ourselves off. Either way, they think we’ll bring misfortune down on them.”

Usually, adults talked down to her. Brooksook wasn’t sure how to respond. She wanted her sister to think she was on the times- smart, aware- but she wasn’t, and so she kept her mouth shut. She instead watched the soul beetles scurry along the path. She stumbled.

Veriss’a’s arms caught her. “ Come on.” She hauled her to her feet. “You can speak your mind, Brooksook. I want the truth from you, always.” She offered Brooksook her hand, and she took it shyly.

“They’re right to be afraid of us.”

“Are they?” She tugged at Brooksook’s hand, not looking at her. “Why do you think that?”

“Because we’re elves. We’re dangerous to them, because they don’t have magic. Right-?”

“Lack of magicks is one reason. Political situation is another.’

Politics- adults were always so obsessed with it. Each time her parents brought someone home, she’d hear those fluffy arrangements of words which made no sense if you thought about it in any way. Why care about something far away, when you could talk about things that made you happy? Like soul beetles.

She wanted to impress Veriss’a though, so she kept from the insect world. “Politics have been bad, lately.”

“That they are,” Veriss’a agreed. Her face darkened. “Especially on the borders.”

“Because of the elves?” Brooksook inquired. Were the human rulers so mad because her family was living in a town with their humans?

“We’re not on Snavian land, Brooksook.”

“Of course I know that!” Brooksook protested. “We’re from the mighty nation of Tilon! Every morning we say words to remember Alai’on!” She puffed out her chest with pride.

“It’s Prince Alai'on.” But Verris’a’s face softened. “Yeah. We’re his citizens. Elves down to the bones.”

“Is he mad that there are humans here? Is that why politics are going bad?” Then why are we worrying? She thought.

“In a sense.” Veriss’a stopped suddenly.

Brooksook smacked into her back. “Hey! Don’t-”

Veriss’a didn’t move. Then slowly, her shoulders relaxed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have stopped so suddenly.” She offered Brooksook an apologetic smile. “We can keep going.”

“Alright.”

Brooksook decided not to talk about politics with her sister any more. They clearly made her sad.

–


Her parents had new people over, again. “Go to your room,” her mother had said in the tight voice that meant she meant business. But Brooksook was old enough for politics now. Veriss’a knew, Brooksook knew- a bit. She could just listen enough so she could talk about it.

And be as adultish as everyone else.

So now she was hiding under the stairs, listening to bustling in the kitchen.

They were speaking in low voices. So no matter how she strained her ears, she couldn’t hear anything. Just low murmurs.

“What are you doing?”

Brooksook’s forehead smacked against a stair. “OW!” she yelped.

“Shush!” Veriss’a clambered down under the chairs. “No- don’t call for mom. Show me your head.” She offered her hands.

Hesitantly, Brooksook peeled her palms away from her face. Veriss’a replaced them with her own. She felt a tingling start in her forehead.

The pain vanished. And the tingling remained.

“Woah,” she breathed.

“That’s magic.” Veriss’a smiled. “Mine awakened last week.”

Brooksook’s eyes widened. “Wow. Can you do spells? And fire and stuff?”

“No. My affinity is with life, not chemical.” Veriss’a put a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell… but I scored pretty high on the charts. We know for sure we’re not halfbreeds.”

Brooksook beamed. “Wow! I wonder how high my magic’ll be.”

“Probably high.”

“High for sure!” Brooksook agreed. She scrunched her face up.

“What’re you doing?”

“Spying on the adult meeting.”

Veriss’a laughed. “We both knew that. I was asking what you were doing with your face.”

“I’m trying to wake it up. Is it really sleeping so deep?”

“Nono, awack’den. It’s a bastardized fae word, fitted into human language. Your magicks aren’t asleep.”

“They’re coming? You’re certain?” If not for Veriss’a’s hand, still touching her shoulder, Brooksook would’ve hit her head again.

“I can hear them!”

Veriss’a’s mouth opened. And closed. “Mom and dad?” she asked uncertainly.

“Yeah.”

Veriss’a crouched down closer. “How? Can you make out words?” There was a reddish glint in her normally brown eyes.

Brooksook scrunched up her face further. The tingling was in her nose- “You smell like an Owlin.”

“Push the magic to your ears,” Veriss’a urged. “Tell me what they’re saying.”

Brooksook wasn’t sure what was going on. She tried to push the tingles away, towards the sides of her face. Her ears sparked and she thought she heard her mother sigh- and then the tingling went away alltogether.

“It’s-” she began.

“Oh, for Ayeriel’s sake.”

Veriss’a’s hands touched the points of Brooksook’s ears, and the tingling flooded the tips.

“Who told you this?”

“It was Old Veran. By the edge of town.”

