MultiPets: the Chimera Knight

Katrina Arden wants to become a Chimera Knight, a hero in a world where animals and humans live and work together as one. With the help of a Wearwolf, a canine that transforms into armor, her wish may very well be granted.

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Location: Los Angeles, California, United States

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Hallowe'en Special '06

A flash of lightning. A crash of thunder. A deluge of rain. Four intrepid heroes; two girls, a boy, and a wolf, rush through the forest, making whatever futile efforts they can to stay dry. In the lead is the older girl with black hair in a white sweatshirt and blue jeans carrying a blue hiking backpack. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail and, incidentally, she is the tallest of the group. This is Katrina Arden, and following closely at her heels is a grey wolf, roughly five feet long and three feet tall at the shoulder. He is Wearwolf, so named because, though he may not look it, he can transform into living armor. Both had given up on protecting themselves from the rain and focused instead on finding a way out of it.

“Do we even know where we’re going?” That was Rion, the boy. He and his twin sister, Jaime, are only a few months younger than Katrina. Both twins possessed brown hair and blue eyes. Rion may be the most under dressed of the three humans, in his baggy shorts, white tee shirt and black vest and backpack, but he is the only one with a hood.

“Not really,” Katrina admitted, not breaking stride as the group hurried on their way. “If there’s a different random direction you’d prefer, lead the way.”

“Maybe we should pitch a tent or something,” Jaime suggested as the rain dripped off her spectacles. She wore an orange vest and a blue skirt and carried a white backpack.

“But we didn’t bring a tent,” Katrina replied.

“Yeah, solid planning, by the way,” Jaime said. Her arms were over her head in an attempt to keep the rain off. “But maybe we could build one out of our sleeping bags or something. We need some sort of shelter, right?”

“At the very least, we could stop running,” Wearwolf said. It was a voice only Katrina could hear, and only on an intuitive level. “If we exhaust ourselves, we will only become ill.”

“Fine,” Katrina said, slowing to a stop beneath a tree. The others followed suit. “There’s gotta be something like a cave or cabin or something around here, right?”

“I dunno,” Rion said. “We must be miles away from any sort of shelter. Although, there’s got to be something to hide under. I mean, animals do live out here.”

“Maybe,” Katrina said. “Hey, Wearwolf…?”

“Silence,” Wearwolf interrupted. He stared off into the distance. “Can you not hear that sound?”

“I don’t hear anything,” Katrina replied.

“There is something not far from here,” Wearwolf went on. “Something… strange… irresistible. I feel the need to investigate.”

“I’m feeling that, too, now that you mention it,” Katrina said apprehensively. “What is it?”

“What’s what?” Jaime asked.

“You don’t feel that?” Katrina asked. “Kinda tingly, all over the head? Kind of going over in waves, sorta feels like it’s coming from somewhere?”

“I don’t think I do,” Jaime replied.

“Me neither,” Rion added.

Katrina made a non-committal sound and put her hands in her pockets. Her shoes squelched in the mud as she and Wearwolf walked off into the trees. Not wanting to be left behind, Rion and Jaime soon followed. It was not long before they found a wrought iron fence and saw beyond the twisting gate the mansion that stood in silhouette against the lighting. The house was composed of towers radiating out from the main structure at odd angles like some dark, Victorian sunrise atop the hill. Flying buttresses seemed to tether them together, suspending them all from a central clock tower. The gate was an odd design as well, as all the twisting made it difficult to tell where one door ended and the other began. They seemed to interlock at interesting angles that twisted around each other in a perplexing form of near-three dimensionalness.

“I do believe this to be the place,” Wearwolf said. He pawed at the gate, attempting to find a way through. Katrina appeared a tad engrossed in the gate as well. She ran a hand across the framework, wondering where exactly she had seen this design before.

“Looks like there’s an intercom over here,” Jaime said, walking over to a gargoyle-laden stone pillar on one side of the gate. The device itself was held against the belly of a particularly chubby lizard creature. She pressed the button on it a couple times, half-expecting to hear a blood-curdling scream but only getting a harsh ringing.

After about a minute or so, a deep, nasally voice nearly whispered through the intercom, “Hello?”

“Uh, hi,” Jaime said, somewhat uncertainly. “We were wondering if you could let us in maybe?”

“Who is this?” the voice demanded.

“My name is Jaime Chardonnay,” Jaime replied. “My brother, Rion, and my friend, Katrina, and I were looking for a…”

“No visitors allowed,” the voice interrupted.

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but it’s raining Mysticats and Securidogs out here,” Jaime insisted. “We’re all soaking wet and we may die of pneumonia or something if we don’t get some shelter soon.”

“The master said that visitors are forbidden,” the voice insisted back.

“This place just gets more inviting all the time,” Katrina remarked.

“May we speak with the master of the house?” Rion inquired.

“The master is away at the moment,” the voice replied.

“When will the master return?” Rion asked.

“The master is not due back for a long time,” the voice answered.

“Then he certainly wouldn’t mind if you gave us poor lost souls some shelter from the rain,” Rion said. “Until it lets up, at least. Then we’ll be on our merry way and it’ll be like we were never here. Or you could explain to your master why there are pneumonia-ridden corpses clinging to the front gate.”

There was ponderous silence again for a moment. Then, just as they were wondering if the voice had chosen to ignore them, a loud buzz sounded as the gates disengaged from each other and parted before the group. Rion and Jaime rushed through them, but to Wearwolf and Katrina it felt like some seal had been broken and they were being sucked through the gates. It looked nothing like that, of course, and they merely walked in after the twins. As the gates closed behind them, Katrina felt as if the pressure around her had equalized. Things felt thicker on this side of the fence, and the consistency only increased as they approached the house. It was like quicksand in that the thickness didn’t inhibit their ingress or, if they were careful, their eventual escape.

