Mistic Pets

Welcome to Issue 4
Created by The Mistic Pets Team

Gravedigger
Written By Dishonor

The dark trees cast haunting shadows on the thick walls of mist surrounding the graveyard. Things seemed to blend together, to meld inside the stifling darkness and the swirling clouds of fog occasionally left their posts near the cemetery’s outer fences to creep into the heart of the burial mound collections. The caretaker’s flashlight was the only shaft of light that sneaked in this far into the graveyard, and it looked hazy, blurred. Its misted rays caught a small bent figure, huddled over a gravestone.

The little creature blinked at the sudden brightness, raising it's frightened eyes toward its source. With a startled hiss, he drew himself up to his full height, which had never been very significant in any case; but now, with a veritable giant before him, he seemed even smaller, weaker, a slight little thing trying to withstand forces too great and too far beyond his power to restrain. It was a pity that the old witch believed in payment before she gave any potions out. He could have used an extra few feet at this particular moment. Not that he hadn’t always needed a bit of a growth spurt. It was aggravating, really. The little obsideon would have sighed if his situation had not been so precarious.

The caretaker’s shovel scraped the ground with a rusty clank. He looked down at the diminutive but defiant obsideon staring up at him, and then cleared his throat, as if clearing away years of disuse.

“Well, what have we here?” The obsideon shivered a little at the coarse, gravelly sound. He guessed that was what someone got for hanging around graveyards at night all the time. He didn’t answer and instead contented himself with looking upwards unrelentingly, straight into the giant’s eyes. Older, more intimidating, not to mention bigger obsidians always managed to throw adversaries off balance with their glares. As it was though, the little obsideon doubted his staring did anything besides make him look like a dimwit. Not that he didn’t already look like one, with his ridiculously large head and the innate stupidity demonstrated by his wandering inside the graveyard on a horribly foggy night. His list of self-grievances could have gone on much longer, but he let it rest inside his mind as he scrutinized the caretaker. It was impossible to tell what species the caretaker belonged to in the dim glow cast by the lantern. He swiped a paw in front of his face, trying to clear away at least one layer of mist. Why did the injustices in life have to target him so? Not only did he not have the size of a proper member of his species, but he also was not gifted with perfect night vision. That, he reminded himself, was what he had sought to correct with this late night visit to the cemetery.

He realized the caretaker was still waiting for a response. Honesty was the best policy, he decided, and said it outright, the words sounding bold in spite of his trepidation and nervousness. “I’m looking for a glowing obsideon skull.”

The quizzical look in the caretaker’s eyes told the small obsideon exactly what he needed to know. “Great,” he muttered to himself. “Now he thinks I’m mad. Figures. No one but a true fool or a crazy person would wander into a graveyard at night. Wonder what he’ll do next. Kick me out? Ship me off to the asylum?”

The craggy voice of the giant disrupted his musings. The words however, were a complete surprise. “Ain’t cha got one already?”

He made no effort to shut out the shock on his face. “What mister? What do you mean do I have one already? I dug up a few graves, but I couldn’t find a single normal obsideon skull, much less a glowing one.”

In response, the caretaker pointed to the obsideon’s head. “Ya got one right there kid. Now stop messin’ with me and get out.” The giant raised his shovel menacingly, and the dwarf obsideon knew he was serious. His heart sagged. Elenyona had promised that she could make him a growing potion if he could just find her a glowing obsideon skull. And now, with an enormous graveyard keeper barring his way, there would be no possibility of digging one up tonight. Feeling as though his entire body was as heavy as lead, he sighed and let himself be escorted through the wrought iron gate that served as the forbidding entrance (and exit) to the cemetery.

Once outside, he cast the heavily misted landscape behind him one last glance, then walked slowly away. He sat within the shadow of a few sickly-looking trees and buried his head in his arms. Pulling on his mask a little, he took it off and placed it on his lap without once looking at it. In this way he rested for a while and then, sighing vehemently again, he lowered his eyes to his beloved mask, the only part of him that was truly like a normal obsideon’s.

And then he gasped. The sudden intake of breath disturbed the silence of the night abruptly, but he didn’t even notice as the crickets chirped in a more frenzied manner than before. In his hands, the mask was lit with a purple aura as it sparkled in the midst of the darkness. A glowing mask. Contrary to its activity a moment before, the entire Banshee Swamp seemed to be tensely holding its breath.

The little obsideon stood up with a jolt. Electricity was running through his veins and he was suddenly mentally charged in a way he had never been before. He was going to be big, he was going to be normal, he was going to be strong. His legs flew over the soggy, marshy texture of the ground beneath him. This was his chance, his chance to be special and yet normal at the same time, his chance to really find acceptance and happiness.

He knocked carefully on the wooden door of the potion shop. His nose wrinkled in disgust at some of the smells emanating from the small chimney of the cottage. Ugh. How could the old witch stand the stench? The door creaked open just as he looked down, and the shriveled hag looked out at him sleepily, though her eyes were sharp and alert. With a certain degree of disgust, the little obsideon noted that bent and wizened as she was, even SHE was taller than him. This was getting really out of hand.

"All right. I got it." His voice was petulant from the tightly wired emotions brought on by the night. "Make me big. You told me you would."

With a crafty eye, Elenyona gazed at him for a long moment before slowly nodding. "Yesss..." she agreed, her voice an aged crackle. "But don't you realize that you've already grown?"

This is getting ridiculous, the obsideon thought. She's no better than that nasty old graveyard caretaker. "Stop with the mind tricks already! I didn't believe the caretaker, but I can see that I haven't grown any taller! I'm not a fool!" he shouted, as loudly as he could muster.

"Very well then." The potion master's voice was gentle, perhaps a little sad. "Give me the mask please."

His heart quavered a little at the idea of losing his most treasured possession, the mask that had made him a true individual all these years, even as he had been seeking to be just like everyone else in terms of appearance. "Will I get it back?"

He thought he saw a flicker of sadness in Elenyona's eyes again. "No child," she answered. "It will be split into four pieces and then boiled and mashed before placement in the potion. You will not have it returned to you whole."

The little obsideon lifted the mask from his face and clasped it tightly about his chest. "But..." and for the first time, he felt true indecision about this particular course of action.

The witch took pity on his wordless anguish. "Remember, you have already grown tonight, as I said. The adventure, the courage it took to brave everything that deterred and frightened you tonight, that has already multiplied your dimensions. Keep that in mind before you make a rash decision."

Her words were sweet enough, he thought, but why should he trust them? She could just be trying to avoid the trouble of actually having to brew a potion specially for him. And then he was disgusted with himself. She was right. What was he doing?

His resolution hardened. "I'll keep my mask then. And I'll make sure that I focus on making my heart and soul grow. I'll make up in character what I lack in stature."

She smiled, and he did not recoil at the sight of her aged and twisted beak. "Thank you," he said as he turned around, away from the hut. And pulling his beloved mask over his face, he saw that the magical purple sparkle had almost disappeared. To himself, he whispered, "So the choice has been made. I will remain myself inside and out to the ends of this world."

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