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“It just doesn’t make sense. If Knife’s not the one pulling all these pranks, then who is?”
Marshmallow posed this question, though she didn’t get an answer in response. MePad sat beside her, visiting her in the mansion. It was something Marshmallow had insisted upon sometimes, and with no current obligations, MePad had no substantial reason to refuse.
He just stared at her blankly as she spoke. That’s just how he was though. That’s just how he’d always been, or so he would’ve argued, if he actually felt the need to.
“Maybe its Cherries?” Marshmallow thought out loud. “But how…?”
Lately (or so MePad had been told), there had been a spike in unexplained activities and disturbances. At first, Marshmallow had been convinced Knife had been the one behind it all—knocking random things over, moving items from their original spots, things of that nature—but Knife had sworn up and down that it wasn’t him.
Marshmallow didn’t believe him until reports describing the same oddities came from outside the mansion. Some had begun to complain that construction materials would be inexplicably rearranged, or that they would hear strange noises heard in the buildings that had already been completed. It couldn’t be Knife, then.
MePad felt indifferent about the whole thing. Perhaps, these were all occurrences that could be explained away logically. That was the mindset Test Tube had adopted about it, a perspective MePad could relate to. It was likely that someone had moved some of their equipment without others noticing. It was normal for structures to creak or groan on occasion. Whatever these instances were, they were likely separated and coincidental.
However, each argument MePad came up with, he did not vocalize. The now former contestants often told him about whatever the latest drama or rumor was, even if he never said much in response. He didn’t understand why they kept telling him these things. He just didn’t care for such conversations all that much. He’d always been like this, a passive spectator was his role.
Sensing she wasn’t going to get a response out of MePad even now, Marshmallow continued to essentially talk to herself. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear we have a fourth ghost or something, but obviously that doesn’t make much sense... The mansion and all.”
That caught MePad’s attention. He wasn’t sure why, at first. Of course, it couldn’t be a fourth ghost—Marshmallow had just expressed the exact reason why. Nonetheless, his thoughts took a particular path before he could stop them.
What if people who aren’t generated by MeLife become spirits when they pass on, too?
What if such spirits weren’t limited by the parameters of the mansion? Such a restriction was likely related to MePhone’s influence, somehow.
What if they’re just not visible like those generated by MeLife, but are still present, aware, watching, feeling?
What if all these occurrences weren’t coincidental, or the results of a massive prank?
What if these were all signs of a lost soul, trying desperately to communicate with the other side?
MePad blinked, feeling his legs tense uncomfortably.
What if it was Toilet?
It was a hopeful thought that MePad didn’t want to indulge. Toilet was gone. He’d seen his body. The shards of porcelain scattered in the grass, wet from water and naturally forming dew. He wasn’t like a Meeple device. His consciousness couldn’t be restored within a different body; that smiling face and bright eyes wouldn’t return, even if someone put in the effort to collect those shards and put him back together.
(There had been small cracks and dents on Toilet’s surface when he fell, but nothing life-threatening by any means. Despite his visible weakness, Toilet had been far more concerned about MePad’s injury—a crack along the upper edge of his screen—and had urged him to rest. Even when he was so beaten down, Toilet had been determined. He had pleaded with MePad, he wanted to help, MePad had done enough, he should rest. He had been deceptively convincing. MePad couldn’t have predicted that he’d—)
Toilet was gone. He had been so lively, but he’d been used, and sacrificed, and broken. He was gone.
MePad didn’t want to hope. He didn’t. He—
“MePad?” That little high-pitched voice called out through the fog invading his head. Marshmallow felt miles away, and yet she was sitting right beside him. “Are you alright? You’re shaking…”
So he was. “I must be going now, thank you for having me,” he said a little too quickly, and a little too flatly.
“Wait, MePad, what—”
Rudely, he didn’t wait for her to finish her sentence. He teleported away; with no specific destination in mind, he reappeared somewhere outside. He would have to apologize to Marshmallow later for this, although abruptly leaving wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for him. It was a habit he had picked up recently.
He still felt shaky. He couldn’t place what emotion he was feeling. Scared? Nervous? Excited?
Whatever it was, it wasn’t a feeling he enjoyed. Without much further thought, he took a step forward, and then another.
It was a beautiful, sunny day. It was the kind of day Toilet would’ve enjoyed, back when they were unaware of MePhone’s influence over the island’s weather patterns. Toilet had mentioned out rainy his hometown was, once; it’s one of the reasons he enjoyed the island so much.
MePad had only ever known sunny days. Now MePhone was gone, and storms would occasionally come, no matter how unprepared they all were.
Thankfully, today’s weather was just as picture-perfect as MePhone would’ve designed it. But, MePad had no one to enjoy it with.
He walked aimlessly, hoping whatever jittery energy had entered his body would promptly leave. It was unlike him to feel much of anything, these days. He’d never been very intense in any of his feelings, though.
Yet, that odd emotion clinging to his circuits only intensified when MePad saw something so peculiar, just a few yards ahead of him. He couldn’t believe it, at first. The timing was too convenient, the visual was so too perplexing.
In front of him, there was a… handful of flowers, hovering in the air. Buttercups. There was no Invisibow accompanying them; no signs of anyone present. None of the contestants could naturally turn invisible, as far as MePad was aware. But there was undeniably someone there, plucking another yellow bloom from the grass.
MePad didn’t know what came over him. It was so uncharacteristic of him to run, or yell.
“Toilet!” he called out, approaching the flowers as quickly as his legs would carry him. He wasn’t built for running.
As soon as MePad spoke, the flowers wooshed in the opposite direction of him, like someone was holding them and running away.
“Toilet—don’t leave!” MePad ran faster. He teleported himself a bit closer to those petals, but no matter how close he tried to get, they seemed to remain out of his reach.
It must’ve looked funny from an outsider’s view. MePad, chasing through the trees after a bunch of levitating flowers. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt this energetic in his life.
“Please, stop! Please-!” If MePad had lungs, he would’ve been out of breath by now. He could hear the crack in his voice, and he could feel his legs threatening to give up as he ran through the flat field towards nothing. He teleported, ran a few yards, yelled, and repeated.
Finally, the flowers seemingly slowed down, now that they were in the clearing. MePad kept running.
“Toilet—”
MePad realized a little too late where he was. The floating petals had led him to the graveyard. There were only two headstones, currently—thankfully. The flowers hovered between them. MePad slowed down, and dropped to his knees in exhaustion.
“Toilet?”
Dreadful silence followed. The air was frighteningly still. MePad wanted to yell again from the apprehension.
A moment passed. Another.
Finally, the presence revealed itself.
It was MePhoneX.
A Meeple who could turn invisible whenever he wanted. A Meeple who could decide specifically who he wanted to perceive him.
There were so many questions that should’ve pressed MePad’s mind.
MePhoneX was alive? But… they’d found his body, limbs detached and casing busted, smoke invading the surrounding air. There was no surviving a fall like that.
(Somehow, Toilet had survived that fall. But it had weakened him so badly…)
Had MePhoneX been repaired? If so, then by whom? With what intent?
Was he still a threat? Toilet may have been misguided, but surely, MePhoneX would’ve been aware of the grief and destruction he was bringing, right?
Was he truly back from the dead? Or was MePad just delusional—doomed to be haunted with visions of those who’d passed?
Like always, MePad couldn’t muster the strength to care about such things.
The only question that he truly wanted to ask was, why couldn’t it be Toilet, standing in front of him?
His voice was faint and faltering. “Why…?”
MePhoneX hunched over the grave of Cobs. Carefully, the Meeple placed down the buttercups he had collected. It wasn’t the type of flower someone would typically bring to a loved one’s grave, but then, nothing was typical about any of this.
There was another moment of silence. MePhoneX turned around, but remained hunched, like he was looking at MePad over his shoulder. He turned back around, and, clutching another bloom in claw, he placed one at Toilet’s headstone.
A final moment passed. Then, just as suddenly as he appeared, MePhoneX was gone.
There was no explanation, no clarity or closure. For every question answered, there were countless left untouched.
MePad had been foolish to let his hopes get so high. He knew this. He had been foolish to let himself feel anything.
It really was a beautiful day. Still, MePad would spend this day alone, uncharmed by the island’s fixtures, or the vastness of the clear skies.
He spent the day weakly, thoughtlessly, plucking at flowers he found, watching their colors blur together.