by Spruceton Spook

Ash could feel Misty digging harder and harder into his shoulder. Despite the slight pain it created, Ash could hardly care less. He was too frightened to care. Each time the bell went off again, her grip became tighter. And each time, Ash’s heart took another leap into his throat.

"Asssshhhh," Misty groaned fearfully, her voice cracking. She sounded as if she was on the verge of tears, if she was not crying already. Her eyes were wide open and darting all over, though it didn’t help much in the pitch black that surrounded them. It made her feel better, however, to have them open.

Ash took a deep breath to become more calm. "It’s okay, Misty," he whispered back to her. "I’m . . . I’m sure it’s nothing."

The bell sounded again, followed soon after by more slow clicking of the keys. They got faster at some points, then slowed, sometimes stopping completely. But they would start up again, never giving the poor, scared kids a break.

"That doesn’t sound like nothing to me, Ash," Brock said dreadfully. Ash could feel him brush up beside him, and that comforted him.

Misty whined softly again. "Ash, why is your typewriter working downstairs?"

Ash shook his head, but he knew that did her no good, considering she could barely see him. "I don’t know, Misty."

"Please tell me it’s done that before," she begged quietly, her voice full of fear. "Please, Ash?"

Misty clutched Togepi closely to her. Togepi was now awake, but totally unaware of what was happening. He was breathing soothingly in Misty’s arms, sometimes giving off little squeals in wonder of where the light was. Misty leaned her face into Togepi’s soft spikes and nuzzled the Pokémon’s head.

"Misty, I hate to tell ya, but it’s never done that before." Ash took another deep breath as the end bell went off again. "And I don’t think I want to know why it’s doing now, either."

"Pikaaa . . ." Pikachu whimpered softly, holding on protectively to Ash’s head. He didn’t like the unfamiliar sound one bit. Especially since he had explored the basement countless times, and among all the strange sounds that had come from there, not once did he hear this one.

"It’s okay, Pikachu," Ash said, reaching up to stroke his ears. Despite how greatly he was scared, he couldn’t help but be glad that this was going to confirm what he had experienced today. It was almost too familiar to him as it was strange.

"You guys believe me now?" he asked almost angrily, growling in whisper. "See what I’m talking about? I wasn’t lying!"

"Yeah, yeah, Ash, whatever!" Brock said quickly to quiet him down. "We got it, okay! This is no time for that."

The typing was definitely slowing down now, making each click more forceful. Each time it happened, the three of them shuddered. Misty moaned loudly and switched her grip from Ash to Brock. Brock felt her weight on him suddenly, and he clutched her to comfort her, though he wished for once that he had someone to turn to when he was scared.

"Brock, go down there," she begged off him, clutching a handful of his shirt tightly. He could feel her shaking incredibly now. She was scared. There was no doubt about that.

"Misty, I . . ."

"Please, somebody go down there," she moaned. "Please make it stop!"

The bell sounded off loudly again, causing the frightened girl to yelp. "Ash! Go down there! See what that is, please!"

Ash eyes widened in shock. "Yeah, right! Are you kidding? I’m not going down there!"

Misty was certainly not pleased with that. She yanked softly on Brock’s shirt some more. "Then you go down, Brock. Please? I need to know what that is!"

Brock took a deep, nervous breath. He didn’t want to go down there at all. If he was alone, he would have already bolted out of the house, storm or no storm. His heart was pounding like a hammer, and he wondered if Misty felt that.

Brock was not coming out with an answer quickly enough. He was concentrating too much on the typewriter downstairs. He hated being the oldest. Because somewhere down the line, he knew that both Ash and Misty were relying on him, whether they let him know or not. If anyone was going to go down into that basement, it was going to be him.

Gulping softly, he rubbed her hand to encourage her to loosen her grip. "Ash? Where’s the typewriter downstairs?" He tried not to let the nervousness slip through his voice.

Ash looked at him in shock. "You’re going down there?! Brock, no! Who knows what that is!"

Brock took a deep, sound breath. "Ash, we have to find out what that is. Misty’s scared."

"So send Misty down! I’m scared too!" Ash cried, his voice still lowered to fidgety whispers.

Misty released her hand from Brock and punched Ash harshly in the arm. "Are you insane?!" she screeched.

"Owwww!" Ash groaned through clenched teeth at the pain of Misty’s punch. He rubbed his sore shoulder. "What the hell?"

"I am not going down there!" she squawked.