The path up the hill to the house wasn’t particularly long, but it sure was windy. The grounds were like an outdoor museum of stone statues and topiaries, all made dark and heavy in the dripping gloom. The tell-tale sounds of rustling and the occasional darting shadow told Katrina that they were far from alone out here. The four of them quickly scurried under the awning over the front porch, where Wearwolf quickly shook the water out of his fur.

The door soon opened, releasing a flock of large bats into the air. Katrina, Rion, and Jaime jumped back and covered their heads in shock. The bats were followed by a stocky, bearded man waving a broom around. Once the bats were gone, the man let the broom hang by his side and turned towards his guest. A brown goat trotted up to his side.

“Fang Bats,” the man said in that same deep, nasally voice that had addressed them over the intercom. He wore a blue hat, pants, and jacket. “They are quite a nuisance to keep out of the house, especially this time of year.”

“Hi,” Jaime said, holding out a hand in greeting. “I’m Jaime, this is my brother Rion, our friend Katrina and her Wearwolf.”

“Yes, naturally,” the man said, turning around and heading back into the house. “Follow me, please.”

Though perturbed by the man’s coldness, the group followed him and his goat in. Once they were all inside, the man turned to address them again.

“My name is Sartre,” the man said. “And this is Tragoat. We watch the house while the master is away.”

“Naturally,” Katrina replied.

“I will lead you upstairs, where you may change out of your wet clothes,” Sartre explained dully. “If you require dry clothes, I will provide you with them. You are free to explore the grounds until the storm passes, but you are not to touch or disturb anything without my express permission and under no circumstances are you allowed within the clock tower or any other locked room. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the group replied.

“Good,” Sartre said. “Please, walk this way.”

The main hall was large and cavernous, not to mention poorly-lit. It was of an ostentatious design involving twin staircases that curved away from each other in the middle and met at either end. Floral arrangements had been placed at tasteful intervals, although the flowers themselves had long since wilted. Paintings of people, presumably those who had lived in this house and their relatives, adorned every wall. The images were difficult to make out in the gloom, and the infrequent lightning revealed an intuitive madness to each of them. Some had piercing eyes, others a deranged grin, although that may simply have been a trick of the light. A few suggested movement, drawing one to stare long and hard to make sure it didn’t.

“Hey, sis, did you see that one?” Rion said, stopping and pointing at a painting. “It looks just like you.”

“You sure?” Jaime asked. “She doesn’t look all that much like me. Actually, I think that’s a guy.”

“There’s no way that’s a guy,” Rion said. “It’s too feminine.”

“Maybe he’s just really effeminate,” Jaime said. “Some guys just look girly.”

“Still, it’s a pretty good likeness,” Rion said.

“No, it’s not,” Jaime said.

“Is there a power outage or something?” Katrina asked. “It’s rather dark in here.”

“The master has ordered a minimal use of electricity while he is away,” Sartre explained. “So I only use the lights sparingly, and only when it is far too dark to see. I would appreciate it if you would turn out the lights when you leave a room.”

Sartre and Tragoat first gave a room to Katrina and Wearwolf. Sartre switched on the light, the entire room practically exploding into a pink hue. Pink furniture, pink sheets, pink pillows, pink walls, pink carpeting, pink ceiling, even pink windows. The pink bed was a pink four-poster with a pink canopy and a pink, frilly lace screen. At the foot of the bed was a pink hope chest. Across from it was the largest pink vanity mirror and pink make-up table she had ever seen with hundreds of pink drawers and compartments that she could only assumed held pink make-up. A pink dollhouse sat between the pink curtains of the pink window, and in the pink corner was a pink computer with a pink monitor. Just next to the pink door was a large, pink television with all sorts of pink video game consoles. Lightning flashed, and everything lit up pink.

“Wow, it’s so… pink,” Katrina remarked in distaste.

“Is it?” Wearwolf asked.

“I think I’m going to go blind,” Katrina said. “Or vomit. Maybe both. Can I have a different room?”

“No,” Sartre said, quickly closing the pink door and moving onto the next room.

Jaime’s room was much different. At first, she thought she had been led into a bathroom. Just about every surface looked as though it were either made of marble or covered with linoleum tile. The bed was so porcelain-looking, it could’ve been a bathtub. It was almost the same layout as Katrina’s room, with a marble computer and video-game consoles, except instead of a doll house there were nude statues in every corner of the room. The canopy bed had nudes for bed posts, as well. In fact, most of the furniture appeared to have nude statuary incorporated into the design.

“Wow. I don’t know whether to be creeped out or turned on,” Jaime commented flatly. “Does this room have an adjoining bathroom?”

“No,” Sartre said as he closed the marble door.

“So, what sort of insanity is my room?” Rion asked half-eagerly.

“The worst kind,” Sartre said. He opened the door, revealing a tiny room, no bigger than a few square feet. Shelves lined the walls, stocked with all sorts of cleaning products, tools, and replaceable items like light bulbs. Larger tools, namely brooms and mops, stood leaning against the shelves. There was even a bucket with wheels on it.

“This looks like a broom closet,” Rion noted disappointedly.

“It is a broom closet,” Sartre replied. He tossed his broom in and closed the door. “Your room’s over this way.”

Rion could hear the ticking of a clock from the outside of the room. Certainly an annoyance, but he didn’t think one ticking clock would be much of a problem. The hundreds of clocks all over the room, all ticking and tocking and clicking and clacking in total disharmony with each other, however, was asking a bit much. It was like walking into a clock-maker’s bedroom. There were clocks of all kinds: Cuckoos and grandfathers, sundials and hourglasses, digital clocks and face clocks. Some were old, some were new, many seemed ancient. Most were simple, a few we complex, ornately crafted and designed to tell epic stories through little clockwork dolls every hour on the hour.

