User:The Koromo/Ghosts I-IV (in progress)

I.

Abigail Madeline Boulstridge awoke to the sudden vision of the led-gray skies above her head, no speck of blue visible - simply the leaden, industrial ink of the otherworldly sky above. A harsh wind blew from all directions; Abigail sat up, coughing out the dust and dirt that came flooding in from all directions beside, behind, and in front of her.

As the queer wind settled, she took the time to survey her surroundings. All around her was a barren, desolate landscape; gray and white sand lay under the black, bleak sky that emitted no light. All around, hills and slopes and mounds were dotted across the desolate land, fluctuating in height; though the tallest Abigail could see was up to ten feet.

She stood up against the howling winds, having not the slightest of a clue where she was. She felt certainly that this was not Earth; it's aura already gave off an extra-terrestrial feeling. Abigail's head felt light and empty, at first; but suddenly, a rush of thoughts came flooding back in to her, and she remembered all of the horrifying events that plagued her past.

Y'thra. The murder of her parent's by his hand, as well as his hideous familiars. The dreaded mental hospital and it's patients as well as it's staff. And then, she remembered the most crucial event; her very own death.

She had committed suicide, propelling herself out of the mental institute's window in order to escape from the torment of Y'thra and the horrible, mental nightmares that were brought upon her. For a moment, Abigail felt triumph and clarity; Y'thra was gone, still stuck upon Earth, and no longer a threat to her. However, Abigail, now knowing she was dead, began to ponder; was this the afterlife? This dark, bleak, desolate wasteland with no end or civilization in sight?

Abigail did not waste time continuing the wondering; a mildly loud, mechanical drone sound echoed over the wind, subsiding and then returning, fluctuating repetitiously. In the distance, the sound of what was supposedly, to Abigail's ears, a Tibetan horn groaned tunelessly. Abigail began to walk, plowing through the harsh wind, knowing not one thing of where she was going.

Hours passed, and what even seemed like days did as well; and not one trace of other humans in sight had been seen by Abigail. As she continued to trudge through the desolate, bleak desert landscape, she fell to her knees without warning before collapsing fully onto the dirt, coughing violently. As the coughs subsided, the last thing she saw before she faded out of consciousness was a tall, shadowed humanoid figure towering above her.

To the peculiar sound of water running, Abigail felt her brain slip back into consciousness. Her eyes began adjusting, and she saw the slow-moving ceiling fan hanging above her plastered onto the wooden ceiling. A shuffling of feet echoed nearby, though due to Abigail's exhaustion and dehydration, it sounded as if it was miles in the distance. Her hearing ability began to clear, and she groaned. The sound of voices - human language, English - pierced into her. She still felt numb, unable to move any part of her body with the exception of her eyes. "She is waking up!" a small, meek voice spouted cheerfully.

This was followed in succession by a deep, booming elderly voice. "The liquid, please, Siddharta." The same small, meek voice from before squeaked in compliance, and Abigail could not protest as a bottle of blue, jello-like liquid was poured down her throat. Suddenly, she felt herself spasm and gag, coughing before the ability to feel again was enabled. She jolted up instinctively, not thinking, before she came face to face with a strange bunch.

In the dark, wooden room with only one window and one door, as well as a ladder that led into the supposed attic, which had no roof or covering besides the floor of it (though there was not much to reveal either way, as it was only filled with haystacks), five individuals stood, one of them sitting on a chair. Four out of five of them were tiny, dwarve-like human beings. One female, three male, all of them under four feet in height and all wearing green shirts and pants with no text or symbols on them. On the chair sat a tall, middle-aged man with a flowing white beard that ended just above the waist. Beside him, leaning on the rocking chair in which he sat, was a dirty, wooden old cane which was tattered and shriveled. Abigail rubbed her head, utterly confused, though the elderly man began to speak in a polite fashion.

"Good morning," he said to the woman. "It is good to see you finally awaking from your unconsciousness. I discovered you in the wastelands, shriveling away from starvation, so I immediately brought you to the village. Tell us your name, madame; and wherein you are from."

Abigail groaned. "My name is Abigail...where is this place? What is going on here?" Suddenly, the thoughts hit her mind again, and she without thinking began her story. "I am dead and from Earth...I took my own life to escape from that abhorrent nightmare named Y'thra and his dreaded insanity. What is this place? Where is this place? I have no idea what is going on here..."

One of the smaller people, the dwarves, scratched his chin. "Ah, so she is a Dead One," he observed, apparently thinking out loud.