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If there’s one nice thing that Ghostbur can say about this train station, it’s that it has some lovely acoustics.
He’s not quite sure why, but he thinks that it has something to do with how empty the station is. There’s a lot of open space and long platforms, with no obstructions to catch the sound of his warbling, hoarse voice as it flies through the air and eventually rebounds against the dim concrete walls.
(No crowds of people to absorb the notes and carry the song with them under their skin.)
He’s grown to appreciate the echo that comes after, too; when he sings, it’s almost like he’s leading a round, each rebounding repetition just a couple of beats too slow to be perfectly in time. When he speaks, he can almost imagine someone else is responding from farther down the tracks, and the only reason he can’t see them is because of the thick blanket of shadows obscuring either end of the tube platform.
(Not because there’s no one there.)
It’s even a bit comforting— when he’s crying to himself on the same bench he’d stumbled to after being thrown from the first and last train he’d personally witnessed passing through the station— to hear his sobs and sniffles thrown back at him from the gloom. If he tries hard enough, he can imagine that someone else is crying with him, and he’s not alone in his misery, and somebody hears him and cares enough to shed tears with him.
(For a long time, Ghostbur watched the display board avidly, legs crossed and his chin perched on his fists, starving for any sign that he was missed. Eventually, he realized that it was being updated with less and less frequency, and by the time that Tommy’s were the only words lit up in that bright, neon red, Ghostbur had already forgotten about the board’s existence.
The next time his gaze drifted in its direction, the only thing he wished for was a bit of blue.)
This thought calms Ghostbur down enough to choke down the rest of his tears, and he swipes the back of his hand, partially obscured by his tattered and grimy sweater cuff, across his face. The drag of its woolen material catches against the new set of burns running down his cheeks, and the stinging burst of pain almost sends him back into a new round of tears.
But he’s so tired of crying, and with some effort he stifles the pain and shoves it down to join the heavy weight nestled in his ribcage, a ball of fear and sadness and desperation and deep, crushing loneliness that presses right up against his heart. The sensation tries to drag him back down as he stands from the bench, but Ghostbur, rather suddenly, is ablaze with a burning spark of determination. He sniffles once, twice more, before brushing off his sweater as best he can and striding off, heading towards the left end of the platform.
His light footsteps barely make a sound, but even the faint tapping of his soles against the floor ring as loudly as a bell in his ear. He makes a game of it, first by humming and taking care to step in time with the beat of his tune; then the ghost pretends to be walking on a tightrope, heel-to-toe, throwing his arms out for balance and imagining the gasps and applause from the audience far below his feet as he carries out such a death-defying act. The mere thought of defying death as a twice-dead ghost is enough to pull a few giggles out of Ghostbur, and he wishes someone else was around to share in the joke. It was a rather good one, he thought, if a bit macabre.
Funnily enough, the ghost felt that a lot of things in his life (or was it his afterlife?) followed the same principle almost to a tee.
See, while Ghostbur spent a grand majority of his time being confused, scatterbrained, or otherwise willfully clueless to the general chaos and disarray of the land that he called home, there was a list of a few things that he knew to be true:
- Alivebur was not a nice man, and before he died (slain by the hero Philza) he did many terrible things that hurt his friends and made everyone dislike him.
- L’Manburg is a very special place, and it’s Ghostbur’s duty to make sure it stays that way.
- Blue makes the sadness go away, but only as long as you let yourself believe in its power.
- Friend is the single most magnificent creature Ghostbur had ever encountered! (He also really enjoys nibbling on a bit of grass while on his daily walks).
- Sally liked brown, the same shade as Alivebur’s hair and their child’s eyes and the rich dirt churned into mud on the riverbanks where they first met and parted ways for the final time.
- Even though Tommy may yell and shout and bluster and scream, he has a heart too big for his own good. This means that, even though Ghostbur tries and tries and tries, Tommy somehow always ends up hurt. (Ghostbur knows that Alivebur was aware of this, and he also knows that Alivebur did not care).
- Ghostbur is nothing more than the paper-thin impression of a man long-dead and fiercely scorned, and he will always dwell in his looming shadow.
