ToT Chapter 2: Return to Mosswood

    The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Gary and Horace sat silently in the back of the wagon heading to Mosswood, filled with medical supplies. Horace stared angrily out at the trees around them, intentionally avoiding any contact with his partner. On the opposite bench, gary shifted nervously, silently beating himself up over his decision.

    Stupid, stupid, stupid. You should have told him when you got the letter. You shouldn’t have tried to sweep it under the rug. This is worse than it would have been if you had told him.

    After several agonizingly icy hours, the wagon finally pulled to a stop. “Mosswood!” Cried the Ponyta in the bridle. The two got out, curtly thanked him, and began unpacking supplies, never speaking a word to each other. When they were done, Gary sagged against a crate of herbs, exhausted.

    “I’ve got something to do.” Horace muttered, heading towards the town. Gary nodded, not that Horace was looking for approval, and stayed sitting for a few moments before getting up and following him as discreetly as he could.

    Horace weaved through the streets of Mosswood, as only someone who had lived there could. Gary almost lost him several times, but fortunately the crowds were rather small this morning. Finally, Horace walked up the front steps of one of the houses, turned the knob, and entered.

    Gary looked up and down the street. The town was fairly devoid of walkabouts, due to the mysterious illness that had been spreading. People who seemed fine one day would collapse the next, faces blue and tongues green. No one had any idea how it spread, so most were being cautious and avoiding contact with others as much as possible.

    Seeing as there was no one around, Gary followed Horace. He turned the doorknob, opening the door slowly to avoid any creaking hinges. Looking inside, he saw a well-furnished front entrance, a coatrack in one corner, with several low benches for weary travellers to rest their legs. Seeing only one doorway to go through, Gary headed further into the house.

    The living room was rather spacious, with several plush, comfortable-looking couches surrounding a low, polished wooden table. A staircase in one corner led to the second floor of the house, and several doorways branched off into other rooms. Towards the back of the room, a sturdy oak door, similar to the front door, swung open, shifting gently in the breeze.

    The door lead into the back yard, a green expanse filled with blooming flowers. A pair of trees, tall and strong, flanked the yard from either side, their branches intertwining to provide a green canopy that let in just enough of the elements to be pleasant.

    In the center of the yard knelt Horace, eyes shut tight and hands clasped in his lap. In front of him was a single stone, rising out of the ground and curved at the top. There was writing on the stone, but it had faded away from exposure to the elements.

    “‘Here lies Lily. Beloved wife, mother, friend. Rest in peace.’” Gary was surprised when Horace spoke. “That’s what it says on here.” He turned around, eyes rimmed red. “It’s almost impossible to read now, but I still remember the words. More than I can remember her face.” His voice cracked as he said the last part.

    Gary immediately understood. This was where his mother was buried. This was Horace’s old house. Watching his friend’s expression as he knelt in the grass, Gary immediately understood why Horace had left home. The pain he felt, being in such an empty home, filled only with ghosts, must have been extremely painful.

    With a sigh, Horace got to his feet and brushed the dirt off his knees. “There’s something else I want to do while we’re here. Come inside.” He brushed past Gary, walking back into the living room, and leaned into the staircase. “Hank? You here?” He frowned when no answer came.

    Gary tilted his head, confused. “H-Hank? D-does somebody live here?” Horace nodded.

    “Hank’s my little brother. He should be here somewhere. School’s probably been cancelled due to the outbreak.” Horace headed up the stairs, calling his brother’s name, his frown deepening as he kept receiving silence in response.

    “M-maybe he’s not home. M-maybe he went out t-to get something.” Gary trailed off as he realized something. “M-maybe he… g-got sick.” Horace shot him a dirty look.

    “Not likely. He’d be-” Horace stopped as he peered inside one of the upstairs rooms. “What the... “

    Gary looked over his shoulder to see what was wrong. The room was tidy, everything made up perfectly. The sheets on the bed had been folded neatly and mattress looked fresh, like no one had slept on it. There was a thin layer of dust on everything, from the floor to the cabinet to the pillow.

    “This isn't right,” Horace muttered. “What's going on here?” He turned away from the room, opening doors left and right. Each room was the same: dusty and perfect, like it had been empty for years.

    The first floor was the same. Gary hadn't noticed it earlier, but everything was coated in a film of dust. Gary could see where he had walked several minutes ago. If not for the fact that everything was so neat, Gary would have been sure that Hank had gotten sick. But this… It was something that only people who planned to move out would do.

    Frustrated at not finding his brother, Horace marched out of the house, Gary in tow. “Wh-where are we going? D-do you know where he might be?”

    Horace shook his head. “No idea, but we’re not going to find him by standing around.” He glanced down the streets, crying “aha!” when he spotted an Elekid sporting a hard hat. Horace ran towards him, waving his arm. “Hey! Stan! Stan!”

    The Elekid turned, squinting to see who was calling his name. A moment later, he waved back and came towards them. “Horace, my boy, it’s been a while!” He smiled as he greeted the Treecko. “How’s life been for you?” He turned to Gary. “And who’s this now? Been out makin’ friends, eh?” He chuckled and extended a hand to Gary. “I’m Stanley. Stanley Tudor. I’m a repairman around here.”