"Guys, stop it!" Brock ordered forcefully. His fear was starting to break through his voice, and both Ash and Misty caught this. "I’ll go down, okay? Goddam it, you two, stop acting like brats!"

There was no doubt now that Brock was scared. The whole last sentence came out in squeaks, despite how serious he sounded. He moved through Ash and Misty in the darkness, and a little reluctantly, gripped the slippery doorknob in his hands. He opened the door slightly, and as expected, the typing and ringing became more easily heard.

All three of the kids’ breathing became more heavy as Brock opened the door wider. The typing was showing no signs of stopping, and in fact had sped up. No one was as scared as Brock. Even if he did get down there, how was he supposed to see what it was? He wasn’t going to see. He was going to have to shout. Shout at whatever it was to get the hell out. Their bodies all tensed up, as stiff as stone. Their hearts pumped vigorously in their chests. The world had seemed to stop at that moment. Rain and thunder pounded in the background. And slowly, but surely, Brock took the first step forward to enter the basement.

But as Brock placed his foot on the first step of the stairway, the front door of the house suddenly blasted open, hitting the adjacent wall so forcefully that the door swung back on its hinges. The wind from outside blew into the house in one huge gust, hitting the kids with a blast of cold and wetness. Thunder cracked, and all at once, the kids shrieked loudly. Ash flew back into Misty, who clasped onto him for dear life. She belted her scream directly into his ear, which just made him scream louder. Pikachu’s cheeks sparked fearfully.

A new scream entered the chorus of preexisting screams. Coming in from a possible hurricane to a dark house full of terrified shrieks was enough to give the intruder a heart attack, as it seemed with the way her heart was ripping through her chest.

Ash was the first to stop screaming when he heard the new scream, recognizing it right away. He immediately clasped his hand over Misty’s, smothering the outcry back into her mouth.

"Mom, is that you?" Ash asked, shaking but full of hope. His blood was rushing through his body like boiling rapids.

He peered into the entranceway of his house, and as the lightning lit up the outside world, he could see the outline of his mom in the open doorway, and open umbrella drooped at her side. She wasn’t moving for a moment, which made Ash shiver.

"Mom?" he asked again, worriedly.

The person in the doorway moved, coming into the house and slamming the door shut behind her. Leaning against it, she breathed deeply to calm her beating heart. "Ash, you are going to be the death of me yet."

"I’m sorry," Ash apologized softly. Still, a relieved smile spread across his face now that his mom was home. "You . . . you scared us." He was whispering.

"Yeah, well, you scared me," she responded, a bit sharply. "Screaming like that! Don’t ever do that again! You almost gave me a stroke."

Misty eyes widened and glistened over in tears, though just like Ash, she was smiling. "Mrs. Ketchum?" she asked, terror undoubtedly present in her voice. "Thank God you’re home."

Brock came up from his very, very short descent into the basement. He felt the most relieved, and ran a hand through his sweaty, brown hair.

Delia flipped the light switch beside the door, and groaned when she realized shortly that the lights were out. "Great," she said sarcastically and despondently, throwing her bag on the couch and the soaking umbrella to the floor. "What, have you poor kids been in the dark this whole time? Ash, you know where the storm candles are!"

She was a little shocked when she heard no response from the kids. Her face scrunched up in confusion. "Kids?"

"Shhhh!" they all answered her at the same time, causing the house to remain quiet for a split second.

"Huh?" she replied confusingly. "What is it?"

She tried to reach where she heard their voices, but it was hard to find them in the dark. "Ash, where are you?"

"Here," Ash replied in whisper, holding his hand out to find her. She felt it and grabbed onto it.

"Come on," she said, grabbing her son. "We have to go down and get the candles. What have you been doing this whole time?"

"No, you can’t!" Brock suddenly contradicted. As was Ash and Misty, he was whispering.

Delia stopped abruptly. She could feel Ash squeezing her damp hand tightly with a small, terror-filled grip. For a moment, she became slightly confused. "Why not?"

Brock was quiet for a second, then spoke up very slowly and seriously. "There’s something down there, Mrs. Ketchum."

The fear in his voice startled Delia. She shuddered confusingly. "What? What are you talking about?" she asked worriedly, panic rising in her. "There’s someone in the basement?!"

Ash could feel her moving around fretfully, tensing up at the sound of imposing danger. She grabbed onto Ash tightly, drawing him closely to him.

"No, Mom . . ."

"We don’t know!" Misty cried silently. "But it’s scary! It’s the typewriter!"

"The typewriter?" Delia asked confusingly, her eyebrows rising. She loosened her hold on Ash and calmed. "What’s wrong with the typewriter?"

