Howlietzer Publishing

Category: FICTION

  • My Wife Was Replaced by a Mimic, and I Couldn’t Be Happier (Pt 3)

    My Wife Was Replaced by a Mimic, and I Couldn’t Be Happier (Pt 3)

    Proverbs 27: 15-16

    15 A quarrelsome wife is like the dripping

    of a leaky roof in a rainstorm;

    16 restraining her is like restraining the wind

    or grasping oil with the hand.

     

    I Was Going to Kill Her, But She Made Me Dinner

    The library wasn’t as helpful as I’d hoped.

    The biggest problem was that I didn’t even know what I was dealing with. A mimic made the most sense—but that was more of a D&D term than a real-world classification. Native American folklore had plenty of stories about shapeshifters—beings that took human form to deceive, seduce, or stalk prey. But nothing with a checklist or a cure.

    Still, I didn’t leave empty-handed.

    Salt and iron seemed to be the most commonly suggested countermeasures. So I went to Home Depot. Where I discovered a new frustration: nothing is just iron anymore. It’s all steel. Alloy this, galvanized that.

    I sighed. Loudly. Repeatedly. In the metal aisle. Like a man on the verge of losing a fight to metallurgy.

    Eventually, I settled for a steel rod—close enough, I hoped—and grabbed a big bag of salt. I wasn’t sure what kind was best. Table salt? Sea salt? Himalayan pink?

    At this point, I was overthinking it.

    I figured if it came down to it, I could bash her in the head and pour salt in the wound. Felt like a backup plan from an exorcism manual written by the Supernatural show writers.

    I sat in the car for a long time when I got home.

    What the hell was I doing? Was it possible—even remotely—that this was Claire? That she hit her head or had some mountain retreat revelation and decided to be a better person?

    It was unlikely. But not impossible.

    Maybe I was just so miserable, so used to the worst version of her, that I couldn’t believe in the best version even if it walked through the door and made me bacon.

    I stepped out of the car, gripping the paper bag like the nervous priest in Amityville, and walked into the house.

    It smelled like pot roast.

    The Thing in the Mirror

    My stomach turned in confusion and hunger. Did I really have to kill her? Maybe she was Claire. Maybe the spa changed her.

    The sound of the shower stopped as I walked into the bedroom. Light spilled out from under the bathroom door. I heard humming—at first garbled and wet, like someone gargling while trying to sing. Then it shifted, slowly, unnervingly, into Claire’s voice.

    Then it changed again. It sounded like me.

    She giggled.

    I opened the door fast, a fistful of salt ready to fly.

    I saw… something. A flash. A shape. Twisted. Jarring. Wrong.

    And then it was gone.

    I fumbled the salt, dropping it. She lunged at me—not to attack, but to hug me.

    “Hubby!” she squealed, jumping into my arms like it was our wedding day.

    I caught her. Reflex.

    She kissed my cheek. “I missed you!”

    “…Yeah,” I mumbled. “I missed you too.”

    And I meant it. I missed this version of Claire—the woman who smiled, who kissed me, who made dinner. I’d never know what twisted her into the person she became.

    Whatever this was, it wasn’t her. But it was doing a hell of a job pretending.

    Dinner was quiet.

    I’m pretty sure she saw the salt scattered on the bedroom floor. And the metal rod sticking out of the bag. And I’m absolutely sure she knew I saw her slip.

    “This is amazing,” I said, digging into a second helping of roast.

    She smiled softly, sipping her wine.

    A Tender Confession

    We didn’t say much after that. I think we both knew there wasn’t anything to say.

    We migrated to the couch after dinner. She curled into my side like Claire used to do—before things got bad. I didn’t pull away.

    Even knowing what she was, I didn’t feel threatened. I felt… weirdly calm. Maybe I was too exhausted from all the fear, too numbed by the surreal acceptance of what I’d seen.

    Somewhere in the back of my mind, a motivational poster from the library whispered, “Serenity is acceptance of things you cannot change.”

    Sure. That, or I’d finally lost it.

    “Mark,” she said, “If I were a monster… would you still love me?”

    I laughed. Nervously. She felt it.

    “Isn’t the question supposed to be, ‘Would you still love me if I were a worm?’”

    She didn’t answer.

    I felt like an ass.

    We were watching The Thing, of all movies. As she snuggled deeper into my chest, I wondered if she’d absorb me by the end credits.

    Her voice lowered. Calm. Measured. Almost… vulnerable.

    “So, hypothetically… let’s say I’m like the creature in this movie. Let’s say I was born in the mountains. I came across a woman who was… awful. So I took her place. Came back to her home and tried to do better.”

    I blinked.