Rion presumed, for a moment, that perhaps Sartre had taken every clock in the house, and several from other houses, and moved them all into this room. If there was a place to conceivably put a clock, a clock had been put there. There were clocks on the ceiling, clocks on the bed, clocks on the chair, even clocks on top of clocks. There was so much clock, it was difficult to walk.

“Mind the clocks,” Sartre warned.

“Oh? Is there a clock in here?” Rion replied. He checked his watch. “I think this room is two minutes slow.”

“Do you want to get the rest of the jokes out of your system?” Sartre asked impatiently.

“Nah, I don’t think we have the time,” Rion said, scratching his head. “I better watch my step in here, or things could get out of hand. Tock about bad feng shui. This place is a ticking time bomb! Uh… that‘s all I can think of now. Maybe I‘ll come up with something later when this room drives me cuckoo.”

“Very well, then,” Sartre said. “My, look at the time. 5:59 already. I better check on dinner.”

Sartre slammed the door shut and ran off, prompting Rion to say, “Well, that can’t be goo-” before the room burst into a chaotic cacophony of gongs, bells, and bird calls.


“What is it about this room that makes me want to break stuff?” Katrina asked. She had detached the metal frame from her hiking backpack and used it as a rack to dry her clothes on. Her backpack was waterproof, so most of its contents were still dry. She laid out towels to keep the pink carpet from getting wet and quickly removed her wet clothes, revealing the vines tattooed on her skin that stretched from the coat of arms on her back to her knees and elbows.

“Perhaps the uniformity of it inspires chaos,” Wearwolf pondered from the bed where he lay. “The ridged concept of the room invites the occupant to introduce contrary elements, or maybe to seek out the chaos that lies beneath the surface.”

“Or maybe I just don’t like pink,” Katrina stated. She sat on the pink bed and picked up the pink television remote off the pink nightstand. Turning on the pink television, she flipped through the pink channels but found nothing but pink static. “No signal, huh? Must not be hooked up to anything except the game consoles.” She paused for a moment to scratch her foot, then turned back to the TV. “That’s weird.”

“What is weird?” Wearwolf asked, lifting his head up.

“The screen is still displaying static,” Katrina explained. She stood up and took a closer look. “Most televisions these days show a blue screen when there isn’t a strong enough signal, though I guess in this case it’d be a pink screen.”

“Maybe it is receiving a signal,” Wearwolf suggested.

“I dunno, it doesn’t look like anything,” Katrina said. She stepped back and turned up the volume. The hiss of static grated on their ears. “Does it sound like anything to you?”

“I think I hear moaning,” Wearwolf reported. “It is faint, but it is definitely coming from the television.”

“Like scrambled porno or something?” Katrina asked, leaning her face into the TV. Pink light glowed against her face. “Heh. I thought this room seemed too innocent to be true. Whoever usually sleeps here probably puts on a cute-and-girly act around other people, then puts on a hard-core skin flick when she’s all by herself. Their service provider must go to great lengths to scramble the signal, though. It still just looks like…”

Piercing, blue eyes sprang open in Katrina’s face. She yelped and stepped back, losing her footing and dropping to the floor.

“Are you all right?” Wearwolf asked, jumping off the bed and to her side.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Katrina answered, rubbing her backside. “I was just startled when the signal cut back in.”

“What signal are you referring to?” Wearwolf inquired.

“Didn’t you see it?” Katrina asked. The static noise had stopped. Looking at the screen, she just saw a glowing field of pink. “Oh, I could’ve sworn…”

“I do not doubt what you had witnessed,” Wearwolf said. “The sound I heard in the forest is much louder here. There is more to this place than meets the eye.”

“And what meets the eye is already weird enough,” Katrina added. She got up and pulled a pair of blue jeans and a tan camisole out of her backpack. “I want to get to the bottom of this. If this place is haunted, I want to know by what and why.”


Back in the marble room, Jaime had already changed into an outfit identical to what she was wearing before. Her wet clothes were draped over various pieces of free-standing statuary to give them some sense of decency. She paused for a moment, wondering if hanging underwear on a man’s genitalia could actually be considered decent.

Feeling a little curious, she decided to snoop around the room for a bit. She opened the marble wardrobe and a life-sized inflatable doll landed in her arms. A tad perturbed, she tossed it to the floor and inspected the linoleum-lined wardrobe. Aside from several coat hangers and a silk robe, it was empty.

Closing the door behind her, she turned and noticed that the clothes she had hung up had fallen on the floor. She sighed, picked them back up, and hung them again, this time with stability in mind rather than aesthetics.

Jaime decided she wanted to check out the nightstand. She moved the inflatable doll off the bed so she could sit there and opened the drawer. She paused for a moment. Didn’t she put doll on the floor?

She looked up and found that her wet clothes were in a pile on the floor. Odd, considering each article was on a different statue. Realizing there were better ways to hang clothing, she went back to the wardrobe to retrieve some hangers. The silk robe fell over her head as soon as she opened it. She hung it back on its hanger and gathered a few more.

Turning back to the room, she discovered the doll was laying in the bed under the covers. The sight startled her for a moment, but she quickly recovered and just scowled at it.

“Very funny,” she said, walking over to the bed. “Whoever you are, we’re going to have a serious discussion on pranks once I find you.”

She knelt down and looked under the bed. There was nothing. Not even a dust bunny. Sartre evidently left no stone unturned when it came to cleaning. Jaime stood up and found the doll was now sitting in the chair and wearing her clothes.

“Clever,” Jaime said, crossing her arms. “Is that some sort of commentary, or are you still trying to be creepy? Now get out here so I can see you.”

The room remained silent. She glanced around. There weren’t a lot of places to hide. She walked around the bed, checking behind the statues to make sure no one was hiding there. Not seeing anything unusual, she went back to the bed and discovered a large lump in the middle of it.

Now I’ve got you, she thought as she crept up to the bed. She quietly and slowly reached out and grabbed the sheet, pulling it off with a quick flourish.


“I don’t know what you had in mind by putting me in here,” Rion said, addressing Sartre but only talking to himself. Just moving in the room was precarious, but he managed to change into some dry clothes. The rest of his stuff he had placed carefully on top of the clocks. “So I hope you’re okay with this. Then again, you really only have yourself to blame. What else was I supposed to do?”

The ticking of all the clocks suddenly gave way to the sound of his sister screaming. He barreled out of his room and ran to Jaime’s. At her door, he was met by Katrina and Wearwolf as they ran up. They could hear the sounds of a struggle inside the room.

“I think Jaime’s in trouble,” Rion declared.

“Great minds think alike,” Katrina said. “We better break down the door.”

“Okay. Ready?”

“Let’s go on three. One… Two…”

“Wait… is the door even locked?”

Katrina opened the door and discovered Jaime on the floor trying to wrestle her way out of a bed sheet. It had wrapped around her awkwardly, and was only getting more tangled as she fought it. Katrina and Rion ran in and helped pull it off her.

“Get if off! Get it off!” Jaime screeched. As soon as it was off of her, she stood up and stomped on the sheet.

“Whoa, hey, I think you got it,” Rion said as he and Katrina pulled her away from it. “I don’t think it’s going to hurt you anymore.”

“Right, right, okay,” Jaime said, breathing a little slower. Then she whipped out her electron gun, which whined to life as it charged with energy. “But I better make sure!”

“Hey, hey! No!” Katrina exclaimed, trying to restrain Jaime. “No! Put that away! Now!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jaime said, loosening up again. She put her gun away and exhaled.

“What happened here?” Rion asked. “And why is that blow-up doll wearing your clothes?”

“Someone, or something, is trying to mess with me,” Jaime explained. “They moved stuff while I wasn’t looking. I thought they were hiding under the covers, but when I pulled off the sheet it attacked me.”

“The sheet,” Rion repeated, “Attacked you?”

“It wrapped around me, and started to glow and burn,” Jaime continued. “That’s when I screamed.”

“You don’t look burnt,” Rion said. “And neither does the sheet.”

“Well, it felt like I was burning,” Jaime said.

“That settles it,” Katrina said, crossing her arms. “This place is definitely haunted.”

“This place is not haunted,” Rion said.

“I agree,” Jaime said. “There is no such thing as ghosts.”

“But you just saw it for yourself,” Katrina said. She gestured to the sheet. “This blanket just tried to kill you.”

“I didn’t see anything,” Jaime said, adjusting her glasses. “I only know that things moved without my seeing who moved them. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

“And what explanation would that be?” Katrina asked.

“I don’t know,” Jaime admitted. “But that does not automatically mean the reasons are supernatural. This could be the work of someone with an invisible MultiPet, like Channeleon, or a super-fast one like Blazerunner.”

“But those don’t live in this area,” Katrina said. “And, the TV in my room was showing static, and when I looked really close, a pair of eyes appeared and stared back at me.”

“That was your reflection,” Jaime said. “And why were you up close to the television?”

“I thought it might’ve been scrambled porn,” Katrina explained. The silence immediately following felt particularly awkward as Rion and Jaime stared at her in disbelief. “Well, I did. I mean, I was just trying to figure out if it was actually picking up a signal. I thought I was odd that it wasn‘t a blue screen. … Hey, don‘t judge me! I‘ve seen what takes up over a third of your hard drive!”

From outside the room, Sartre cleared his throat. “Dinner is served if you’re hungry.”

The dining room was practically a banquet hall. It was as long as a gymnasium, although not wide enough for more than the one table. A clever feat of architectural engineering created a forced perspective at one end, so that from there the room seemed over twice as long. The lighting was fairly dim, as Sartre was trying to keep electricity use to a minimum, but candles had been lit along the length of the table. Paintings lined the walls, each one slightly smaller as they got closer to the far end.

“Hey, look Rion,” Jaime said, pointing to one of the paintings. “Here’s one of you.”

“No way,” Rion said, taking a close look. “That is crazy. What are the chances?”

“I guess even twins have doubles,” Jaime said.

“Wait a minute, this guy’s a chick,” Rion noted.

“You sure?” Jaime asked. “Oh, yeah, I see it now. That is weird.”

‘Totally weird,” Rion agreed. “Who are these people? They’re like Bizarro versions of us or something. Think we’re related at all?”

“Dunno,” Jaime said. “I haven’t seen anyone that looks like mom or dad yet. It‘s probably just a coincidence.”

“I guess,” Rion said. “But, you know, if we are related, we might be entitled to some sort of inheritance.”

“It’s nothing fancy,” Sartre said as everyone sat down at one end of the table. “We weren’t expecting guests, although I do cook more food than I’ll eat so I can have leftovers for the rest of the week.”

“That’s pretty generous of you, anyway,” Katrina said. “We did kind of impose on you and all.”

“It’s just general hospitality,” Sartre replied. “You have guests, you feed them.”

“This is a very nice place,” Katrina went on. “Are you the only servant here?”

“At the moment,” Sartre answered. “Only Tragoat and I are required to maintain the property while the master is away. We usually hire a full staff shortly before the master returns to make sure all his needs are taken care of.”

