Ash, Misty, and Brock were tired. Dead tired. It was apparent in the way they slumped down the stairs, their heads hanging and their feet dragging pathetically. The only thing that was somewhat stimulating to them was the presence of a fresh, beautiful day ahead of them.

But the thought of training was merely pushed aside in Ash’s head. He thought about his smashed picture upstairs, and Misty’s account of the ghostly tapping behind his wall. They had both returned, but why then? How come the picture hadn’t fallen in all those other hours that had passed? He shook his head clear of it, not wanting to plague himself with the constant torture of trying to figure something out. Ash hated that.

Misty was frigidly pale, as white as a sheet. Her eyes were red and bloodshot, and they drooped sickly. She was a mess, and was feeling every bit of the sleep she had lost. Normally, she would have remained in bed, but for now her phobia of the room kept her from doing so. She just wanted to be out of there and in the presence of everyone, where she felt moderately comfortable.

Brock was not happy. He had been perfectly satisfied in his relaxing sleep, dreaming on and off of pretty girls and getting their phone numbers. He would have liked to continue dreaming, but out of all things to interrupt that, Misty grappling onto him wide-eyed in fear over some ridiculous tapping was unacceptable. He silently cursed his bad luck as they hauled themselves to the kitchen.

As soon as Delia caught sight of the exhausted kids, her jaw dropped to the ground.

"Wow, you kids certainly look freshened up," she announced sardonically, looking at them in shock.

"We didn’t sleep good," Ash told her weakly, plopping down loudly into one of the kitchen table chairs.

"Not at all," added Brock, rubbing his tired eyes.

Brock and Misty crashed into chairs, as well. Misty set Togepi in front of her, then proceeded to dump her tired head into her folded arms.

Delia came over quietly to them, and stopped in back of Ash. Taking on good, sad look at the wiped-out kids, she bent down and kissed Ash’s head, rubbing it briskly. Ash looked up at her, and found her smiling lovingly at him.

"What’s the matter, sleepy head?" she gibbered, brushing his loose hair away from his eyes.

Ash closed his eyes and moaned softly. "Oh, Mom . . . it happened again."

"What happened?" Delia asked worriedly.

Misty looked up at her. "The tapping, Mrs. Ketchum. It came back."

"Tapping?" For a moment, Delia looked utterly puzzled, but that look was soon replaced as her face fell agitatedly. She sighed, and brought her hands up to rest on her hips.

"Oh, are you starting this again?" she inquired, sounding a little annoyed.

Ash shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Mom, I swear to God it happened again!"

"Don’t swear to God, Ash."

"But how else am I gonna get you to believe me?" Ash demanded, flipping around in his chair.

Delia narrowed her eyes, and was about to reply back, but Misty interrupted with her put-in.

"It’s true, Mrs. Ketchum. I woke up at, like, four this morning ‘cause there was this weird tapping behind the wall," she calmly explained. "And then that picture fell off the wall again --"

Delia turned to Brock, who was silently listening to the whole thing with his head resting on his hand. For some reason, she always relied on him to confirm what the other two were saying, to decipher truth from the mumbo-jumbo. She was giving him that look now, a small amused grin coming to her lips.

"Is this true?" she asked Brock flat out.

Brock shut his eyes and shrugged. "Well, when I woke up, the picture was shattered on the floor," he said.

"But what about the tapping?" Delia asked him.

"Hello? Are we even here?" Ash asked angrily, annoyed that his own mother was doubting what he and Misty were telling her. He waved his hand in front of his mom’s eyes, but she whacked it away without even throwing him a glance.

"I didn’t hear any tapping," Brock sighed. He paused, then continued. "But if Ash and Misty said they heard it, then I believe them."

Ash and Misty smiled happily as Brock said this, thankful that at least he was supportive and on their side. The only reason why Brock was backing them up was because of the typewriter incident, and how real it sounded to him. Delia drew away from his statement, and all seemed settled, until Ash had to voice his opinion on the situation.

"Mom, I think our house’s haunted," he said simply, gripping onto the chair tightly as he said it. The words coming out of his mouth were even frightening to him.

Without a doubt, what Ash had just said did not strike Delia the right way. She looked at him so outrageously that it made Ash flinch. "Ash," she grumbled loudly, shaking her head. "I don’t want to hear that!"

"But what if it is?!" Ash protested, getting up out of his chair in a sort of face-off against his mother.

"Because there are no such things as ghosts," Delia told him, narrowing her eyes. "You shouldn’t be scared of such nonsense!"

Ash’s face fell. He turned to Misty and Brock, who were sitting silently. Neither one of them felt like adding something after what Delia had just said. She had certainly voiced what she thought firmly, and the look she was giving her son now conveyed that.