    “Let’s say I’m not her. Let’s say you know I’m not her. But I’m trying. I’m trying not to be an ungrateful bitch.”

    “This is hitting really close to home,” I chuckled.

    “Is it?” she asked.

    Her eyes searched mine. Genuinely curious. Genuinely scared.

    Maybe scared I’d drive a rod into her skull the moment she closed her eyes.

    Two Types of Monsters

    “Well,” I said, stammering, “I mean… all hypothetical, right? Monsters aren’t real.”

    She studied me.

    “Let’s say either of us could kill the other at any moment. Would that really be so different from if I was her?”

    I paused.

    Claire hadn’t been violent. But she had been killing me slowly—draining our bank account, draining my patience, draining me.

    And here was something else, something monstrous, asking for a chance.

    Was this a confession?

    We’d reached a threshold—an agreement, spoken in maybes and what-ifs.

    I took a breath.

    “Hypothetically… if you replaced my wife—if we could both kill each other at any moment—no, I don’t think that would be much different. Claire was terrible. But she wasn’t always. She changed. If you were a monster who replaced her, wouldn’t it make you more likely to kill me?”

    Her eyes dropped. She looked… sad. Maybe it was a trick. A calculated illusion. Or maybe it wasn’t.

    “However,” I continued. “You’ve tried harder in one day than she did in three years. She was killing me slowly. Spending money faster than I could earn. Never helped with anything.

    “If you plan to ‘be good,’ like you said… then no, I wouldn’t kill you. And I wouldn’t divorce you, either. In fact… I might be able to accept you for what you are.”

    She wrapped her very human arms around me. No claws. No tendrils. No teeth behind her eyes. Just soft skin and a faint, sweet scent.

    She nuzzled into my neck.

    “So… you won’t kick me out?”

    I blinked.

    That’s what she’s worried about? We were just talking about killing each other five seconds ago.

    “I won’t kick you out,” I said.

    What else could I say? We both understood. Quietly. Silently. This was our new normal.

    We cuddled on the couch every night till this day.

    my wife was replaced my a mimicmimic horror story

    My story is strange. Unbelievable. Probably unrelatable.

    But if you’ve got a shitty spouse—

    Maybe send them to the Smoky Mountain Resort.

    Worst case?
    They come back the same.

    Best case?
    They don’t come back at all.

    And what shows up instead…
    Might just be an improvement.

     

     

  • My Wife Was Replaced by a Mimic, and I Couldn’t Be Happier (Pt 2)

    My Wife Was Replaced by a Mimic, and I Couldn’t Be Happier (Pt 2)

    Proverbs 27: 15-16

    15 A quarrelsome wife is like the dripping

    of a leaky roof in a rainstorm;

    16 restraining her is like restraining the wind

    or grasping oil with the hand.

    Breakfast, Bacon, and a Monster in My House

    I was wrenched from sleep by the relentless ringing of the doorbell. My head throbbed. Too much Jack.

    Shit.

    I rolled over and fumbled for my phone—1:03 PM. No excuse. I should’ve been up hours ago, but the whiskey and my dread about Claire’s return had done me in.

    The doorbell kept going, but now the cadence had changed. Whoever was on the other side was… playing something. A rhythm.

    It took me a second, but then I recognized it. Claire’s favorite song. I couldn’t remember the name, but the pattern was unmistakable. Tap-tap-tap… pause… tap-tap.

    My skull felt like it was hosting a drumline. I muttered a curse under my breath and dragged myself from bed.

    Who the hell was at my door? Some kid? I was going to kick their ass when I opened the door! Though at this rate, they’d have five minutes to escape while I went blind from the sunlight.

    I staggered to the door, shielding my eyes like a vampire, and shouted, “I’m coming!” The doorbell stopped—Hallelujah! I cracked the door open with a groggy squint.

    “Who is it?” I tried to keep my voice neutral, but irritation seeped through.

    And there she was.

    Claire.

    Sort of.

    She was smiling. Not the sarcastic, dismissive smirk she’d worn the past few years, but a real smile. Soft. Bright. The kind that once made me believe in things like fate.

    “Hi, Hubby,” she said. “Did you miss me?”

    Hubby? Where did that come from?

    I instinctively moved to shut the door but paused. If I didn’t let her in, I knew I’d be dealing with another rendition of her doorbell symphony.

    So, I opened the door wider.

    She’s Not Claire—But She’s Perfect

    She looked just like Claire had before the wedding. Not younger, just… lighter. Her eyes shimmered with warmth I hadn’t seen in ages. That glow reached into my chest and touched something brittle and forgotten.

    It wasn’t Claire, but what the hell was it?

    And it pushed me inside, gently guiding me backward, and closing the door behind us with a quiet click.