Thunder cracked over the house, making the four of them jump. Ash drew even closer to his mother, wrapping his arms around her waist. Delia just simply held onto him, wondering just what the three terrified kids were talking about. They were silent once again . . . all but Misty’s light whimpering.

"Guys, what’s going on?" she demanded impatiently. "Huh?"

Ash took a deep breath. "Mom, the typewriter was going off down there."

"Huh?"

"A couple minutes ago someone -- or something -- was typing on the typewriter downstairs," Brock explained. Even as it came out of his mouth, the whole thing sounded preposterous, and the reaction from Delia was less than unexpected.

"What?!" she exclaimed, letting go of Ash completely. "Oh no, don’t start this again!"

Misty raised her head. "We’re not starting anything!" she calmly but fearfully protested. "Mrs. Ketchum, we’re dead serious!"

"The typewriter was working downstairs," Brock backed her up, searching in the dark for Ash’s mom. "Honest to God!"

Delia shook her head and ran a hand through her hair. It was basically soaked from the powerful winds that had circled her in her brief moments outdoors.

"Mom, we’re not lying!" Ash insisted. He couldn’t honestly grasp that with all that was just happening, she wasn’t going to believe it for a single moment. "Why would we lie to you? We heard somebody on the typewriter downstairs! It went on and on for like . . . , uh . ."

"A good couple o’ minutes," Misty finished strongly. The seriousness in her voice was the only thing that was making Delia’s standpoint sway. The fear in it, also, was more than convincing.

Delia sighed. "Kids, look around you!"

"Uh, we can’t," said Ash simply.

"Exactly!" his mother responded, throwing her arms up in frustration. "You guys are scaring yourselves crazy here! Geez, I would have thought you guys were old enough to handle being in the dark for a few seconds!"

She didn’t notice how Ash, Misty, and Brock’s eyes widened like window shades snapping up. Was she insinuating that they were creating this in their minds? That it was just a figment of their imaginations? No, it couldn’t be! They all looked at each other, only making out their silhouettes in the dim light. But at the same time, they all knew what the other’s expression was.

"Oh my God, are you kidding?" Ash exclaimed, highly irritated. "Listen, Mom!"

Delia rolled her eyes, but listened otherwise. Ash, Misty, and Brock braced themselves, waiting for the sound to start up again.

But nothing happened. Aside from the low rumble of thunder and the rain, silence ensued. Of course, if the whole scheme of things, they had failed to realized that the mysterious sounds had ceased. This came as a shock to them at first, and in an instant, they became slightly confused. All they needed was another ring of the bell, another tapping of the keys.

It was the most convenient time, naturally. Ash got a low pain in the pit of his stomach, it being the same pain he had gotten when he had taken Misty and Brock up to his room to hear the tapping from being his wall. The realization that once again, he was going to look like the fool. Why was this happening all over again?

"What happened to it?" Misty finally spoke up. "Why isn’t it happening now?"

Ash and Brock shook their heads, completely blown out of the water. Nervously, they turned to Delia.

"Okay guys, you had your fun," she cooed, a warm, compassionate smile coming to her face. "Time to get some lights on in this house."

She moved past the three kids again and opened the door to the basement rather quickly. She could hear them gasp in fear when she did this, and she froze.

"You were hearing the wind," she simply told them, jiggling the doorknob with her hand.

"It didn’t sound like the wind," Misty replied anxiously.

"Definitely wasn’t the wind!" Ash agreed, his voice shaking a bit.

"Pika pika!"

"You know, this sounds oddly similar to another event today," she said, sounding a little fed up.

Ash became saddened. "You still don’t believe me about that?" he asked silently and dispiritedly.

"I’m not buying any of it," she replied, "because it’s ridiculous. I don’t know what you kids think is going on, but there’s nothing strange in this house. If there was, I’d be the first to know, believe me."

"But you haven’t been here when we heard the noises!" Ash shouted. "I swear, there’s something mysterious going on here!"

"And it’s in the basement!" Misty squealed nervously.

"There’s nothing going on!" Delia insisted again. "And I’m gonna show you myself!"

With that, she walked rapidly down a few of the basement steps. Ash, Misty, and Brock could hear her knocking against the wall, though they didn’t know what she was doing. They soon found out, however, when a bright light suddenly blinded them. Shielding their eyes, they found Ash’s mom shining a rather large flashlight in their faces. She turned it away from them and up towards her face, the eerie glow bringing out every curve of her face.

"Boo!" she smiled, sticking her tongue out at them. Ash, Misty, and Brock were not entirely amused.

"Where’d that come from?" Ash asked annoyingly. "That was never there before!"

"I put it here for instances such as this," his mom replied, the light still shining up in her face. She was giving him a sly, proud smile. "Now you know."

"Yeah, thanks a lot," Ash responded coldly, crossing his arms in front of him.

Delia smiled widely. "Come on," she ordered, beckoning them down.

A little reluctantly, Ash, Misty, and Brock followed her. Their eyes darted around them nervously, and their sweaty palms clutched the banister tightly. They could only see what the flashlight allowed them, which was not enough.

When they reached the landing, Delia immediately zoomed the flashlight in the direction of the typewriter. The kids’ eyes turned in the direction of the light hesitantly, afraid of what they might see. Ash was holding his breath to the point where it was painful, but as soon as the strong light found the typewriter, he exhaled loudly.

There was nothing there. Only the typewriter, dust covered and forlorn. It sat silently on the old desk it had been placed on years before, untouched. Alone.

Ash, Misty, and Brock’s eyes were fixated on the typewriter. Their expressions were dead. It looked so deserted, like it had never been touched in years. Their mouths were wide open, their expressions, dazed.

"Goodness, that thing won’t shut up!" Delia said sarcastically, waving the light around in circles. She looked down at them pathetically, but with a gentle grin. She nudged Ash. "See? Nothing."

"But . . . ," Ash started, pointing at the typewriter, bewildered.

"No more scary movies for you, kiddo," Delia said before he could finish, ruffling her son’s hair. "You guys are freaking each other out here."

Ash, Misty, and Brock were silenced. They couldn’t believe it. As they stared at the still typewriter, they were even beginning to doubt it. But they had all heard it, that was for certain. And there weren’t many sounds around that could compare to that of a typewriter’s. It just didn’t make sense all around.

Delia stood and watched them stare at the typewriter. She couldn’t believe how shocked they looked. She smiled casually, though for the moment she wondered if this could very well be another one of their friendly pranks. If it was, she certainly wouldn’t be too happy about it. Delia had already had an incredibly hectic day as it was, and their little stunt wouldn’t help the situation one bit.

"Are we done here? Or do I have to call the Ghostbusters?" she laughed.

They didn’t reply, but looked at her with downcast frowns. She smirked playfully at them. If they were faking, they were doing a pretty good job at it. The typewriter typing itself. How ridiculous!

"Come on, let’s get the storm candles," she said softly, shining the light over to a cabinet near the base of the stairs. With one more curious glare, the three turned away from the typewriter to help bring the candles up. As they ascended up the infamous staircase, they all exchanged distinguishable looks, each reading clearly: What the hell is going on here?

They helped Delia light most of the candles and deliver them to each of the rooms. They felt much better as the dark house was beginning to brighten. The fact that they could see each other now was comforting. The storm still rambled on outside, though the worst of it was evidently over. The winds had died down, and the rain was steady. Thunder cracked every now and then, but it wasn’t even loud enough to upset Togepi.

The rest of the night, Ash, Misty, and Brock had to deal with the torture of constant teasing from Delia. All through dinner and the evening, she had mimicked their terrified expressions, getting a good chuckle out of it. Somehow, they figured she was trying to get some sort of confession out of them, that they were playing out the whole thing for a laugh or two later. Or that it was Ash’s pathetic attempt at getting back at her. Either way, they said nothing. They didn’t even bother objecting to it. They knew what they heard.

Around eight o’clock, the electricity came back to life. They all sighed in relief as the wonderful luxury was returned, and they hopped through the house blowing out all the candles in celebration. Delia was relieved that the food in the refrigerator was now out of danger of spoiling, and Ash was happy that he wasn’t going to miss the daily Pokémon Digest TV show.

Still, Ash felt utterly disorientated. Too many things happened today that he could not comprehend, and it was bugging him. Though he knew what he had heard, he still couldn’t bring himself to believe that the noises were caused by something out of the ordinary. It even sounded ludicrous to him. His house haunted? That was a joke. It never was before. Why would it be now?

Sleepiness crept up to them rather rapidly, and before the clock had even struck nine they were all ready for bed. Delia was relieved that the kids were already settled, finally be able to get the glorious quiet time she had craved all day. She curled up on the couch in front of the TV, and got cozy underneath the huge throw blanket. Not a peep came from upstairs, and she sighed contentedly. What a long day it had been.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .