The Missing Moon

I was what you would now call "religious". We were just like most any other city in Sinnoh. We were small, had a few big city hotshot buildings here and there. Even had a church. I loved Father Arceus, I truly did. I was a good child. I did what I was told, did my daily prayers, even said Grace every meal. I knew the Lord was watching, and I refused to disappoint him.

I was also a little different than the kids my age. They would have their fun, playing games and tricks, and sure, I'd play with them, but every time, I prayed and made sure the Lord watched over me, and kept me out of trouble. That was all I ever wanted, for the Lord to watch over me and keep me safe. The other kids called me weird and an overachiever, but I was NOT one to skip out on prayers.

One night, though, my friends and I decided to sneak out into Eterna Forest. For what reason, I didn't know at the time, but I didn't mind. I knew I would be back before my parents ever knew I was gone. Of course, I prayed before I left, which brought out a few groans and eye rolls, and then we headed out.

We had gathered in a small clearing near the forest's entrance, and started a fire. It was then that it occurred to me to ask what we were doing. Having a feast? Building a shrine? Those scenarios came to my mind, as they were sensible and had some practical purpose. Summoning Giratina was not one of them.

I, of course, immediately objected, saying that summoning such a demon would surely get us all killed. My concerns were brushed off, and it's only now that I question why they brought me along. To taunt me? To convert me to their ways? I personally believe it had to have been the former, so many of the village children were there that night. They all surely couldn't have been enraptured by the Devil's call, could they?

Before I could say anything else, they had brought an (unnessecary) blood sacrifice in the form of an innocent Skiddo. Tearing off it's head was easier said than done, especially without a blade to assist you. I surely lost my dinner that night, but I didn't tell any of them that (though I suspect they knew anyway).

They all held the Pokemon's head above the fire, and invited me to join in, to which I vehemently refused. They continued without me anyway, and chanted,

"Father Giratina,

Hear the cries of the lost little Skiddo,

Hear the cries of your children,

Hear us,

And Appear!"

The fire went out.

Naturally, they all lost their minds, you'd think the forest was filled with Mankey with the way they were screaming. But not me. I never made a sound. I, instead, felt a wave of calm wash over me.

A figure appeared then. Not in front of us, but nearby, glowing bright enough for all of them to see. Before it could come any closer, however, they all fled, like cowards. They were afraid.

But not me. I knew what I was looking at.

He was a beautiful, bright gold. He stood on four legs without feet, and locks of hair flowed behind him. He had no face, except for two rings where his eyes would be. I could only stare at him in awe. My lips moved without my permission. "Who are you...?" He bowed down to me, so that his face and mine were at an even level.

And then, Father Arceus spoke, "My child...you already know the answer."

...

Of course, no one believed me when I told them what I saw. Not even the children who were with me last night. They told me it was the rising sunlight that was playing tricks on my eyes, but I knew better. It was the middle of the night when we performed The Ritual, and I could hardly sleep when I went home. The sun didn't rise for hours after that.

We were all sentenced to community service for sneaking out into the forest late at night, because of what I had told the adults. I was already unpopular with the other kids before that, and now they pretended like I didn't exist. I was very lonely after that.

I went out into the forest, every night, trying to find my Lord. Every night I called for Him, and every night, I was met with silence. Not even His glowing figure appeared to me. I even performed the ritual from that night, head of the Skiddo and all. But all that got me was another dead Pokemon, and dirty clothes.

For years and years, even when I no longer relied on my parents to care for me, I went searching for Him, to no avail. I was becoming miserable, but I was nowhere near close to giving up. I started to decline my body's needs in favor of finding His. I had to find Him, I HAD to. He was my purpose in a life, He gave me a sense of duty, a reason to wake up in the morning.

Nothing.

I was milling about my house, feeling sorry for myself, when I realized...a sacrifice had summoned him, specifically with a Skiddo. But, perhaps...perhaps he needed something larger. Or something smaller. I shook my head. No, I couldn't. Killing one of his children would not summon him, it would only frighten him away.

So, I kept going into that forest empty handed, frustrated, with no results. It was agony.

One night, though, I decided to venture a little farther than the ritual-site, and came upon...a house. It looked like it was both very old and brand new at the same time. Curiosity got the better of me, and I headed inside. It was dark, a little dusty, and a few cobwebs scattered here and there. It was well taken care of, clearly, but it hadn't been lived in for such a long time. A came upon a room which I soon discovered was someone's living quarters. There was a bed, neatly tucked, and a table with two candles lit up on either side. A mirror sat in the middle. It was a big one, but not so big that it didn't fit on the table's surface. I looked into it, wondering what I would see.

I saw myself, of course...and someone else behind me.

The silhouette was pitch black against the light of my lantern and the candlesticks. It had red eyes, not unlike His, but they were much smaller and rounder. Nearly scared the daylights out of me. I turned around, only to discover that I was alone.

I left the house that same night. I knew the Lord was watching me, protecting me, but...something felt...different that night. I knew He wouldn't let me perish until my time was ready...and yet...I got the sinking feeling that somehow, he would let it happen.

...

I dove even deeper into my devotion. My epiphany from that night shook me to my very core, and I felt so, so ashamed for having it. I continued my prayers, hoping that if the Lord heard what I had thought, that he would forgive me. But, I refused to give up on my quest. I was still determined as ever to see him.

...the funny thing about humans is that we are determined. We are headstrong, and stubborn, and we will do whatever it takes to get what we want.

However...we are also paranoid. We are naturally the weakest out of the species of the world in terms of defending ourselves in a fight, so if something dangerous comes for us, we immediately strike out in fear of being struck. Even if something is harmless.

I didn't mean to kill that man. Really, I didn't. But he put his hands on me, and I was only defending myself. Why he attacked me, I could only assume it was the work of my reputation. I wasn't popular as a child, and that never changed as I grew. Maybe he saw me as a threat? An outcast? A long-time, overgrown weed that needed to be rooted out? What else could it have been?

I never told anyone. It wasn't out of fear, more of shock. How could anyone attack one of their own? Without clear reason? I had never done anything wrong, in fact, I had been doing everything right! I prayed, I said Grace, I did whatever duties I was asked of. I was a good follower.

Wasn't I?

...and yet. Killing that man gave me a sort of...feeling. It wasn't pleasure, certainly not. I didn't enjoy hurting anyone. It gave me a sense of...purpose. As if, this is what I was meant to do. I was meant to take the lives of others, whether I wanted to or not, and help them meet the Lord when their time came.

Despite the churning in my stomach, the feeling of dread covering me like a blanket...I accepted this role wholeheartedly.

I never took the life of anyone one day after the other. That would have been senile. Instead, as I took to living in the mansion in the forest, I would learn to read the stars, see the signs in the grass, the trees, even the Pokemon around me, to figure out when I would act. A month or three, a week or two, whatever and whenever it was, I did it with devotion.

And when I did it, I would never leave their body to be found by their family members. That would only lead to heartbreak. Instead, I'd take it back into the mansion with me, and perform that ritual I witnessed oh so long ago, head cutting and all. Even when he didn't answer, I wouldn't let the body go to waste. They had died for an extremely noble cause, after all, and I needed to eat.

Now, it would be quite tedious living in the forest, sneaking into the village to take someone's life, and dragging them all the way back into the forest. And you'd be right. I had help.

Ghost-type Pokemon don't need a whole lot of convincing when it comes to tricking someone. We couldn't understand each other through words, but through intent, that was a different story. They would lure someone into the forest, far enough in where no one could hear them, and I'd do the deed, so to speak.

The Pokemon would get their short, yet powerful fill of fear, and I'd get another attempt to speak with the Lord, even if it ended in failure. And even if it ended in me consuming one of my own. It had to be done. For the Lord. For the Lord.

...

I was slowly starting to go mad. Maybe it was the killings of so many people, maybe it was my living alone, having only dead spirits to talk to, but I could feel my sanity dripping from me like a steady stream of blood from an open wound. My hair was beginning to appear unkempt. I was starting to get impatient with having to wait for so long. I needed the blood of someone and I needed it then and there.

So, I got greedy.

The Pokemon seemed to have no trouble in waiting less and less for new victims, and happily agreed to help. More and more often, people started disappearing, and more and more often, I'd have to be more careful. Eventually, they started building up a wall around them, and the forest.

I could not let that happen.

I prayed hard that night. I prayed for Father Arceus to hear me. I had heard His urges, and I was willing to help Him in anyway possible. I pleaded for Him to help me with this...massacre.

And He answered.

He sent many spirits that night, and we all had a feast. The sickening feeling had disappeared from my stomach, and I was finally free to send more and more angels up to Him, where they truly belonged, and where they could find happiness.

Now, I knew better than to use up the bodies all at once. I would keep them stockpiled, fresh as possible, to make sure their value did not deteriorate, and when the time came, I'd call upon Arceus again, beg for Him to answer, ask him why, WHY, why was he doing this? These couldn't have been their time yet, there were so many! Please, Father, answer me!

Only an urge. Another one from Him.

Kill and bring home an angel.

I answered in kind.

...

I had made a mistake.

I had taken in a new victim, and was preparing myself in my study, making sure I looked as best as I possibly could for Him. It was what He deserved, after all.

But...the victim was still alive when I brought her home. And before I could finish getting ready...my time had come in the form of a knife. If I were any younger, perhaps I would have survived. But I was old at this point. Old and gray. I died on impact, my writings and pleas still painted in blood above my corpse.

I didn't wake up until many years later. I was in...a house of some kind. A rectangular thing made of stone. But before I realized that, I realized that I had not seen Father Arceus when my time came. If I did, I didn't remember it. I cried out in agony and impatience.

All those people, all those bodies and lives...I had taken them for nothing...?

I felt an emotion I never would have dreamed of describing when thinking of Him.

Anger.

I was so angry. I worked and worked until I died, and He refused to see me?! Well, now he wouldn't have gotten the chance. I refused to do anymore of His dirty work. If He had wanted his children to come home so badly, he would have had to have done it himself.

It didn't mean much, considering I was dead, but...

After my meltdown, I had discovered I was a Pokemon. One I had never seen before, my new, small, orange body had a glow to it. Was I an angel now...? Was this some sort of sick joke? I had turned away from the mirror, and explored the rest of the house. It was so much different than when I had left it. The floors were cracked, the ceiling was leaking, cobwebs covered every corner...how long had I been gone...? I avoided the room I had died in, I could barely picture what my corpse looked like, and I didn't want to see it.

More time passed. How much, I couldn't count. Those days were a blur, all combined together.

Sometimes, children would come into my house, eager to explore and see what they could find. They didn't find much, as me and my friends made quick work of making sure they got out and never came back. Any deaths that happened as a result were caused by either other Ghost Pokemon or their own idiocy. I had nothing to do with it.

I'd hope so, at least.

...

I remember that final day in my house. A crowd of people came in, but before we could do anything to scare them off, I had found myself captured. What I was captured by, I wasn't sure. It had the same form of a round stone. One you'd throw at your schoolteacher if you were feeling particularly mischievous.

Captured as I was, I could still feel my outer surroundings, hear the people talking. I couldn't hear any screams. None of them had died. Had my friends been captured as well? I never got an answer, as I felt myself being carried away from the place I had called Home for oh so long.

Out of habit, I started to pray to my Father to protect me, but I stopped myself.

I didn't need him anymore. Not after he abandoned me.

It was a long trip, and I remember hearing people. So, so many people. I truly wondered if the world was bigger than the little village I had grown up in, until I was finally handed in by a young "Professor", whatever that word meant. Kukui was his name, and I was in a place called "Alola".

That certainly wasn't my home. Had I gone to a completely different place? Although Kukui let me out of my Poke Ball (I learned that was the name of what I was captured with) very often, and let me hang around other Pokemon, I couldn't have been bothered.

This was such a big change, and I didn't know what to think. I was in an entirely different place, far from my home, with Pokemon I didn't even know existed. It was so much to process and I was so...afraid. So, I never talked to any of them.

The one thing that did get my attention was something called a "Pokedex". I remember waking up one night to Kukui working on it. My curiosity got the better of me, and I went to see what the deal was. After a bit of experimentation, I found out that it was something made for me. JUST for me.

I saw Kukui in a different light from that day on, and I never left my new, tinier house. I still didn't interact with most Pokemon, but I DID have quite a time seeing what there was to learn. So many new Pokemon, so much information...how far had we come as a species? How much time had passed? Being dead? Being in that house? It was all so overwhelming, yet intriguing at the same time.

Sadly, my curiosity had been cut short as I was given to a "trainer". That trainer being a child. Which, might I add, absolutely disgusted me. Even when I was alive, I had no interest in children. I found them repulsive and completely useless, and I still hold onto that opinion to this day.

I never interacted with this child unless he asked something of me. The rest of the time I was trying to get a look at my surroundings, but, of course, we never stayed in one place for too long. It was incredibly annoying. And if it wasn't the child, it was his Pokemon.

They were a bit more bearable at least, but I never even entertained the idea of socializing with them, which suited them just fine. They never bothered talking to me, I never talked to them. Plain and simple.

...and yet...I had this yet lingering feeling. It was something that I had experienced my whole life, from my childhood, to my time in the mansion, to being a Pokemon, it was always in the back of my heart, and it never left. I didn't have a name for it, until I received the Pokedex I lived in.

I was lonely.

As a child, when I was in a village full of people, I was lonely.

As a human, communing with the spirits in my mansion, I was lonely.

As a Pokemon, in a laboratory full of other Pokemon to be with, I was lonely.

My human nature, despite me no longer being human, followed me into my afterlife, and it bothered me. I didn't want companionship. I didn't want to feel anything. And yet, I still. Felt. Lonely.

...was this my punishment? For taking the lives of all those people...?

...I'd like to think so.

...

In an unexpected turn of events, we had yet another member added to the team, as if five Pokemon weren't enough. There was a sixth. Her name was Stellaluna. She was unlike anything I'd ever seen. She was a Pokemon, and yet she had the spirit and vitality of a human being.

She wore a white mask that nearly spread to her entire face, and she wore a gold and white crown top her head, though they could also be considered ears. She had wings like a Zubat, but ten times bigger and filled to the brim with stars. She was...interesting, to say the least.

She was also a spirit, like me. I pondered. Could she have died as I did? Was she also once human, as I was? I was so, so curious, and yet, I didn't dare talk to her.

But she dared talk to me.

She wasn't a human, as I previously suspected (Her species were called "Lunala". Not once had I ever heard of that Pokemon, and yet here she was, standing before me). In fact, she doesn't remember anything about her previous life, only that she had one. Part of my solitary attitude hated that she would make an attempt to interact with me, but, my questions were being answered, so I couldn't argue with that.

I noticed that the child was smitten with Stellaluna. He took her for walks, gave her food to try, played games with her...almost like she was his friend. His equal. She meant something to him. And that...that made me...

Angry.

I had never been treated as an equal by any of my peers. I was seen as an outcast, someone to avoid, something to never be like, a ghost story. I was hated.

And the fact that this, this...spirit was getting love and attention, just like that? Without any effort? It infuriated me. This child had never known what it would be like to struggle, to ever be accepted, to have to WORK to be seen as an equal, it boggled my mind. And I...? I had to fix that.

I said I would never take the life of another person or Pokemon, ever again. And I kept good on that word. I intended to.

This would be my last and final victim.

Not for him this time. For me.

...

I sit at the top of Mount Lanakila.

I feel the snow pile on top me, and drip down my screen as it melts into water.

At times, I cannot tell whether it is the snow melting, or the tears of Stellaluna, as she ponders over and over how I have stolen her freedom from her. And how I never intend to give it back.

"Why...?" she asks at times. "Why did you do this to me...? I trusted you, and now I'm trapped in here forever? Why?"

It's a question I've pondered. Something I know my victims would have asked me if they had the chance. I thought about it for many years, and what my answer would be. Even in death I pondered for a response. And it wasn't until now that I came up with one.

"B3C4US3..." I say, my voice crackling through the speakers as the dampness settles in.

"1T 1S MY W1LL."