    Alarms screamed in my mind. This is not Claire. This is something else. What did it want? What had it done with her? What was it going to do to me?

    But before I could act, it ushered me to the couch and began massaging my shoulders.

    “My poor Hubby,” it crooned. “Did you drink too much last night?”

    I turned to look at it. The concern on its face seemed genuine. I nodded, doing my best to mask the fear prickling my skin. I needed to play along—at least until I figured out what it was.

    “Don’t worry,” it said, gliding toward the kitchen. “I know just the thing for hangovers.”

    I listened to the fridge open, the shuffling of containers, her voice softly humming with indecision.

    I tried standing—bad idea. The room spun, and I collapsed back into the couch with a groan.

    “Don’t move a muscle, Mark,” it called sweetly. “I’m going to take care of you.”

    Like you took care of Claire?

    My mind spiraled. Until something pulled me back.

    Hash Browns, Bacon, and Unsettling Smiles

    The smell.

    Butter. Onion.

    My stomach growled. I looked up and saw her at the stove, a skillet already sizzling. I hadn’t heard her chop anything.

    I watched her like a hawk.

    “No peeking, Hubby,” she said with a playful glance. She pulled potatoes from the cupboard, her movements fluid, practiced.

    I turned away, staring at the wall, trying not to blink.

    Then: bacon.

    My mouth watered. The aroma wrapped around me like a spell. I dared to turn my head toward the kitchen.

    “Stop peeking,” she giggled. “You’ll ruin the surprise. A girl’s got to have her secrets.”

    Her voice was so pleasant… unnervingly pleasant.

    I couldn’t forget what she really was. A Demon. A Skinwalker. Something sinister and out of the ordinary.

    God—was she wearing Claire’s skin?

    A thousand thoughts screamed through me. And then she set the plate down. Bacon, eggs, and hash browns.

    “Go on, Mark. Eat up. You’ll feel better.”

    She ran her fingers through my hair before slipping away to the laundry room.

    Poison? Maybe. Did I care?

    Whatever it was—if it wanted to kill me, wear me, feed off me—I was probably already doomed.

    My stomach gurgled. I hadn’t eaten since the night before.

    I took a bite of bacon.

    Perfect. Chewy, crisp, juicy. Just the way I liked it. My God, I’m about to marry that thing.

    It was delicious. Everything. I shook my head. It was going to happen, right? I was going to die. There was no escaping that thing… No, it didn’t want me to know it wasn’t Claire. It couldn’t show its hand yet. I had a chance, but could I kill whatever it was?

    I glanced back at the laundry room.

    The Things That Mimic Love Too Well

    She was folding clothes.

    Claire always hated how I folded clothes. Said I made it look like they’d been balled up and thrown in the dryer with rocks.

    “Are you feeling better, Hubby?” she called sweetly.

    Hubby. I don’t know if I’ll get used to that. Claire had never called me Hubby in our marriage. It was weird, but in a good way. This monster certainly knew how to lull a man into a false sense of security. Incredibly dangerous. I had to keep my guard up.

    “I… uh… yeah.”

    She smiled.

    “I’m going to iron your work shirts next. They’re a bit wrinkled.”

    “Oh… thanks.” I hesitated. “So… how was your trip?”

    She giggled.

    She giggled. It was nice. Too nice. Must resist.

    “It was amazing, Mark! Thank you so much for sending me—and my friends. It was exactly what I needed.”

    “Right. Good. I’m glad you all… had fun.”

    She turned back to the clothes, humming again.

    I needed to get out. I needed space to think.

    “I think I’ll, um, go to the library. Research. A new project for work. New client. Just trying to stay ahead of things.”

    She walked over and kissed my cheek.

    “I hope it goes well,” she said softly. “I’m making a nice dinner tonight, so no snacking while you’re out.”

    I nearly screamed.

    She kissed me. It kissed me. It got right up to me and kissed me.

    My skin tingled. Pheromones! Yeah. Whatever this thing was, it was working my senses very… very well.

    I gulped. “Yes, Claire, yes, I will not… I will not have any snacks.”

    “Good,” she said, eyes sparkling as she looked me up and down. “Because I’m dessert tonight.”

    I turned quickly, determined not to show my arousal. “Yes, ma’am!” It came out high-pitched. Embarrassingly so.

    God damn it!

    “Hold on,” she said, just as I reached for the doorknob.

    I froze.

    “Where’s my kiss?”

  • My Wife Was Replaced by a Mimic, and I Couldn’t Be Happier (Pt 1)

    My Wife Was Replaced by a Mimic, and I Couldn’t Be Happier (Pt 1)

    (Teaser) Claire came back from the mountains sweeter than ever—cooking my favorite meals, calling me “hubby,” folding the laundry. There’s just one problem.