The last point on this list was the one that Ghostbur did his best to ignore, but it’s difficult to avoid the few things that remain when you forget nearly everything else.
It was especially upsetting that this thought, one dripping with self-loathing and bitter truth, sunk its hooks into his brain when Ghostbur himself felt that he and Alivebur were very separate entities. Sure, he possessed some of his counterpart’s memories, and yes, the ghost still sought to fill some of the same roles as he had in life— namely those as a father, brother, and son— but in nearly every other aspect, Ghostbur fought hard to embody the complete opposite of Alivebur’s destructive and damaging influence on the server. Where Alivebur would react with paranoia and distrust, Ghostbur greeted everyone he met as a friend; where Alivebur would push away those closest to him when they no longer served a use, Ghostbur would seek them out, just to spend time with them; where Alivebur sought the escape of death, Ghostbur threw himself into the joys of being alive, and did so with the echo of the same passion that had once sparked the birth of a nation.
But that’s all that he was, in the end. Just an echo, the fading lament of a man driven to madness by his own loss and grief. Nothing about Ghostbur was any more substantial than a shadow, thrown into view for the brief moment that the sun is covered by the clouds before the wind inevitably urges them onward.
And so, here he was once more: back in the shadow of a man whose actions denied him even the right to a grave. The wind had been stirred up, and the clouds melted away, and Ghostbur melted right along with them as the sun burst back into the sky, ready to scorch all in his path.
Ghostbur tried to be good, but maybe this was what he deserved.
The ghost was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly carries on straight into the shadows blanketing the far edge of the platform. He plants his feet into the ground so suddenly that his upper body rocks forward with the momentum, and he scrunches his eyes shut in a panic as he falls, ever so slightly, into the darkness.
There was no specific consequence for merely touching the shadows, as far as Ghostbur knows, but he couldn’t help but feel an instinctive kind of fear every time he strays close to either end of the tube platform. As a whole, limbo itself was a dim and stifling place, with only a few fading, flickering lights spaced out along the platform; still, these shadows represented a new kind of darkness that sent a chill down the ghost’s spine.
Ghostbur thought that if he ever strayed into the darkness, he might never find his way back out again, and his suffering would continue without even the meagre light to console him.
The notion is enough to send him scurrying backwards a few steps, eyeing the shadows with a bit of fear. Nothing moved, and after a few moments of squinting into the darkness, Ghostbur felt satisfied enough to turn his back and begin his trek anew, this time to the opposite end of the platform.
“Baa.”
The ghost freezes with one foot in air, just above the scuffed concrete of the floor. His breath— not necessarily needed, more an unconscious remnant of his time as a living human— is caught in his chest, which feels so tight with shock and a dawning tinge of hope that he can’t help but clutch at it through his sweater. He stands stock-still, frozen in place, straining his ears for a sign that he hadn’t just imagined the beautiful sound.
“Baa!”
For the first time since Ghostbur had arrived in this place, the tears stinging at the corners of his eyes aren’t borne from sadness.
The ghost turns quickly, blinking rapidly in an effort to hold back the flood of emotion. It had to be him. It just had to be.
“Friend!” Ghostbur calls, the volume straining at his somewhat underused vocal cords. He cups his hands around his mouth to make up for it as he called for the sheep once more, scanning his surroundings for any hint of blue against the gray backdrop that he knew all too well by now. “Friend, where are you?”
With every second that Friend fails to poof into view, Ghostbur feels himself grow more and more desperate. “Please, Friend!” he begs, a bit tearfully. “Please don’t leave me alone again.” The ghost’s breath begins to grow faster, and his hands fall limply to his sides. All he can do was stand there, staring blankly into the shadows as the silence stretches on around him.
And then, under his blank, teary gaze, something in the darkness shifts.
First, it’s a whisper of movement in shadows; then, it’s the faint clack of four hooves against the ground; and finally, it’s a bundle of rich, vibrant, blue wool that emerges from the darkness that had only moments before been the cause of Ghostbur’s fear.
A trembling smile slowly appears on Ghostbur’s lips.
He darts forward, falling heavily onto his knees in front of the sheep. “I-It’s really you, isn’t it, Friend?” Ghostbur can’t help but ask, hands hovering over the wool that looked oh so inviting. As if in response, the animal (Friend!) gives a quiet bleat, placid eyes blinking up at the other.