    Gary shook his hand nervously. “O-oh. I’m G-Gary, and I’m, um, Horace’s t-teammate.” Stanley grinned widely.

    “Ah, so he decided to go to Tabira after all? Well, you look out for him, lad. He’s a troublemaker sometimes. Keep an eye on him for me, would ye?” Gary nodded, and Stanley turned back to Horace. “So, what brings you back here? I would assume you’d be with all of the other Guildies at Mosswood General. So what’re ye doing here?”

    Horace’s expression turned somber. “I’m looking for Hank, but it looks like the house has been abandoned. Do you know where he is?”

    Stanley grimaced. “Well… He’s with Logan and Cheryl. After ye left, they said he was too young to live on his own and brought him to stay with them.” He glanced up the street again before looking back at Horace. “If ye like, I can come along and…”

    Horace shook his head. “No, that’s fine I’m sure you’re busy. Besides, we won’t be long.” He thanked Stanley and began to walk back down the way Stanley had been looking.

    “Wh-where are we going Horace? Who are L-Logan and Cheryl?” Gary puffed as he tried to keep up with his friend.

    Horace’s smile held no humor in it as he answered. “I’ve told you about them before, haven’t I?” Gary’s stomach dropped as he realized who they were. “They’re my grandparents.”

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    Fortunately, Horace’s grandparents didn’t live too far away. Only about a dozen houses down the street, Horace stopped to knock on the door. A few moments later, it opened, revealing a tall, barrel-chested Sceptile. His broad, reddened face scrunched up when he saw Horace. “You,” He grunted. “What do you want?”

    Horace nodded curtly, though the effort to contain himself was visible on his face. “You’re as straightforward as ever, Logan,” he replied. “I’ll return the favor. Where’s Hank? I’ve come to take him home.”

    Logan’s face reddened even more at that. “You’ve got some nerve, boy. Cheryl and I are keeping him here. We’re going to raise him to be normal, not freaks like you and that father of yours.”

    Horace scowled deeply. “Call my dad that again and I’ll make sure you’re never able to repeat it a third time,” He snapped. “Now let me in so I can talk to my brother. I won’t be long, I promise.”

    Logan eyed him quietly for a moment before stepping aside. “Fine, but be quick about it. I want you gone as soon as possible.” Horace turned to Gary. “I’ll be back in just a sec, ok? Wait out here until I’m done.” With that, he walked inside. Logan turned one last time to glare at Gary, as though this was somehow his fault, before following Horace inside and slamming the door shut.”

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    Horace found Hank in the kitchen, eating lunch with his grandmother. When the two noticed him, their reactions could not have been more different. Hank ran to give his brother a hug, which, despite his icy composition and the chill in the air around him, was rather warm.

    Cheryl, an old, wrinkled Altaria, pursed her beak and turned to Logan. “What is he doing here?” She hissed.

    Horace frowned. “Look, I’m not happy to be here either. But I’ve come to get my brother and bring him home. So if you don’t mind, we’ll just go up and pack.” He grabbed Hank’s arm and led him towards the stairs. Cheryl reached out a claw and grabbed his other arm, stopping them.

    “Hold on one moment. What do you think gives you of all people the right to decide that?” Cheryl demanded. Logan stepped into Horace’s path, making sure that he couldn’t leave.

    Sighing, Horace turned to face her. “Look, I’ve always felt that when you look at the two of us, you see my dad, not my mom, which would explain why you’re acting the way you are right now. You wouldn’t have done this if Lily came to pick him up, would you?”

    “Don’t you dare say her name!” Cheryl screeched. “Not after what you did! I won’t have it!” Her eyes blazed with rage as he claws dug into Hank’s arm, causing him to yelp in pain. “You have no right to call her your mother after what you did to her!”

    Immediately, Horace froze. He relinquished his grip on Hank’s arm and drew his flute. He glared at Cheryl, eyes full of hate. “Don’t ever say that again.” He snarled. “I swear upon my mother’s grave that you will regret it if you do.”

    Cheryl quailed under his gaze, releasing Hank as she did. He stumbled back to his brother’s side, clutching him tightly. Horace continued to stare menacingly at his grandmother, until finally Logan stepped forward. “Take him, then. Get out. And don’t ever show your face around here again.”

    Horace continued his gaze for a few moments before breaking it. “Fine by me. I hope I never have to come back here either.” He turned towards the door. “We’ll leave now. Bring Hank’s stuff by later.” Motioning to his little brother, he opened the front door and left.

    Emboldened by his departure, Cheryl cried one last insult after him. “Stay away you little monster! You killed my daughter! Stay the hell away!”

    Outside on the steps, exactly where Horace had left him, Gary stood, puzzled. “Wh-what was that about?” Horace tried to brush it off.

    “Nothing, it’s nothing.” He waved his hand to dismiss it, but Gary was persistent.

    “Horace.” He was making direct eye contact now, something he rarely ever did. He also seemed to be overcoming his stutter. “What did she mean? What’s going on?” This was the most serious Horace had ever seen him.

    Knowing that he wasn’t going to hear the end of this until he told Gary what was going on, Horace sighed. “Let’s get back to my place first. It’s a long story and I don’t feel comfortable telling it in public.