    I don’t think she’s Claire anymore.

    Proverbs 27: 15-16

    15 A quarrelsome wife is like the dripping

    of a leaky roof in a rainstorm;

    16 restraining her is like restraining the wind

    or grasping oil with the hand.

     

    My Wife Went on a Trip—and What Came Back Wasn’t My Wife

    My wife went on a trip recently with her girlfriends.

    What came back wasn’t my wife.

    It wasn’t even subtle. I don’t know what happened to her up in those mountains, but if I’m being honest… it’s an improvement.

    Claire used to be sweet. When we were dating, she was very attentive—doting, even. After a long day at work, she’d meet me at the door with a smile and a hug that I thought I could live inside forever. I made good money, enough for her to stay home, keep the place tidy, and tend to the little things that made our house feel like a dream.

    So of course, I proposed.

    When the Person You Married Becomes Someone Else

    The wedding was beautiful. Life after the honeymoon started out smoothly. But it didn’t last long.

    Claire started spending every day with her friends—long lunches, shopping trips, and endless spa days. I hardly ever saw her anymore. And when I did, she was either drunk or high.

    She wasn’t a happy drunk.

    She threw tantrums over maxed-out cards and screamed at me when the bank declined her latest spree. Demanded I work more overtime so she could keep buying things we didn’t need.

    “You’re not providing for me like you promised in your wedding vows!”

    I did promise to take care of her. But this… this was getting insane.

    Her latest demand? A deluxe spa retreat for her and five girlfriends. A place up in the Smoky Mountains called Smoky Mountains Resort—mud baths, hot springs, seaweed wraps, the works.

    When I hesitated and suggested that maybe just she should go, or perhaps scale back the five-friend headcount, she slapped me.

    She had never hit me before. I was shocked.

    “You’re a fucking bitch if you can’t pay for me and all my friends to have a decent birthday experience!”

    So I paid.

    I make good money, but I’m not a Jeff Bezos. I’m trying to retire someday. Still, I caved. I always did. “Happy wife, happy life,” right?

    But something in me broke that day.

    A Spa Trip to the Smoky Mountains—and a Breaking Point

    I had tolerated her for too long. I believed in marriage—I really did—but Claire had become someone I didn’t recognize. I made up my mind: I would serve her divorce papers when she came back.

    I didn’t know how she’d react. Probably call me a bitch again. Or worse. But it didn’t matter. I’d let the lawyers sort the mess out.

    Her trip was a week long. I spent the time consulting attorneys, drafting documents, and rediscovering what peace and quiet felt like.

    It was the final night of her trip. Tomorrow, she’d be home.

    I poured myself a glass of Jack Daniels No. 7—my go-to. I’d spent the week juggling overtime with laundry and cleaning. It was exhausting, but also kind of… grounding. Whiskey helped take the edge off, but it was no shoulder rub like the ones Claire used to give me.

    The Last Call from Claire

    I sank into the recliner, savoring the quiet, when my phone buzzed. Claire’s ringtone.

    I groaned. It was late. If I didn’t have tomorrow off, I’d already be in bed.

    I figured she was calling to yell at me about some last-minute resort charge or to start the nagging early. I knocked back a shot and picked up.

    “Hello?”

    Static. Then—

    “Mark! Please help me! There’s something stalking me!”

    Her voice was low, frantic, a breathless whisper. The second shot had just started hitting me.

    “Claire? I can’t hear you. Speak up.”

    “You drunk asshole! Your wife is in trouble! You promised to protect me!”

    The whisper turned into a strangled hiss—like she was shouting through clenched teeth. I rolled my eyes, already preparing to throw her own vows back at her, when a shriek rang through the line.

    And then—silence.

    Not a hang-up. Not a disconnect. Just… nothing.

    Except… maybe something.

    A rustling sound. Giggles? Grunting? Bare feet scuffing tile? Hard to say. Nothing direct. Just noise.

    I stared at the phone for a few seconds, waiting for her to come back on. She didn’t.

    Must’ve been a prank. Can’t wait for more of that when she gets home.

    I poured one more shot, knocked it back, and went to bed.

    📌 Stay Tuned for Part Two

    If you liked this story, share it and follow along as things get stranger in Part Two—coming next Monday.