“And he’s supposed to be trustworthy?”

“They’re right on his tail. He’ll probably die before us. He’s trying to help us, as best as he can, poor halfling.”

“They won’t be kind to him.”

“Will they be kinder to our children? There’re worse fates than death, Quill.”

Brooksook suddenly didn’t want to hear politics anymore. She gave the tingles a hard push. And Veriss’a’s hands jolted back away from her face. She hissed, as if in pain.

But all Brooksook cared about were the words. Her father’s name. Old Veran, halfling. Die. Death.

“I don’t want to listen any more,” she whispered.

“Why?” Veriss’a leaned in, eyes glinting. “What did you hear?”

“There’s some guy named Veran. He’s trustworthy- and they- they say he’s going to die. And us too.” Brooksook sniffed.

Veriss’a didn’t seem to be as shocked as the news should’ve made her. Her face was remarkably calm- not even blank. Just plain old expectant. “Anyone else?”

“Dad.”

“I see.” Veriss’a blinked, and the calm look left her, replaced with a warm smile. “Well, I’m sure it’ll work out. Come on, little listener.” She offered her a hand.

“Little listener?” she echoed.

“That’s a good talent to have. We should celebrate both of our magical discoveries.” Veriss’a smiled. “How about raisin cookies? And then the park?”

“I call the high swing!”

—--

She’d finished her work early, and was looking around now. The day was coming to a close. Every moment that inched forward dragged her brain deeper into the pits of exhaustion.

“...y’mean Old Veran? But what could take him out? Aren’t he an elf?”

Brooksook jumped. Bang. Bang. Bang. Every pulse in her body went on hyperdrive. The name had been playing at the edge of her mind for weeks now. Laran gave her a funny look, but went back to his math.

Angling her head slightly, she tried “Owlin Owsomeness”. The voices reached her ears immediately.

“They say he vanished, judst yesterday. He aren’t coming back, that’s for sure. They say lotsa elves are going away. Adults don’t wanna talk ‘bout it.”

“Ought we be?”

“Jersa, Fennel, is your discussion really so vital to Snavian society that it requires the attention of everyone in class?”

Brooksook snapped her head back. Everyone in class looked at their schoolwork.

It was in her desk. She scrambled for it, keeping her eyes on her teacher.

“You know,” the old woman said quietly. “There’s a reason people don’t talk. You can’t be punished, but anyone who hears will be.”

Fennel cringed into their seat. Jersa sat up straighter, her chin lifted in defiance. Brooksook wished she could see her face right now. Jersa never got in trouble. This would be a momentous occasion.

Except…

She waited until Fennel was alone. Their sister was a baby. They walked to school alone and back.

They were clearly nervous, glancing back and forth for a stalker.

Which she was, tonight.

She followed them until they’d gotten onto the road. It was quiet for once- the street wasn’t bustling. Empty. Scary. Silent as a grave.

No! She could get home later. She needed to know about Veran.

If his death meant the Myel family was in danger, she needed to know. She needed to warn Veriss’a.

Shaking off the encroaching thoughts, she took a step in front of them.

They stiffened instantly. “Elf,” they whispered. They crumbled to their knees and hid behind their elbows. They trembled in tune with her heart. Slow and thumping- that of a predator.

“Hey! Hey! Calm down. I’m your classmate.” Brooksook frowned. “And what’s ‘elf’ supposed to mean? You can’t treat me different just ‘cause I got magic. Y’aren’t jealous, are you?”

Their head remained lower.

“I wanted to ask about Old Veran.”

That got a shudder out of them. “If I tell you, will you leave me alone?” they asked, their voice muffled against their arms.

“Obviously.” Brooksook frowned. She wondered if she’d regret that statement. They were really getting on her nerves.

Fennel finally raised their head. They blinked through the tears and snot that was running down their face.

Ew, Brooksook thought. Humans were so gross. But, still… “Are you okay?” she ventured. “You’re crying-” she reached for them and they flinched away.

“Did you join the B’lyth?” they asked, voice barely a whisper.

“The what?” She’d never heard of such a thing before. But the word- it sounded like the elvish word she’d traced long ago.

Friend.

B’looth.

Other creatures didn’t like it. It was kinda similar to the word for “blood” in most new creatures’ speak or something- that was how Veriss’a put it.

She wondered if Veriss’a would know what Fennel was talking about.

Fennel was watching her. Slowly, they started, “You don’t know. What it is.” And then their face crumbled into tears.

“Are the B’lyth related to Old Veran?” she asked, desperate to shut them up. “Is that where we’re going with this?”

Fennel’s shoulders stiffened. Their sobs drew to a close. Silence echoed down the street. The thumps of mice echoed against the metal trash cans.