Ash turned back to Delia, giving her an ever so sad look. "Then what did we hear, Ma?" he asked her softly. "If you’re so certain that it wasn’t . . ." He hesitated for a moment just to build up enough strength to utter this word in front of her. ". . . A ghost, then what was it?"

Delia stared him straight in the eye. Her arms folded in front of her, she sighed calmly. "It was simply an excuse for you to get out of cleaning your room, the product of your wild imaginations after being caught in the dark during a storm, and . . ." She smiled at Misty. "A bad dream. That’s all it is. And you have all this going straight to your heads."

Ash’s mouth hung open, and he gaped at her. He shuddered at what she had said, the urge to contradict her so strongly present in him. It set his resentment off immediately when she once again claimed he had started the whole thing. Ash hardly ever lied to her about anything. Sure, he had pulled a couple of fast ones on her, but he had always cracked after a while. He was never so serious and so dead-set as he was now.

"Mom --" he started, blinking once and slowly.

"No more!" Delia told him stiffly, her voice raised just a bit more. "This house is not haunted. Look at me, Ash!" She pointed at herself. "I’ve woken up in this house and I’ve gone to bed in this house for eleven years. I’ve been in numerous blackouts in the house. I lived in this house alone ever since you left, and not once have I heard anything that sounded remotely strange. So, if this house was haunted, like I said, I would know. Okay? I would know!"

Misty and Brock nodded, but Ash didn’t. He simply stood there, stroking Pikachu’s head to calm himself down. There was some sense to what she was saying. He never felt unsafe in his home, and the few times he had felt scared of ghosts or the occasional monster under his bed were when he was quite little.

"You’re right, Mrs. Ketchum," Brock suddenly said, bringing Ash out of his own tiny world of temporary loathing. "You’re absolutely right. I don’t know what we were thinking."

Ash and Misty were undoubtedly shocked at what he had just said, sending them into a state of confusion. Brock looked at each of them shortly, catching their baffled glances. He nodded his head lightly at Delia, and returned his attention to her.

"You won’t hear any more from us." Brock’s eyes flipped to Ash. "Will she, Ash?"

Ash looked at him with a puzzled expression, but when he saw Brock glare at him momentarily, he begrudgingly nodded. Delia nodded also, giving her son and friends a harmless smirk, and turned away to pour her coffee, which had been ready for a while. With her back turned, the Ash and Misty shot Brock sneers across the table, which Brock just waved away.

"Just wait," he mouthed to them, smiling slyly.

"What the hell was that?!" Misty demanded of Brock, coming right up to his face. The three were making their way out into the open fields of Pallet Town. The sun was high in the sky, and the smoldering, early afternoon humidity encompassed the spunky kids. Ash was a good couple feet ahead of them, his hat already turned backwards in preparation for a full day of training.

"That," Brock replied, "was the plug to a very ugly situation that could have happened."

Misty gave him a face. "Ugly?"

Brock nodded. "Couldn’t you tell how annoyed Mrs. Ketchum looked?" he asked her. "She didn’t like what we were telling her one bit."

"That’s because my mom doesn’t believe in ghosts for one second," Ash said suddenly. He turned his head slightly and looked over his shoulder at his two friends walking behind them. Brock and Misty didn’t expect him to join in the conversation because his head seemed to be elsewhere, most likely in the field where they were planning to battle.

Misty smiled incredulously. "How can anyone not believe in ghosts? They’re so real."

Ash shrugged, looking straight ahead again. "Well, she doesn’t think so."

Misty found this conversation difficult to continue with them so separated, so she sprinted to catch up to Ash. Brock followed. As soon as Misty reached Ash, she looked into his face, appearing quite interested.

"Do you think so, Ash?" she asked, her voice coming to a sweet squeak.

"Think what?"

Misty rolled her eyes. "That ghosts are real."

Ash glanced at her. "Ghost Pokémon are real."

"That’s not what I mean," she replied with a grin. Togepi giggled in her arms.

Ash was silent for a moment, his eyes looking up at the white, puffy clouds above. They floated so peacefully, casting pleasant, non-threatening shadows on the green mountains. He felt peaceful as well, and closed his eyes to bask in the warm sunshine that beat down on his face.

Ash moved his glance to Misty, and smiled at her. "Course I do. Heh, I’m kinda scared of them, too."

Misty flashed her bright smile again. "Oh, Mr. Pokémon Master is scared of ghosties?" she teased, giving him a shove. "I would’ve never known!"

Ash chuckled and blushed embarrassingly. "Well, not that scared," he replied in modest defense.