“Speaking of your master, what kind of person is he?” Rion inquired. “Have we heard of him?”

“This is the master’s private sanctuary,” Sartre replied. “It would be remiss of me divulge any information about him without his permission.”

“But he is still alive, right?” Jaime asked.

“Oh, yes, quite alive,” Sartre said. “He and his family still have many uses for this old house, and may continue to do so for centuries to come.”

“There must be quite a history to this place,” Katrina said in a mysterious tone. “Many… interesting stories to tell.”

“Yes, a good many,” Sartre said with a touch of humor in his voice. “Unfortunately, they are not my stories to tell.”

“A private man with a private history, I see,” Katrina noted. “I’m getting the feeling your master has many skeletons in his closet. Someone who prefers the past to remain buried, if you will.”

“What the Hell are you doing?” Jaime hissed to Katrina.

“What we’ve been doing for a couple minutes now,” Katrina whispered back.

“Just because people died here doesn’t mean this place is haunted,” Jaime whispered.

“If this place is haunted, chances are someone died here,” Katrina whispered.

“You people aren’t cops, are you?” Sartre asked.

“What?” Jaime responded.

“’Cause you have to tell me if you’re cops,” Sartre explained.

“No, we’re not,” Katrina said with a hint of confusion. “Why would you need to know if we’re cops?”

“Oh, no reason,” Sartre replied. “Living in an old, dark house like this tends to make one a little paranoid.”

“Is that why you drugged the food?” Katrina asked.

Sartre paused awkwardly for a moment before saying, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m hoping its not actually poison,” Katrina explained. “Either way, you don’t want us snooping around, because we’ll eventually discover that this place is haunted. If we‘re unconscious the entire time we‘re here, you won‘t have to keep tabs on us.”

“Miss, I assure you that you have been neither drugged nor poisoned,” Sartre insisted.

“Then why am I all dizzy and disoriented?” Katrina demanded.

“Because you drank half a bottle of wine during the course of this conversation,” Sartre explained.

Katrina eyed the half-empty bottle of wine next to her unsteadily. Rion and Jaime covered their faces in embarrassment.

“Oh,” Katrina said. “Then I’m probably don’t sound nearly as eloquent or clever as I think.”

“Not the slightest bit,” Wearwolf concurred.

“Right, I guess I’ve had enough, then,” Katrina said, pushing the wine bottle away from her. Then she picked the wine bottle back up. “Though it is good wine. What year is it?”

“The fact of the matter is,” Rion said, snatching both the bottle and Katrina’s glass away from her and putting as far away as possible, “My sister was attacked by what my girlfriend believes is a ghost.”

“Oh, I see,” Sartre said mirthfully. “Yes, well, we’re having something of a Tarotarot infestation.”

Sartre picked up his spoon and threw it at Katrina’s fork. The fork was suddenly enveloped in a glowing sphere of fog with distinct blue eyes. It sprung into the air, spiraling about in a panic before diving into the nearest mouse hole.

“Hey, I was using that fork!” Katrina complained.

“As you know, Tarotarots are practically insubstantial and store their energy in inanimate objects,” Sartre explained. “They feed off the energy of physical beings, mostly the pests hiding among the grounds in our case, and sometimes require multiple objects when they gather too much. Extremely bothersome to get rid of, since they’re not entirely solid.”

“That must have been the eyes you saw in the television,” Wearwolf said.

“See?” Jaime said. “Tarotarots. Not ghosts.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Katrina said dismissively. She said pointedly to Sartre, “But not only do Tarotarots rarely feed on an animal that isn’t asleep, can only carry and occasionally fling objects. They lack the dexterity and intelligence to wrap people in blankets and try to burn them. Also,” she added, turning to Jaime, “Tarotarots feed of the psychokinetic energy of spirits bound to haunted sites. They‘re drawn to them like flies.”

“That is one-hundred percent prime, grade-A baloney!” Jaime exclaimed. “The entire basis of that argument is the assumption that ghosts exist. All it proves is that Tarotarots can be found in spooky places.”

“As for the rest of your statement,” Sartre said, “I can only imagine that your friend panicked and tangled herself in the sheet. In her panicked state, she probably armed her electron gun and allowed it to overcharge, hence the burning sensation.”

“Okay, I can agree to half of that,” Jaime said. “But I can assure you I never even touched my gun until I was untangled, and even so the burning wasn’t coming from it.”

“Then I’m afraid I’m at a loss,” Sartre replied, pushing back his chair. “If you want to find out about what attacked you, you’ll have to figure it out by your own means. If you‘ll excuse me, I believe I‘ve had my fill.”

With that, Sartre picked up his plate and disappeared down the hall. The other four continued to eat without him.

“Okay, so Tarotarots caused all the stuff to move,” Rion said. “But caused the burning sensation?”

“I’m not really sure it was a burning sensation, really,” Jaime admitted a little uncertainly. “Actually, it kinda felt like the last time I tried lifting weights and strained my muscles, but the feeling was kinda on my muscles, but not in my muscles. I think. What would cause that?”

“Chimeric fusion,” Katrina replied, hovering over her plate.

“Chimeric fusion feels like that?” Jaime asked. “It’s like that when Wearwolf transforms into your armor?”

“No, no, not the fusion itself,” Katrina answered, rubbing her forehead. “But remember when I got mad at Kumiho and Wearwolf had to stop me from hitting her? It felt like my muscles were ripping themselves apart. It wasn’t much fun for Wearwolf, either.”

“But why would a Tarotarot try to fuse with me?” Jaime asked.

“Maybe it wasn’t,” Rion replied. “Remember the painting in the main hall? Maybe it thought you were him.”

“But why is it here and not with him?” Jaime wondered.

“It was not a Tarotarot that attacked Jaime,” Wearwolf said.

“What do you mean it wasn’t a Tarotarot?” Katrina asked. The question got Rion and Jaime’s attentions, also.

“The Tarotarot that appeared in here had a distinct odor,” Wearwolf explained. “Similar odors permeate this entire house. However, there is another odor, different from the others. It was most strong on the sheet in Jaime‘s room.”

“The sheet smelled different. Great,” Katrina said, resting her face in her hands. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a pen and a notepad. “That means there’s another phantom MultiPet lurking around, and I think I know what it is.”

“I think we know what it is,” Rion said, watching Katrina draw. “You don’t have to spell it out for us.”

“Wow, I know your drawings are bad, but that doesn’t look like anything,” Jaime said, leaning over Katrina‘s work.

“It’s not a drawing, it’s a charm,” Katrina said while concentrating on the design. “Remember the weird-looking gate? I didn’t recognize it at first because it was backwards, but it’s a spirit-barrier charm. It prevents ghosts from either leaving or entering any enclosed area with it inscribed on the entrance.”

“How do you know this stuff?” Rion asked.

“Some moms force their kids to learn piano,” Katrina explained. “Mine made me to learn witchcraft. Anyway, the way the gate is designed, the seal would break whenever it was opened and everything would escape. But there‘s something else here that‘s sucking spirits in. Wearwolf and I could feel it. That‘s what led us here.”

“If that’s the case, it’s probably attracting other MultiPets,” Rion said. “Fang Bats, Wearwolves, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he served wine because of parasitic Gauzeworms in the water. An intestinal parasite like that might also explain why he has to cook so much food.”

“And notice how the lightning hasn’t struck the house yet?” Jaime noted. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Bolteslas fighting over territory on the grounds.”

“It attracts monster MultiPets, but it traps phantom ones, like Tarotarot,” Katrina said, still drawing. “But it what I don’t know is why someone would want to run a roach motel for ghosts.”

“If I may ask the obvious question,” Wearwolf started, “But what MultiPet are we talking about exactly?”

“There are only three phantom MultiPets that I know of,” Katrina explained. She tore the sheet off the notepad and began folding it into a ninja star. “We’ve already met Tarotarot, but the other two are…”

Right then, the table cloth rose up in front of them, draped over an invisible human form. It turned slowly around, viewing each one in turn until it faced Rion. Then, with a gleeful moan, it rose up and dove at him, swirling tightly around him and knocking him out of his chair.

“Hey! I’m not the one you want!” Rion protested. “Get offa me! Hey!”

“Rion!” Katrina and Jaime exclaimed, leaping out of their seats.

“Wearwolf!” Katrina called out. “Chimeric Fusion!”

Katrina braced herself as Wearwolf began to glow. He shattered into several spheres of energy that gathered around Katrina’s body. They coalesced over her arms and legs, becoming clawed, fur-tufted gloves and boots. They merged over her torso, becoming furry shorts and vest. They settled over hear head, becoming a wolf-like hood. Wearwolf opened his eyes to a look of determination.

“Chimeric Fusion complete,” Wearwolf reported.

Katrina grabbed hold of the table cloth and pulled hard. The table cloth unwound from Rion quickly, and Katrina slammed it onto the floor. She pounced onto the phantom body and drove her fist into its head. The cloth fell loosely to the floor and Katrina shook out her throbbing hand.

“Did you kill it?” Jaime asked.

“No, I hit the damn floor,” Katrina said, nursing her hand as she got up and turned around. “Rion! Behind you!”

Flying up through the floor was an apparition. The torso of the creature was cloth-like, and flowed like a sheer nightgown. Its limbs were pink ribbons, spiraling around in a suggestion of arms and legs. Another ribbon floated above its shoulders, tied in a bow on the side of a non-existent neck. Its head was some sort of pillow, an invisible face pressing from the inside, mouth agape with arching eyelids drawn on. Cloth draped uninterrupted behind it like hair.

The apparition lashed out with its ribbon-arm and wrapped tightly around Katrina’s torso. With a scream like a female tennis star, the phantom MultiPet flung Katrina down the length of the dining room. Wailing happily, it turned back to Rion, only to be shot with an electric beam from Jaime. The apparition moaned heavily, and slowly sank into the floor. It got about halfway through when a paper ninja star lodged into its head, holding it in place.

“I’m a little surprised my spirit-freeze charm worked,” Katrina said, sauntering on up. “I’m still kinda tipsy, after all.”

“I’m really surprised that worked,” Jaime said. “I mean, it’s just ink and paper.”

“Ink, paper, and a little Chimeric Fusion energy,” Katrina corrected.

“I’m just glad it worked,” Rion said. “But why did it attack me?”

“Let’s find out,” Katrina said, reaching down and grabbing the apparition by the head. It moaned pitifully as she pulled it up to about eye level. “Wearwolf, meet Succubash, a Mystic Armor-type MultiPet and serious predatory energy vampire. I think it’s time you two had a little chat.”

“She says she‘s in pain,” Wearwolf reported.

“Well, it’s not like behind held up by your hair with a ninja star in your head’s going to be very comfortable,” Katrina said.

“No, this is nothing to her,” Wearwolf said over Succubash‘s moaning. “Her soul is in agony. She can‘t leave. She can‘t find her partner. She can barely even sense her anymore.”

“Yeah, she misses her partner,” Katrina said. “Why didn’t she try to get her out?”

“Her partner‘s parents hated her,” Wearwolf translated. “Despised her. Said she was garbage. A parasite. The MultiPet of a trollop or a criminal. Said she brought shame to her family. Said they had to get rid of her.”

“So the family decides they have dark secret and want to hide it,” Katrina surmised. “They go through great expense to create a ghost prison and lock her up.”

“Harsh,” Jaime commented.

“This isn‘t the first time,” Wearwolf said. “There have been others. Generations, ripped from their partners.”

Katrina swore under her breath. “It’s the family dump site. An asylum for those whose only crime was being born. Jerks like these don’t deserve MultiPets. How do we stop it? What’s holding her here?”

“I understand that it is painful, but you must tell us,” Wearwolf said. “We can free you. You can find her.” Succubash wailed loudly and painfully. “There is a stone. A large one. They came here, took her to the stone. It throbbed. It sucked her in and then… pain. So painful. She was stuck for a long time, and her partner was gone long before she was able to free herself. She still can‘t leave the confines of the house.”

“Well, where is this stone?” Katrina asked.

“This might be a bad time to mention this,” Wearwolf said, “But this doesn‘t smell like the creature that attacked Jaime.”

“You mean there’s another one?” Katrina exclaimed.

“Uh, Katrina?” Jaime said.

“What?” Katrina demanded.

A chain suddenly streaked past Katrina’s face and knocked the ninja star off of Succubash’s head. The chain then wrapped around Succubash’s torso and drug her screeching through Katrina. Turning quickly, Katrina discovered another apparition. This one had a body of leather and chains like octopus arms. Its face was a leather mask.

“I shoulda figured,” Katrina said. “An Incubash, the male equivalent of Succubash. I’m guessing he’s the jealous type, too.”

Incubash grunted forcefully.

“He is definitely upset with you,” Wearwolf said. “And he‘s demanding you hand over Jaime.”

“Jaime is not who you think she is!” Katrina demanded. “You’re partner isn’t here! He left and isn’t coming back!”

“He doesn‘t believe you,” Wearwolf said in response to Incubash’s further grunting.

“It’s true!” Katrina insisted. “But we can help you get out of here! You can find him again!”

“Aw, screw this,” Jaime said. She opened fire on Incubash, but the apparition dodged each shot fluidly. Incubash fled into the wall and reappeared behind Jaime. Incubash was looming over her before she could get a shot in, but a well-aimed shot from Rion sent it tumbling out of the room.

“Thanks,” Jaime said.

“No problem,” Rion said. “I think we scared it off.”

“Succubash is gone, too,” Katrina said. “But I’m pretty sure I know where to go.”

“Where?” Jaime and Rion asked.

“Where do you think?” Katrina replied. “The one place Sartre specifically told us not to look.”

The lock to the clock tower, or rather the door it was attached to, didn’t stand very long against Katrina and Wearwolf’s combined power. The inside was one long shaft to the top, filled with giant gears and cogs. Scaffolding spiraled up the walls. Just under the loud and ominous ticking, unearthly wailing could be heard echoing down the chamber.

“Good lord,” Rion exclaimed.

“There ain’t nothin’ good about this place,” Katrina commented.

“I’m guessing this tower, maybe even the whole house, is running on Wailing Quartz,” Jaime said as they started up the scaffolding. “It’s like a magnet for phantoms. Plus, it robs them of their energy, making it difficult to escape. A good-sized chunk could run for centuries in a place like this.”

“And thus the circle of life continues,” Katrina said sarcastically.

It wasn’t long before something, or someone, stood in their way. That something was Sartre, lead pipe in hand. His appearance had changed, as he now bore the legs and horns of a goat.

“Rocking the satyr look, I see,” Katrina remarked. “Looks good on ya. But if you and Tragoat are doing what I think you’re doing, then things are going to turn ugly really fast.”

“You four have overstayed your welcome,” Sartre said. “I am afraid I must insist that you leave.”

“Not a chance,” Rion said forcefully. “The incarceration of these phantom MultiPets is unethical and inhumane. We’re putting a stop to it.”

“I’m afraid not,” Sartre said. “The master has put a lot of faith in me to see that this clock tower runs smoothly. I would hate to have to disappoint him.”

“Yeah, I bet he’ll be pretty pissed off when Incubash and Succubash show up on his front step,” Katrina said, walking off to the side. “But you’ve got to owe up to your mistakes some time. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a giant clock to scale.”

Katrina leapt off the scaffolding and grabbed onto the nearest cog. She rode it up to the next one and scrambled up that. After a couple more, she hoisted herself onto a gear rotating parallel to the ground. Sartre simply jumped up and landed on the same gear.

“Oh, yeah,” Katrina said. “That’s right. Tragoats have super-jumping abilities.”

Sartre charged at Katrina and swung his pipe. Katrina ducked and came back up with an uppercut across Sartre’s jaw. Sartre stumbled back, leaving an opening for Katrina to land a couple jabs to his stomach followed by a flip-kick. He found himself teetering on the edge, and by the time he recovered his balance Katrina was already clambering up the clock’s inner workings again.

Katrina jumped and flipped from cog to cog, pausing only momentarily to take advantage of the gear’s movement. But Sartre was faster, rocketing head-first into Katrina’s back. Katrina was sent spiraling downward, and landed on her back on the edge of another parallel cog. Sartre landed astride her, pinning her down with his pipe as her head ticked closer and closer towards the teeth of an adjoining, perpendicular gear.

Having taken advantage of the distraction, Rion and Jaime rushed up the scaffolding and to the face of the clock. There, amidst gears and cables, they found a large, pulsating, yellow stone that wailed with the screams of the damned.

“Considering the construction of this clock, shouldn’t this stone be at the bottom?” Jaime inquired.

“Maybe, but it’s more dramatic this way,” Rion replied.

“Whatever, let’s just destroy this thing,” Jaime said as she and Rion powered up their guns. “We may have to cross the streams.”

“I thought you said crossing the streams was a bad idea,” Rion said.

Jaime paused for a moment before asking, “Do you remember the next line?”

“Nah, I’ll I remember about this scene is Gozer and a giant marshmallow mascot,” Rion answered.

The two of them shrugged and started blasting the stone.

Back at the gear, Katrina’s head was getting dangerously close to getting crushed. Her arms struggled to push against the lead pipe, but Sartre was pushing back harder. Only a few ticks away from oblivion, Katrina rocked back, planted her feet in Sartre’s gut, and shoved him away. She flipped to her feet just in time, as all the gears started spinning faster. Katrina and Sartre knelt down, trying to maintain balance as the speed increased.

“This isn’t helping,” Rion said as he continued to zap the Wailing Quartz. “I think it’s just absorbing the energy.”

“That’s the idea,” Jaime explained. “The quartz absorbs and redistributes the energy as vibrations, which is what keeps the clock so regular. But the more energy it absorbs, the faster it vibrates. Also, it can only handle so much energy at once.”

“So it’ll either vibrate itself to pieces, or explode like a balloon with too much air,” Rion said. “Brilliant idea, but we may be standing a bit close.”

“Maybe,” Jaime admitted.

As the gears spun like crazy, Katrina realized she was now in possession of Sartre’s pipe. Thinking quickly, she stuck it between the teeth of the gear. In short order, the pipe was wedged between two gears, grinding the whole machine to a sudden stop. The sudden change in momentum threw Sartre off the gear, but Katrina remained in place due to her grip on the pipe.

Katrina steadied herself and walked over to the edge of the gear to see what happened to Sartre. When she got there, a hand grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her over the edge. Sartre was hanging onto the gear with one hand, and dangling Katrina over a mechanized abyss with the other.

“You ditz!” Sartre growled. “Do you know how hard it is to reset a giant clock!?”

“I think daylight savings time is about to be the least of your worries,” Katrina said.

An explosion at the top of the clock tower sent gears and debris plummeting downwards. Larger gears hit more gears, and soon the whole thing was crumbling around them. Katrina soon saw Jaime and Rion zoom down the scaffolding, screaming, “RUN!”

Katrina bent at the waist, grabbing Sartre’s wrist with her hand. She dug her claws into his arm, forcing him to let go of her ankle. She then flipped up, kicked away from the gear, and landed back on the scaffolding. Turning around, she saw Sartre struggling to pull himself back up on the gear as everything tumbled down around him.

Realizing Sartre wasn’t going to be able to climb back up, Katrina considered for moment that she could just leave him to his fate. However easy that may be, she couldn’t just let him be crushed to death. She sighed to herself, then leapt off the scaffolding again. Leaping from gear to falling gear, she caught Sartre just as he was losing his grip and ushered him back to the scaffolding.

“You saved me?” Sartre exclaimed.

“You can thank me later,” Katrina said over the rumble of falling debris. “We have to get out of here now!”

The impact of the clock’s innards crashing to the ground broke every window of the house and sent dust erupting through the clock tower’s door. Jaime and Rion coughed as the dust began to settle. They watched the door for a while, unable to see the inside of the clock tower through the cloud. Eventually, a silhouette formed as Katrina helped Sartre out of the tower. The two of them collapsed to the ground, and with a pop Tragoat and Wearwolf were standing beside them.

“Man, I guess I can cross ‘Fight someone in a clock tower’ off my list of things to do,” Katrina said, breathing heavily.

“We almost thought you were a goner,” Jaime said.

“So did I,” Katrina said. “It was pretty close.”

“Nah, I knew you’d make it out okay,” Rion said.

“You saved me,” Sartre said. “Why? I tried to kill you.”

“I figured I’d need the practice if I’m going to be a Chimera Knight,” Katrina explained. “Besides, letting people die ain’t my style.”

“Thank you anyway,” Sartre said.

“So what are you going to do now?” Rion asked. “Your master won’t be very pleased with this.”

Sartre paused and looked up. Tarotarots were becoming visible in the moonlight and floating out of the mansion. Succubash and Incubash appeared. They glared at him for a moment, then quickly followed suit.

“I guess I’m condemned to be free, to paraphrase my twentieth century namesake,” Sartre sighed as he stood up. “Probably time Tragoat and I moved on as well.”

“But where will you go?” Jaime asked with concern in her voice.

“I think I’ll leave that for the philosophers to decide,” Sartre replied as he and Tragoat faded into nothingness.

“No such things as ghosts, huh?” Katrina noted as she rose to her feet and dusted herself off.

“But that… but that…” Jaime stammered, pointing disbelievingly where Sartre and Tragoat once stood. She hung her head defeatedly. “Can we go now?”

“What? Now that we have the whole place to ourselves?” Kartina questioned disbelievingly.

“There’s no reason to stick around now that the rain’s let up,” Rion said.

“But it’s the middle of the night,” Katrina protested. “And all the ghosts are gone now. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Fine, let’s just go to bed,” Jaime said.

“You wanna trade rooms?” Rion asked. “Mine’s full of clocks.”

“I don’t want to see another clock as long as I live,” Katrina said.

“We could double up,” Rion suggested.

“Not with me,” Katrina said. “You can sleep with Jaime.”

“I’m not sleeping in a room with naked statues,” Rion protested.

“Then you two can take my room, and I’ll take the naked statues,” Katrina offered.

“But I like the naked statues,” Jaime whined. Then she blushed awkwardly. “Er, I mean… What I mean to say is…”

And then everyone laughed. The end.