“Are you…” she began.

Fennel got to their feet. They didn’t look at her. They just turned around and left. Each of their steps pattered against the ground. They were small, half her size.

She could take something so small.

Then they stopped. The whole world tightened. Only Fennel’s back and her own, floating body remained.

“I don’ like elves,” they said quietly. “And if you don’ know what the B’lyth are- I don’ think yah should like ‘em either.”

Then they were off and running, and Brooksook could only gape at their back.

—

“Veriss’a?” she attempted to broach the conversation late that night. For some reason, she’d broke down crying when she came home. And her parents had ran out and hugged her.

She wouldn’t stop crying, not until they let her go see Veriss’a.

Veriss’a sat on her bed, arms crossed, and a scowl on her face. “What?” she snipped.

Brooksook’s face twisted up. She withheld the tears. She needed to ask, she needed to- What are the B’lyth?

“Why do humans hate us?” Was the question which left her lips instead.

She didn’t understand. Why Fennel had cowered. Why they’d told her to hate her own kind. Elves were the greatest creatures in Ayeriel… weren’t they?

“Because the sun blinds them,” Veriss’a replied.

Her face scrunched up. Suddenly, she felt in danger of laughing, not crying.

“It’s like this, you see? The light is too strong for them to look at. We’re too… well, strong for them to look at either. Or be like, for that matter. So they villanize us and call us arrogant, even though they have us to thank for everything they covet.”

“Like what?” she asked, tentatively.

“Like philosophy. Like school! Elves created all the different studies and assortments, and-”

“I don’t like school,” Brooksook interrupted. “It’s boring and y’can learn a lot more from-”

“-and you have them to thank for all the things you enjoy learning about today,” Veriss’a continued, as if she had not been interrupted. “Without elves, the world would be a flat place. Orcs would still live in caves. The Sha’shftah would still rule Ayeriel.”

“The Shapeshifters?”

“That’s one of the problems with humans.” Veriss’a scowled. “Though they use all our books and our education and our abilities, they censor our language. They use their foul orc words, when they could gargle and sound just as developed.”

Maybe it’s not just humans, Brooksook thought, studying her sister’s slowly darkening face. Maybe it’s elves too. We don’t like each other.

“Is that all?”

“Um- what’s the word for ‘friend’ in Elvish?”

Veriss’a smiled. “See, those are questions you should be asking. It’s ‘B’looth.’ ‘Bah-loot-tch. Tell one of your human pets when you get the chance. They should know it too.”

“Alright. I will.”

What are the B’lyth though? Is that a question you would approve of?

Looking into Veriss’a’s smiling face, Brooksook felt it would be true. But the memory of how she’d looked under the stairs- and that glint in her eye as she’d spoken of ‘foul orc words’...

She wasn’t sure she’d like to think much on that.


—

All day, her parents had been in the basement. Brooksook swung her legs back and forth over the counter, the eternal boredom pressing into her mind.

“No, you can’t leave the house, Brooksook,” she mocked. “No, you can’t do anything, while we sit in our shady basement all day and do stupid stuff.”

She scowled, her mood growing fouler by the minute.

Why couldn’t her parents trust her? She could take care of herself. She could do her Owlin Owesomeness. She could hear better than any other creature, see farther than any Caelesti, and smell better than-

“Well, smell better sounds kinda weird,” she mumbled to herself. “Like… am I saying I smell good? Or smell good?”

“That’s why human language is a travesty.” Veriss’a was leaning against the opposing counter.

Brooksook slipped off and ran to her sister, wrapping her arms around her in a hug. “I’ve missed you!” she cried. “Where’ve you been?”

Veriss’a had vanished days ago. Her parents hadn’t even been willing to discuss it. They’d just told her to start packing.

“Are we going to see Veriss’a?” she’d asked.

They’d looked at each other.

Her mom said, “No. But if she wants, she can come with us.”

“I had some things to take care of, little listener.” As always, Veriss’a avoided the question. Brooksook frowned. “Has anything happened while I’ve been gone?”

She patted Brooksook’s shoulder. Brooksook pulled back.

“Not really. Mom and dad’ve just talked a lot. Oh!” Her mind caught up. “And they’ve been talking about moving. Eh? Veriss’a? What’s wrong?”

“Without me?” Veriss’a asked quietly. “They’re going without me.”

“No! You can come too. Mom said so. You can follow us if you want.”

Veriss’a smiled, though it didn’t seem too genuine. “‘Following’ and ‘coming with’ are very different things, Brooksook. Yet another instance of human foolishness.” She turned around and produced a cookie. “Here.”

Brooksook investigated it, and discovered that it was filled with raisins. She thrust it in her mouth. “Thahmph you. Mphmh.” She caught the crumbs with her left hand, intent on letting none of the yummy deliciousness escape.