Ghostbur feels a burst of bright laughter fly out of him as he falls forward, burying his fingers into Friend’s coat and squishing his cheek against his neck. Friend barely shifts at the sudden movement, and Ghostbur feels more of the sheep’s weight settle firmly against the ghost’s chest and shoulders, as if Friend was doing his best to return the desperate hug. Ghostbur laughs again, ignoring the little burst of steam curling upwards as a tear finally escapes.
“Oh, I should have known you’d find me, Friend, you always find me!” He leans back, gently cupping the sheep’s face, heart swelling with joy and affection at the sight of Friend’s familiar features. “You always know when I need you most, don’t you?”
“Baa-aaa.” Friend agrees, gently nosing at Ghostbur’s steaming cheeks the same way he had back on the server, whenever the sensitive ghost had gotten overwhelmed with memories or upset over an encounter with a one-time friend-son-brother-father-ally-enemy and found himself needing comfort in the midst of his tears. “Thank you, Friend.” Ghostbur whispers, more tears welling up despite (or maybe because of) the sheep’s careful attention. “I thought I’d be trapped here, alone, forever and ever.”
He wipes his eyes with his sweater cuff, giggling when Friend catches the material in his mouth and gives it a little nibble. The ghost’s heart feels so light and full, he almost thinks he could float up and away, far away from this platform and its concrete and the shadows that had delivered Friend back to him.
“As long as you’re here, forever doesn’t seem so long anymore.”
The pair stay there on the platform for a good while as Ghostbur pulls himself back together (somewhat literally, as strong emotion tends to send bits of him scattering here and there) and Friend quietly enjoys seeing his charge again after so long.
Eventually, the sheep nudges Ghostbur, drawing the other’s attention immediately.
“What is it, Friend?” Ghostbur asks curiously. In response, Friend nudges the ghost again until he gets the hint, pulling himself up from the floor and back onto his feet. “Oh, I see, are you ready for a walk? Well, there’s not much grass here, I’m afraid, but I can at least show you my bench!” Ghostbur chatters on, turning to lead the way back into the station. However, a tug on his pant leg brings him to a halt immediately, and he looks back down at Friend.
Ghostbur tilts his head in question, but the simple curiosity quickly morphs into confusion and panic as Friend begins to meander back into the darkness from which he’d emerged. “No!” Ghostbur yelps, lunging forward to grasp the sheep before he can disappear completely into the shadows. “Friend, no, what are you doing? Don’t leave me!”
A quiet bleat comes from Friend at the somewhat rough treatment, but he still leans reassuringly into Ghostbur, the weight helping to ground the ghost after the sudden burst of panic. However, after only a few moments, Friend gently shakes Ghostbur’s arms away and takes a few steps further into the dark before stopping, looking over his shoulder, and seemingly beckoning the ghost on with another gentle cry.
Ghostbur looks worriedly from the sight of Friend, halfway covered by shadows, and back to the rest of the station and its meagre light. He looks at the barren tracks, the empty platform, and there, in the gloom, is the bench. It’s pressed up against the wall, covered in cracked tile and countless little tick-marks littering its surface, a physical log of every grueling, endless, lonely day that Ghostbur has spent in this place. He can just barely remember his arrival— when he tries, it’s just flashes of heat and pain, the sound of rattling wheels and the harsh squeal of brakes, and the crushing realization that Ghostbur had completely and utterly failed.
He looks back at Friend’s placid, soft, loving face.
A shaking hand gently settles on a sheep’s back, and the pair disappear into the darkness together.
Left behind, the station remains quiet and empty. The lights on the board continue to update, ever so slowly and infrequently, shining in the gloom, but there’s nobody there to read it anymore.
In the shadows, from under a veil studded with starlight, her smile grows ever wider.
“That’s my boy.” She murmurs, relief and satisfaction and a hint of anticipation coloring her words with a tone that is nothing less than warmly affectionate. Then, she gathers her skirts up, adjusts the brim of her hat, and follows the ghost and the sheep into the unknown.
After all, a mother must be ready to welcome her child home.