"But you are scared of them!" she said.

Ash shrugged. "Yeah. What’s so wrong with that?"

"Nothing, it’s funny!" she replied, breaking into sudden laughter.

Ash was annoyed and embarrassed at her laughter. Snarling, he glared at her. "Wait a second! Excuse me, but weren’t you the one who was suffocating Brock this morning?" he inquired of her, folding his arms in front of him when she suddenly stopped laughing. "You seemed pretty scared to me."

"Who knows if that was a ghost?" she questioned in reply. "It could have been anything."

Ash gave her an absurd face. "So you’re telling me that if you had seen a ghost, you wouldn’t have been scared?"

"No," she said. "I was scared ‘cause I thought . . . I mean -- I, uh, see . . ."

"What are talking about?" Ash demanded, her lack of control exasperating him.

Misty grumbled. "Nothing! I, uh . . . Brock, help me out!"

Ash and Misty glared at each other as they awaited Brock’s reply. But Brock didn’t say a word. The two sweatdropped and quickly looked behind them.

Brock was standing about a hundred yards away from them, leaning casually on a tree. He had a smirk on his face that was easily distinguishable.

"You guys finally realize I wasn’t there?" he laughed. "I thought you wanted to battle here today, Ash."

Ash and Misty looked around, and sure enough, they were standing in the field they had been heading to. In their argument, they had been unintentionally walking right through it.

Ash chuckled embarrassingly and scratched the back of his head. "Heh heh, oh yeah. Thanks Brock."

Brock nodded. "Anytime. Waddah ya say we stop bickering and start training?"

Ash and Misty shot each other one last venomous glare, and headed over to Brock. Brock shook his head humorously, thinking of the amazingly strange things his two younger friends fought about.

They spent the rest of the beautiful day battling and preparing for the highly anticipated, swiftly approaching Pokémon League.

They returned later that evening, their clothes plastered with dirt and their hair sticky with sweat. Ash wiped his shiny brow as he entered the house and yawned.

"Hi sweetie," his mom welcomed him softly, glancing up from the newspaper. She was curled up in a relaxed fashion on the sofa. "How was your day?"

Ash responded by collapsing exhaustibly in the entranceway.

Delia nodded. "I hear ya."

Misty smiled and gave Ash a gentle kick. "Come on, let’s get cleaned up."

Ash just groaned. "Too tired," he moaned. "Just leave me here." Every bone and muscle in his body ached. He felt that he hadn’t trained so much in his life. When they weren’t battling, he had begun to exercise, barely giving himself one minute of rest. Brock and Misty had warned him earlier of it, but he insisted that he needed the workout. Ash realized now that he should have listened to them.

Delia lifted her head up to look at her fallen son. "Ash, you’re filthy! Misty’s right, dear. Go get cleaned up."

Ash kept his head down. He honestly could have fallen asleep right then and there. "Carry me, Mama," he mumbled softly.

Delia sighed and rolled her eyes. "Oh, give me a break, Ash!" she laughed.

Brock chuckled and bent down to grab Ash. Ash just draped lifelessly as Brock lifted him slightly off the ground.

"Ash!" Brock grumbled, huffing from Ash’s weight. "C’mon!"

Ash just plopped back down on the ground as Brock dropped him. Pikachu nudged his trainer lightly. The other three shook their heads, grinning at the wearied boy on the ground. It was going to be one of those nights.

Two hours later, Ash’s room was pitch black. He and his other two friends were snuggled deeply under their blankets, the eyes clasped shut in hopes of falling asleep. Misty held Togepi close to her, who was awake only because he could feel Misty’s uneasy heart.

Brock lay of his back, his hands rested casually behind his head. He was far from casual, however. Smirking slightly, he turned to Ash, who was facing him. Ash’s one hand was jammed under his head, the other lying limply across the floor.

"Is anyone asleep yet?" he asked apathetically, slurring his words.

Ash blinked his eyes once slowly, as if shrugging. "I can’t," he replied.

"Well, no one’s sleeping up here, either," Misty announced from the dark. Despite how tired she felt, her voice was sharp and alert.

Ash groaned, and propped himself up on the elbows. "This is ridiculous," he said.

Misty got up and switched the light on beside the bunk. She rubbed her eyes from the light. They had been lying in the dark for a good hour or so; a good hour of quietness and patience.

Brock reached up and ran his hands through his thick, brown hair. "Are we gonna be like this all night?"

Misty just replied by huffing in exasperation and throwing herself down flat on the bed again. "I hope not! I want to sleep so bad!"

Ash looked up at her, his one eyebrow arched slightly. "Is your heart beating really fast like mine?"