Veriss’a laughed. She wasn’t looking at Brooksook.

She’s still my sister. She still got me my favourite kind of cookie.

“Brooksook? Don’t leave the house.”


—

Hours later, Brooksook began to feel woozy. Even pacing around, she felt her knees buckling at every step.

At 8, just when she’d determined that she’d go to bed, her parents came in. They were laughing and joking- smiling at one another and holding hands, like any late night.

Brooksook watched from the hallway as they set things down. Bags of groceries, bottles of that elvish wine she could never pronounce.

Her mother saw her first.

“Brook! Are you alright?” She swept forward and checked her face, turning it from side to side. Up close, Brooksook could see her mother’s dark brown eyes lose their spark, darken with worry. “Did you eat something bad? Did anyone-”

“Naw. Been home.”

“Just you?” her father questioned.

“Quill, she’s been drugged,” her mother said sharply.

They exchanged several words that Brooksook couldn’t make out. She swayed on her feet, blinking through the wave of dizziness that’d come over her.

“No one was here, tonight?” her mother was asking her. “Brooksook, this is important.”

“Naw… jus’ Veriss’a.”

She saw the horror slowly register over her mother’s face, then her father’s.

The glass shattered a moment later.

She stumbled back against the counter. She could hear something like metal- something being thrown down. She tried to blink through the fuzziness.

From the floor, her mother’s hand reached for her face. The touch of her fingers sent the tingling through Brooksook’s face.

All the blurriness vanished in an instant.

Brooksook took a step back from… the form at her feet. Her father was gone, but she could hear his screaming off in the distance. She could smell fire- and knew it wasn’t very far.

Her mother’s head lifted from the floor. Brooksook could see her slit throat, head wobbling on the neck.

Run, her cold lips could barely form the word.

Brooksook’s back hit the counter.

—-

After some desperate decision-making, she hid under the stairs. She closed her eyes and thought of Verris’a. Please come, she thought. Save them. Be an elf, and save them. That’s what you are, isn’t it?

But no one came.

The whole world encased her beneath those stairs.

She didn’t know when she left. But if there was one thing she knew- that from the moment she stared into the cold eyes of a human woman, it was that things had changed.

The arms wrapped around her.

And she weeped.

Because an elf had not saved her. Rather, one had ripped her entire life away from her.

And now a human, an inferior, an orc-speaker, wrapped their arms around her, and they hated her, because she could never be anything besides what had stolen all the colour from the world.

—

Lady Champfire didn’t like ghost stories. It reminded her of her childhood, never a pleasant affair. She didn’t like children either, on that matter.

So it was strange that she was here, listening to ghost stories, on the behalf of an elf child she’d made the mistake of letting into her home.

Who had now vanished. Leaving her alone with a bunch of lowlifes, children of peasants.

She started up the stairs, preparing to give the girl a piece of her mind. She’d arranged for the adoption. She’d asked for an elf. The raise in status a magical child might bring wouldn’t be worth this sort of insubordination.

That was what she’d say.

She came to the door of the child. Summoning her etiquette, she gave a few loud raps.

No answer.

Another mark on the child.

She yanked the door open.

Lady Champfire’s clasped her face, stifling a gasp. The room was dimly lit- only the shaking form of the small child occupant could be seen. Monstrous forms formed a circle, their clawing arms reaching for her. The elf child was their sacrifice- the center of their pentagram.

She let her hand fall to her side. It crept to the wall. The child still did not move.

She snapped the switch on.

They were just chairs. And the wardrobe. Dragged out from the wall and curled around the little elf girl in the center.

The brat let out a sob.

Anger flooded Lady Champfire. This child dared? She ran, to hide in this- this pathetic fort like some peasant child would? On her adoption day, no less? She had the gull-

She raised a hand. She was willing to slap the child, if only to bring her back to her senses.

The child lifted her head.

And then Lady Champfire saw it. Her hand went limp.

In the child’s lap, a pair of bloody scissors sat. And sitting on top, were two jagged pieces of bloody flesh.

She rushed forward. She stopped, hand half-reached for the quivering girl in front of her. She already knew.

The child- Brooksook Myel- had cut the points right off. Her ears were mutilated- a parody of the soft curves a human possessed.

“Why?” she breathed. She should feel angry, but all she felt was confused. Why would this stupid child do this? Why would she steal scissors for something so unpractical? Why would an elf-

“I don’t want to be,” she whispered.

“What? Not a Champfire?”

“I don’t want to be an elf anymore.”

And Lady Champfire could only watch as a child trembled and held in secrets far too great for her body, or soul, to bear.

Hopefully, the magic would make it worth it.

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