  • The Mirror Spoke Softly – A Dark Fantasy Horror Tale

    The Mirror Spoke Softly – A Dark Fantasy Horror Tale

    The Mirror Appears

    Deborah placed the mirror between her bookshelves with the care of someone introducing a relic into their sanctuary, a kind of private cathedral built from books and stray paper and the quiet rituals of a solitary life. The mirror was tall and unnervingly elegant, the kind of object that seemed not merely found but summoned—its silver frame dulled by time and tarnish, the vine work etched into its surface twisting in upon itself like secrets written in a forgotten alphabet. Serpents curled along the edges, mouths open in silent hisses, and the entire surface gave off an inexplicable warmth, as if it retained the memory of other hands, other rooms, other worlds.

    Subtle Shifts

    Even in the absence of light, it shimmered faintly, as though moonlight lived inside it, and caught the soft glow of her desk lamp the way still water catches the reflection of stars. At first, it was nothing more than an aesthetic indulgence, a whimsical addition to her otherwise joyless apartment, which smelled faintly of old coffee and neglected dreams. A nod, perhaps, to the fantasy novels stacked on her shelves and the tarot cards she never quite learned to read. Just a little magic, she told herself. Something beautiful to break up the monotony.

    But within days, something subtle shifted, as though the mirror were not merely a surface but a threshold, and her reflection—so obedient, so familiar—began to misbehave in the smallest, most disconcerting ways. There was a pause. A breath of hesitation. She would reach for a pen or turn her head and catch, from the corner of her eye, the disquieting sense that the figure in the mirror was only pretending to mimic her, following her actions not out of instinct but out of calculated performance, a half-second too slow.

    The Wink

    She told herself it was fatigue. The mind playing tricks in the liminal hours between wakefulness and sleep. After all, she hadn’t been sleeping well. She hadn’t been doing much of anything well.

    Then one night, it winked.

    Her reflection—her, and not her—winked with deliberate slowness, with an almost indulgent grace.

    A Vision of Power

    Deborah had not moved.

    She stood frozen, rooted to the floorboards, unable to look away, her breath caught somewhere between her ribs and her throat, where it lodged like a stone. The woman in the mirror wore robes of such deep black they seemed to absorb the light around them, and her shoulders were draped in shadow. In one hand, she held a staff carved from something that glimmered like bone under glass, etched with runes that squirmed and rearranged themselves when she tried to understand them.

    Behind her, the apartment had vanished, replaced by a cavernous stone hall that rose into darkness, its stained-glass windows shedding unnatural light in colors that made her stomach churn, and torches guttered with violet fire along its walls.

    Then, in an instant, it was just her reflection again—Deborah, plain and exhausted, with ink smudges on her fingers and a hoodie stretched thin from years of wear, standing amid the clutter of books and unopened mail.

    The Pull of the Mirror

    But the image stayed with her, lingered like a dream that refused to be shaken off. She found herself returning to the mirror night after night, no longer out of curiosity, but need—a deepening hunger for something she could not name. Each night, the mirror version of herself reappeared, a figure of impossible power and uncanny grace, soaring above burning cities, conjuring beasts from smoke and ash, casting spells with a language that burned on her tongue even in silence.

    Sometimes, a voice—rich and low and honey-slick—spoke to her in thoughts not entirely her own: You could be me.

    And slowly, day by day, she began to believe it.

    Abandoning the World

    She stopped going to work, let her email rot unopened, and ignored the mounting pile of messages from concerned friends and unpaid bills. She let the outside world crumble into static while the mirror world bloomed in color and flame. The reflection began to teach her things—chants that slithered off her tongue like live things, sigils she traced on fogged glass that made the lights flicker and hum. Her houseplants sprouted and withered in the space of an afternoon. Water boiled without heat. Her own skin began to feel too warm, feverish, as if it were preparing to shed.

    She smiled more often, but the smile was crooked now, unfamiliar, not quite anchored to her own bones.

    Crossing Over

    Then, one night, the mirror changed. It pulsed—not with light, but with intent, as if it were breathing, exhaling some unseen mist that made the air in the apartment dense with promise. Her reflection stepped forward, closer than it had ever dared, and extended a pale hand that shimmered like moonlit marble. Deborah, trembling and hollowed out by longing, raised her own hand to meet it.

    Her fingers passed through.

    The sensation was an immediate wash of scalding heat followed by a suffocating cold that spread across her limbs like frostbite blooming from the inside. She gasped. Somewhere, her heart pounded like a warning bell. But it was too late.

    She stepped through.

    A New Prison

    There was no ground beneath her.

    Only falling.

    She plummeted through a tunnel of stars and wind and memory, through a screaming sky that twisted and broke and reformed around her. Time unraveled. Her thoughts scattered like ashes.

    And then—silence.

    When she opened her eyes, she was back in her apartment. The same bookshelf. The same lamp. But something was wrong. She could see, but she could not move. Could not blink. Could not scream.

    Because she was inside the mirror.