Misty flipped herself around and draped over the bed, glancing down at her friend disappointedly. "Yeah."

"Every time I close my eyes I hear the typewriter in my head," said Brock, who was resting his face in his hand, stretching it a bit. He let out a small chuckle. "Man, it’s so sick."

"I think we’re all sick," Ash said. "I mean, this is crazy! We’ve slept in such creepy forests and stuff, and we were never scared of that."

Brock and Misty were silent, not quite sure what to say. True, they had been in more frightening surroundings, and would have never expected being so scared in Ash’s house out of all places. But as much as they hated to admit it, they couldn’t help their minds wandering off.

"You’re right, Ash," Misty told him, sounding ashamed. "This is crazy. We should be asleep. And that’s exactly what I’m gonna do . . . sleep."

"Har har. Real easy, Misty," Ash retorted. "I’ve been trying to do that for an hour."

"Me too," Brock put in. "And I’m not getting anywhere, either."

"Well, neither am I," Misty responded, bringing the covers close to her chin. She was starting to become agitated with the whole situation, and there was only one solution. "But if I close my eyes and lay down, sooner or later I’ll fall asleep."

With that, she covered herself up and shut the light off, leaving Brock and Ash in the darkness. Ash shuddered at it slightly, but swallowed deeply and lay down. He wished he had his old night light from when he was little. But his mom had put it away somewhere, and looking for it now was definitely not on his to-do list. When he heard silence from both his friends, he closed his eyes, also. He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on something soothing, something pleasant to ease his nerves.

He remained that way for he didn’t know how long. Every time Ash felt like he was falling asleep, he would snap awake again, grumbling at his misfortune. This was no good. Ash figured he’d been doing this for a good half hour or so. Pikachu was apparently asleep, since he could hear soft snoring from the warm body beside his stomach.

Biting his lip, he turned over on his other side and attempted to fall asleep once again. It didn’t matter which way he slept; he had tried them all.

What’s wrong with me? he questioned himself pathetically. Why can’t I sleep? This is so stupid. Why is this happening to me again?

It was happening to him, again, unfortunately. As a young child, he had become frightened rather easily. He never liked the strange noises the house made or the scary arms the tree branches made on his ceiling. Thunderstorms were out of the question. When he had felt scared, he had always run to his parents’ room, and straight into Delia’s arms. Each and every time she assured him that there was nothing to be worried about. She’d told him not to be scared, and to go back to bed thinking how safe he was.

"Your mommy and daddy are right here, Ash," she would tell him gently, rocking her shivering son on her lap. "You don’t have to be afraid. Nothing’s going to bother you."

So Ash would return to his room, just as scared as he was when he left. It was no use going to his mother. Eventually he learned to deal with his fear, and he had become quite good at it. But for some reason now, his old fear had returned. Where it had come from he didn’t know. And he didn’t know how to deal with it either. He couldn’t certainly run to his mom’s room -- he was too old for that. Deep down he wanted to, but he dismissed the thought roughly.

Act your age, Ash, he scolded himself, wincing. There’s nothing here, and you know that! His mother was right. Nothing did ever bother him. So why would anything bother him now?

Suddenly, just as Ash had concluded attesting to himself that his house was just as safe as it were when he was young, his eyes shot open.

What was that?! Ash thought, terrified. At that moment, he could have sworn that he had heard something downstairs. It was just the slightest creaking of the floorboards, but he knew exactly what floorboard it was. Only when you walked over the threshold of the door between the kitchen and living room did the house make that noise. It was as easily distinguishable to Ash as was the sound of wind.

Ash heart stopped when he heard it again. Oh God! No, please not again! he pleaded, recoiling his face even more. He quickly threw a glance at his door. It was shut, and no light protruded from underneath it.

It’s not Mom. Mom always turns the hallway light on!

At the realization that it couldn’t have been Delia, Ash tensed greatly. The house didn’t make that sound on its own. Someone had to physically step on that spot. And he had heard someone step on it twice.

Ash waited for a while and listened to see if he could hear it again. His breathing was rather intense, but he remained gathered enough to keep his senses in line.

I know I didn’t make that up! he assured himself. I heard it, I know I did!

And he heard it again. Ash bit his tongue at the sound of it, making him cringe in sudden pain and fear. Panic swept through him.

"Misty? Brock?" he choked out in a fearful whisper. "You guys awake?" There was no reply. They had fallen asleep an hour ago.

Realizing that his friends were already out cold, Ash panicked even more. He was alone in this. He was paralyzed in his sleeping bag with fear. And worse yet, he didn’t know where to begin to think. His mind was a bunch of twisted, confused swirls.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .