The storm-damaged ship manages to land safely on a planet where resources are minimal at best. The entire crew are level one and level two haven-worlders, but they have one death-worlder aboard. An 8 year old human child. They were transporting the child to a space station as the child had recently been rescued from kidnappers who were now sitting in prison.
On this planet, not everything is what it appears. Food keeps showing up at the entryway and footsteps can be seen in the mud after a rain, but no one's there. It's only after the child can be seen sitting, quietly playing with an unusual, humanoid-shaped, being about the size of the child, that they realize their "helpful ghosts" may not be ghosts at all. The being looks at the much taller crew members and suddenly, they disappear, though the imprint in the dirt shows, they're still there. -- DaniAndShali
Seemingly abandoned planet? Check. Survivable wreck? Check. Eerily empty structures that could be the result of intelligent life or could be the work or some natural thing? Check. One Deathworlder? Sort of check. These are the things that serial dramas are made of. Or, considering this was an eight-year-old Deathworlder and therefore a minor, true life horrors.
Things could be worse, but nobody was going to tempt fate by saying so, nor by asking how things could get worse. After all, it has long been established that Mother Nature is an abusive parent and actively seeks out opportunities to remind people of this.
Human Vi was still recovering from their trauma and therefore didn't want to go anywhere without adult company. The world wasn't exactly hostile but it did seem to delight in upending assumptions. Small, cute, fluffy things were deadly predators. Big, spiky, armoured things with huge claws and sharp fangs were harmless herbivores. Scanners were essential, as delicious-looking fruit were toxic and toxic-looking leaves and flowers were actually the most nutritious foodstuffs they could want. Here, a Deathworlders' instincts were almost useless. And, on top of that, there were the ghosts.
Technically, the world was survivable. Some effort had to go into preparing food properly, even more so if they wanted Human Vi to eat it[1]. Food printers could only do so much when the natural shade of cooked nutrients on this world was a gloriously rancid shade of Yuk[2]. Even Smily Faces can only do so much. The ghosts apparently turned up three days into the struggle to keep Human Vi fed and happy simultaneously.
Human Vi was eight, and reported seeing ghosts in the almost-villages that the crew explored. Human Vi also reported monsters under the bed, so the report wasn't taken very seriously. Three days later, Human Vi told the crew that these were friendly ghosts and they'd made the salad, which was very tasty.
Companion Thel said, "What salad?"
Human Vi pointed to an empty bowl of undetermined origin. It was empty. "Okay, so the salad was too tasty. I should have saved you some. Sorry." They picked up the bowl and said they had to take it back to the "friendly ghosts".
Five days after that, the crew noticed that Human Vi was talking to thin air in a language they had apparently made up for the purpose. It was a common phase of Human development to exercise the imagination, so the crew passed it off as normal-for-Humans.
Then there were the errands. Human Vi began asking for strange things that the crew could easily spare, stating it was "for the friendly ghosts" and then those things were not seen again.
Some things began turning up. A rounded shape of something that did the job of bread. A dish of a baked assortment of edible things that Human Vi insisted was a Casserole. Further, Human Vi explained, they had to take the empty dish back when they were all done.
The casserole was delicious. Non-toxic, and carefully prepared by Human Vi's "ghost friend" named Lillieux.
Something odd was happening.
They finally caught it on one of their surviving securicams. The crew had set it up to watch Human Vi returning things to their "ghosts". They looked like nightmares made flesh. An almost unholy mixture of tentacle, carapace, horns, and slotted eyes. They were garishly coloured, which fit the neon hues of the vegetation and minerals around them. What they wore as clothing could easily pass as a gilly suit, given the rest of them.
When Companion Thel went out to see them in person, they vanished from view. One moment, they were visible as entities within a space and the next... they weren't. The things they were holding, the clothes they were wearing, everything about them vanished. Even their young ones.
Rain had fallen in the night, turning the topsoil into mud and Companion Thel could see impressions where the feet were... and they had not moved.
Thel froze in place. Trying to think past the instincts of Hidden Predators Are Watching Me and also trying to focus on Human Vi. Rationality was a hard prize to win, that day. "Vi? I must apologise for dismissing your invisible friends as not being real. I would like to make friends, too."
Vi, calm and peaceful between a host of invisible nightmares and a cute, fluffy Havenworlder, said, "I'd like you to make friends, too, but Lillieux says you're too scary."
[1] The visual appeal is ninety percent of the battle when everything nutritious always cooks down into gross-looking goop.
[2] Yuk is the colour that happens when you blend all the pre-packaged colours of plasticine or equal proportions of paint in your paint set. A rancid shade of Yuk is even worse, and is comparable to puce in terms of non-attractive colours.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / feedough]
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