    And the other Deborah—the one in black robes, with calm eyes and a smile as sharp as glass—stood where she had once been. She turned her head, adjusted her hair, and walked to the door with the effortless ease of someone who had always belonged in that body. When Garret knocked and asked if she was okay, the new Deborah opened the door and laughed lightly, telling him she’d simply been tired.

    Inside the mirror, the real Deborah watched, screaming silently as the doppelgänger slid into her life with elegance and grace, as if she had been rehearsing this moment for centuries.

    The mirror no longer shimmered.

    It pulsed, faintly, like a heart slowly dying.

     

    If you enjoyed The Mirror Spoke Softly, you might also like My Mother-in-Law Moved In… Then Things Took a Dark Turn

     

  • Crap! I Reincarnated as a Pokemon! Chapter 5

    A Pokemon Fanfiction

    I sensed a mix of emotions coming from Laura. She was proud that I won, but she was also ashamed that she just stood there. It was heart-breaking. I get the feeling it was her first battle with Bilby. I still can’t get over how goofy that name is.

    She couldn’t stop crying and kissing me. She held me tight in her arms and rushed me to the Pokemon center. I appreciated it. I hate traveling in a Pokeball. Nurse Joy handled me quickly and soon I was all healed up and ready to go. I grew a couple levels by fighting Bulby. He must have been pretty powerful. I think I was roughly level five when I fought him. I must be around level ten by now.

    Current level is seven. HP is 20. Attack is 17. Defense is 14. Special Attack is 12. Special Defense is 14. Speed is 17. Nature is Adamant. Characteristic is Alert to Sounds.

    Jeez! I was really hoping I grew more than that. Maybe I was below five?

    Bulby, no matter how ridiculous his name, was a tough Pokemon, and he had a trainer that was serious about Pokemon battles. And after going to school with Laura, it was apparent that she was not as serious as I would have thought. She froze during the battle. She just stood there and took the abuse from that jerk. I’ve got to raise her confidence. If we’re going to be a team, she needs to learn how to take charge and become a competent trainer. How am I going to do that?

    Nurse Joy handed me back to Laura. Her tears were gone, and she seemed a lot happier. Maybe she had some time to think things over.

    “Rowdy, I’m so glad you’re better!”

    Rowdy?

    “I hope you like it. I thought it fit since you took on Bilby all by yourself,” she said, wiping a tear away. “Some trainer I am, huh?”

    She’s about to cry again. I bark and wag my tail. I don’t want her to be upset. I want her to move on. I’m better now and that’s what matters. She scooped me up into her arms, thanked Nurse Joy, and carried me out of the Pokemon Center.

    She didn’t speak much on the way back. It was a bit unsettling because she didn’t have her usual exuberance. I felt weird doing it, but I licked her arm, hopefully, in a comforting manner. I can’t figure out what she’s thinking. I was always bad at reading people.

    I could see our house. The setting sun made the sky orange and all the shadows darker. Laura opened the gate and placed me on the ground. She rummaged in her schoolbag and pulled out her keys, but before she could open the door, Hiker Mark opened it.

    “Laura! How was your last day of school?”

    She dove into his chest and gave him a big hug. I could hear sniffles and sobs coming from her. I really wasn’t sure why she was still crying. I was fine and we won her first Pokemon battle. What was her deal?

    I looked up to the window, on the other side of the door. The Purrloin was sitting on it, her tail dangling from the edge, her eyes steady, fixed on Laura.

    She noticed I was staring and stood up, stretched, flowing from shoulders to rump bending the way cats do. She leapt down and approached me.

    “Good job in the battle today.” Her expression was bland. I couldn’t tell with this cat, though I couldn’t tell with humans either.

    She must follow Laura around everywhere to be this informed, and is very adept at moving without being seen. I didn’t pick up on her scent the entire time; maybe I just didn’t know what she smelled like. I was becoming accustomed to a lot of smells since I came to this world.

    She picked up her right paw and started grooming her dark, purple coat. I approached and took a sniff, not really knowing what I was doing, but maybe I would become more aware of her presence in the future. This startled her into a hiss.

    “Whoa, calm down. Just smelling you. You have a habit of sneaking around and I want to know what you smell like.” That sounded so creepy coming out of my mouth.

    She smelled like tree bark and pollen and something else, maybe just cat. I had a cat growing up, and she reminded me a lot of how it smelled back when I was a kid. The Purrloin relaxed and went back to grooming herself. “She doesn’t really want to be a trainer, you know?”

    She said this between licks. I looked up to see that Laura and Hiker Mark had already disappeared inside the house. “How do you know what she wants?”

    “I watch her,” she said.

