Dust Collectors

With a comfortable 3-pillow stack beneath my chin, I finished committing the 5th day's notes to paper, and began my night work.

My research is strenuous, but it doesn't have to be. Unfortunately, I was born at an unlucky time, with death-prone parents, and adhered to the bossiest foster family known to man.

I think I would do anything to know where my relatives are situated today, unless they're alive of course... Frankly, I'd be quite miffed if I had to trade one human family for another. "Bailey Fraser, The Zombie Child" ...No, no that's boring... "The Deadborn" ...it's not cool enough...

"Bailey Fraser: The Ghoul Girl"

...Too cheesy

"Meerrh..." She scratched her nubby fingers up and down the wall. "No, you're right, I'm getting distracted. I am glad you're here, Skittle."

At least I have her.

Her and my nine radios.

No signal yesterday, maybe the night will make a difference. I'll test that theory I had with the underground later, during daylight.

For now, I am comfortable simply surveying them with my girlfriend.

"Skittle, you do support my research, don't you?"

There was no reply.

"I know, I know. Sorry."

...

"My family does not care for my efforts, they neglect to encourage me."

I tugged on the edge of the pillows.

"I don't understand. Your actions imply that you are weary of my endeavours too, yet you do not scold my passions. If you truly don't care for my work, you would let me know, wouldn't you?"

Folding towards the radios,

Nothing.

Then I looked at her, "You can tell me if you don't..."

She wasn't listening to me, she couldn't after all. So she kept scratching at the wall.

I huffed. "I thought this would lead us somewhere totally substantial, but perhaps it has only made me realize I might need talkative company..."

"Your."

I sprang up like a coil

"Skittle!? Was that you?"

"Your..."

I seized the nearest radio in both hands, squeezing it to my chest "Skittle! All my efforts were worth it!"

"Hide..."

Wait... But that isn't coming from this radio, so which one is it?

I cycled through all of them. The static hadn't lightened up a bit! Each signal remained as desolate as they were that morning. What is going on here? "Your..." There it is again!

What is happening...?

My lantern flickered out, and I finally understood the situation.

"Hide..."

A hostile apparition.

Skittle continued to scratch at her new favourite spot on the wall.

"Don't worry dear, it's just a hostile apparition. Although honestly, you should be able to recall such from our previous research together."

I walked closer to demonstrate the safety of the scenario to my girlfriend. "They're all noncorporeal, it can't hurt us."

I swiped my hand through the thing's chest twice.

"See?"

And yet, suddenly, I'm to my knees. I'm on the ground. I've learnt something new.

I've learnt something new.

IT PUNCHED ME IN THE FACE

Class: Hostile Apparition
Doc ID Number: #1003
Danger: Moderate Substantial

This is fascinating! Even all these years later, I still have so much to document! Seemingly, my previous research on Hostile Apparitions went wrong somewhere. Hostile Apparitions are capable of physical contact, they're much more threatening than I'd ever known! Amazing!

It hissed at me, spitting as it shook every aimless word out. "RUUUN! RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN!" Little specs of ghostly saliva hit my face

"Well, honey. It looks like I have a bit of a fight here... Not that I expect you to help out or anything, you do you, girl."

I bashed the side of my lantern as I yapped, attempting to jumpstart the battery. Skittle kept scratching at the wall.

As I beat the lantern the ghost lunged at me, which I had to dodge. It bashed into an organized stack of folders behind me.

"Oi! I just finished sorting those... Hiyaah..."

Would shaking the batteries help?

I plunged out the batteries and started shaking them like glowsticks, then put them back in.

No, no that was stupid.

"Hide... HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE!"

It pushed itself up, shaking away all the folders that previously pinned it down.

"Wait... The folders...!"

Maybe I can't hit it because I have a soul, but these folders don't! I can use my research as a weapon.

I snagged a folder off the ground with ease, and chucked it to the ghost!

"EAT THIS SUCKA"

It went straight through it.

"Well that just, is not fair."

How does that work? Does it get to choose what makes contact?

It snatched my lantern from my hands and began its attempt to wack me with it.

I don't understand.

I advanced backwards to avoid a close call with the lantern-wacking, which made it trip over a crack in the ground. This saved me some time to get further from the threat.

I think hostile apparitions get to choose what goes through them. But in situations like that, when they can't anticipate what is going to oppose them, they're at a loss.

Can I distract it in some way?

It's too dark in here, I need light to stand a chance.

Come on lantern, you're my only hope...

I'm cornered. The lantern is a hopeless cause, utterly useless. I can't do anything to distract this spirit or make it go elsewhere. I can't do anything to injure it or to protect myself.

I hope I come back as a withered, like Skittle, then we can be withered wives.

"Is that 'sposed to be me?"

"Yeah. Sorry that I got your head wrong."

"That's alright, I think it looks fine."

The radio.

It turned around, distracted at last.

I reacted, boldly bashing in its head as hard as my stupid skinny 11-year-old arms and useless unlit lantern could.

It fell to the floor, unconscious.

"I used to be a lot better at this, I think."

It's the same two voices again.

"You think?"

"Maybe I was better."

"But why don't you just automatically know? Seems a bit silly to me."

"I haven't seen my old art in ages."

An artist zombie? Like a Brandisher?

"You know I don't have a very photographic memory."

"Evidentally."

There was silence, filled with what sounded like a pencil speedily sliding across a paper.

"Is that you?"

"Yeah."

It fizzled out to static again.

I realized something. With the ghost present and messing with the electronics, the radios had been quiet the entire time since it arrived... All except that one.

That radio. It must be the paranormal object. It has to be

...Zombies can't have conversations?