    “That’s, honestly, a bit disturbing,” I said, thinking about my past life as a voyeur, I blushed.

    The Purrloin ignored me. “She thinks she wants to be a trainer, but she’s only giving into peer pressure.”

    I thought about that for a moment. “Doesn’t every child dream of becoming a Pokemon Master?”

    The Purrloin stared into my eyes. She seemed very strong and intelligent. It gave a lot of credit to her assertion. I wanted to know what her level was.

    Purrloin current level 12. HP is 34. Attack is 26. Defense is 22. Special Attack is 26. Special Defense is 22. Speed is 30. Nature is Calm. Characteristic is Thoroughly Cunning.

    Well, she’s stronger than me. Perhaps a new team member for Laura? Since she likes her already, it’s not a bad idea.

    “You’re looking at my stats?”

    How did she know?

    “You’re not from around here, are you?” she continued.

    “Are you from another world?” I asked. It was incredible that I wasn’t alone here, that she possibly had been a person before too. What were the odds? I was so happy my tail started wagging.

    “I’m from here,” she said.

    “Okay. You can see stats too?”

    “The smart ones can. I just didn’t think you were one of them.”

    My tail stopped wagging. “So, what is your point about Laura? What makes you think she doesn’t want to be a Pokemon master?”

    “She was worried about you. She hated watching you fight and getting hurt. She’d rather not battle at all, but she knows that it is the only way to achieve the goal that she set for herself.”

    “All right. I think her being worried is pretty typical of a Pokemon trainer, but also isn’t Pokemon battling a big part of this world? Taking on the Gym Challenge? Going to the League Tournament? Pokemon have been used for battling for generations.”

    The Purrloin blinked.

    I sighed. I really hated talking to this cat. “Welp. I’m going to go inside and eat dinner. Good night!”

    I trotted up the wooden steps and woofed and pawed at the door. Laura opened the door, still in her uniform.

    “Come in you two. I have food for you,” she said, cheerfully. She must be feeling better now. Wait. What?

    The Purrloin proceeded through the doorway and into the kitchen, like she’d been there before. I can’t help but feel annoyed by this.

    “Rowdy, I’m glad you made a friend. Purrloin visits often. She likes it when I scratch her back.”

    “Does she now?” Of course, Laura only heard a series of Rockruffs and barks.

    The Purrloin looked back at me, her eyes still cool and emotionless. I followed Laura into the kitchen. It was well lit with white and blue linoleum tiles. Quartz and Geode sat next to their dishes, eating the little brown nuggets of Pokémon food given to them. Laura grabbed a blue bowl and placed it in front of the Purrloin. I smelled burgers. I doubted that I would get one, but I may paw Laura’s leg and see where that gets me.

    “Look Quartz and Geode! Purrloin is here tonight!”

    She sat a red bowl in front of me. Pokemon food is no hamburger and fries, but it isn’t awful. I stick my face in it and chow down. The Pokemon are not talkers. Quartz does wave her little claws at Purrloin and Geode nods. I never really learned much about them while I was with Hiker Mark in the cave. Maybe they weren’t interested. We only spent a couple of days together before Hiker Mark brought me home.

    Hiker Mark reclined at the table. He must have scarfed down his food.

    “Papa! You ate before I could sit down!” Laura scolded.

    “I couldn’t help myself! It was so good!”

    I was surprised at how fast she cooked them. I wasn’t outside for that long. There were some bugs in this world for sure. I looked up from my dish.

    “So, you come here often?” I asked Purrloin.

    She glanced at me and returned to eating.

    “Why don’t you join our team?” I spoke. “I think you and Laura get along well enough, and you’re pretty strong.”

    She stopped for a minute and looked like she was considering it.

    “You wouldn’t have to stalk her all the time. You could just hang out,” I said, finishing my bowl.

    I may not like her, but she was loyal to Laura. That was a good start. I would need to somehow steer this ship if Laura was going to become a Pokemon Master, and Purrloin wasn’t a bad Pokemon. When I looked at her stats before, I noticed she was a dark type. She would be very useful against psychic types when we inevitably came across them.

    “I don’t see the point,” said Purrloin.

    “Why not?” I said, a bit irritated.

    “You just want to take her on the Pokemon League Challenge. While I admit she thinks she wants that, eventually she’ll figure it out and come home, and I’ll be here waiting for her.”

    “I plan on taking her to the top, cat!” I bared my teeth at her. “She won’t be home for a long time.”

    “Oh? You think you’re strong enough to carry her and a team?”

    “I do.” I don’t know what she meant by that. Laura had graduated from trainer school; she couldn’t be hopeless. And to top it off, I was ridiculously strong. Overcome would be my trump card in our first battles, at least until I could help Laura create a team. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do that though. It’s not like I could talk to her.

    “That Bulbasaur was strong too. You defeated it, that makes you stronger, right? Believe it or not, that was Bilby’s first trainer battle too. He often wins by intimidation and bravado. Though he is inexperienced, most of his classmates never choose to battle him, because of his fierce temperment. I will admit that Bilby’s Bulbasaur is a well-bred Pokemon with very good stats. You were both at level six.”

    I bared my fangs. “So that proves that I am strong, cat!”

    “Manners,” said Quartz.

    “No fighting in the house,” said Geode.

    “How about I fight you then?” I said, ignoring the others.

    “What would that prove? I’m stronger than you. I have more experience fighting than you. Though, I admit, you have an excessive number of abilities. Very troubling and hard to predict.”

    “That’s right, cat!” I said, “I have a lot of abilities that will allow me to win against you and any other Pokemon Laura and I come across!”

    “And she will cry over each one,” said Purrloin, “Not wanting to hurt anyone, and feeling bad when she does. Even worse when one of her Pokemon are hurt. Her heart is too fragile for this.”

    My barking grew louder as I cursed at Purrloin. Quartz and Geode tried to settle me down, both embarrassed by my colorful language. Of course, Purrloin was unfazed by any of it and that made me even more angry.

    Laura picked me up and tried to calm me down. “Rowdy, what’s gotten into you? Is Purrloin causing trouble?” Laura smiled.

    “I’m gonna murder that cat!” I barked, twisting and turning in Laura’s arms.

    “Papa,” said Laura, “I’m leaving tomorrow to start on my journey. I’m taking route 111 and heading to Franklin. There should be a gym there.”

    Hiker Mark nearly fell out of his chair. “So soon, Lala? You just graduated. Perhaps a little training with dear-ol-papa… like about five more years?”

    “Papa! I’m not a kid anymore!” she said.

    Lala? I snickered. I felt for Hiker Mark. After the battle this afternoon, Lala didn’t stand a chance out there, but I would be along for the journey and would keep her out of trouble. At least as much as I could. I barked at Hiker Mark to let him know this, but I doubt he understood a word I said.

    Purrloin swished her tail back and forth, irritated that I would be encouraging Laura and Hiker Mark. I grinned maniacally at her. She was welcome to come along, and if she gave me any trouble, I’d eat her. I laughed to myself.

    She hissed at me, and jumped, claws out careening towards my face. Can’t say I didn’t deserve it.

    Laura stumbled and held us both by the scruffs of our necks. We were helpless now, but steadily glared at one another, daring the other to blink.

    “Rowdy is really strong, Papa!” Laura insisted. “He’ll protect me and help me form a strong team.”

    “See?” I woofed at Purrloin, pleased with this outcome.

    Purrloin rolled her eyes and rowwed loudly.

    Hiker Mark contemplated for a moment. It was a hard sell. He knew Laura better than I did, and I was beginning to understand why everyone underestimated her so much. Still, she had me, and with my unstoppable abilities, we would definitely become the next League champions.

    “Alright, Laura. I guess when I was your age, I also went on my first journey,” said Hiker Mark after a long pause, “You can go, but I want you to make a deal with me: you will call me every night, and after you get four badges, you must come home and battle me. Do we have a deal?”

    “Deal!” Laura smiled.

    “I’m serious, Laura,” he insisted, “This isn’t going to be easy. You can’t come home until you’ve earned four badges. You understand?”

    She hesitated. “Of course, Papa. I can do that. With Rowdy I can definitely get four badges.”

    “Good,” he said, “I’ve got something for you. Wait here.” He got up and left the kitchen to go to his bedroom. Laura put us both on the floor. Purrloin turned away unhappy about Laura’s new deal with her dad. I, on the other hand, was ecstatic to get away from this darn cat! At this point, if she comes with us, I will eat her. I’ve honestly had enough of her neigh saying.

    Hiker Mark came back from his room with a poorly wrapped present. Laura hopped up and down in anticipation and Purrloin couldn’t stifle a smile from Laura’s excitement. Laura hugged Mark and opened her present. Inside were six Pokeballs, six potions, and three antidotes. “Route 111 is full of poison types, so be careful on your journey.”

    He sniffed hard and I turned away. I didn’t want to see Hiker Mark cry. Laura set the gifts on the table before giving her dad another hug, “Don’t cry, Papa! I’m coming back with four badges and then I’m going to beat you in a Pokemon battle!”

    “I can’t wait,” he said.

    I was about to start crying, but I began to hear a weird beeping noise. On the table one of the Pokeballs had activated and Purrloin had disappeared.

    The story so far: 1 2 3 4