Explain It Like I'm Tree

Interruptions

CRASH

A rock flew through Lewis' chest. He whipped back toward the front, his whole frame edged with curling flame.

The remainder of one door crumbled. A wide-eyed kid stood on the other side, his jaw hanging loose.

The flames dimmed. Lewis slowly lowered himself to the ground, drew his knees up to his chest, folded his arms on top, and buried his face in his arms.

"Oh. Um. Wow." The kid's voice trembled, but footsteps crunched through glass toward him. "Are you, um. Hi there. Are you the guy I'm here to talk to? Sent by Mod Skull? Hi. I'm Mothman. Sorry I'm late."

Lewis held up one hand and the footsteps stopped. He curled in most of his hand, holding up an index finger for a few seconds, then pulled his arm close to his body again. If he didn't collect himself, he might explode on this poor kid. He hadn't been this wrought up since—since... and now he didn't have any of the calming mechanisms the human body provided. Gods, no wonder we always found ghosts wailing and screaming. Is that all I have left for relief?

"Hey." The voice came back. Lewis peeked up over his arm. The kid had passed through the broken glass and settled on the ground across from him. Rounded glasses took up half his face, a concerned wrinkle marked his forehead, and his oddly jagged black hair stuck up and backward like a grim reaper's scythe.

Mothman tugged the collar of his lengthy black trench coat, his eyes still fixed on Lewis. "I heard noises. You okay? I mean... even if you're not the guy Mod Skull sent over... but I think you are?... let's start over. I'm known as Agent Mothman when I'm working with the Swollen Eyeball network, though my real name is Dib and-and-and-I have so many questions!" His voice pitched up and his words began tumbling over each other. His hands moved along with his words. "What's your name? How did you die? How did you get here from Tempo? What was that noise? Are you okay? Your skull is on fire, how do you do that? Will you let me tape our conversation?"

A Deadbeat darted out from Lewis' collar and zipped over, placing a nubby little hand over Mothman's mouth and chirping sternly. Lewis didn't think the kid's eyes could get any wider, but somehow he managed it. Lewis buried his head again and made a mighty effort to pull himself together. Maybe if he could just pick one of those questions to focus on—

CRACK-CKLE-BOOM

He shot backwards, phasing straight through the desk and two walls into some lightless back room. He sat there for a moment, stunned. Then rage flashed through him. He lashed out in all directions, sending lines of fire out one after the other. The room lit up in ghoulish shades of purple. He spotted a shelving unit by the door when several rotting boxes stored on it caught fire. The shelving unit itself wasn't catching fire. Likely it was metal. He darted over and flung the shelves to the ground. Flaming cardboard scattered as he wrestled with the unit. He wrenched two metal poles free of the frame and beat them against the wall. Every stroke left deep gouge marks, the edges glowing like embers.

The drywall quickly crumbled under his assault, leaving a gaping hole. Lewis froze, mid-swing.

Of course.

The kid had found him right quick. He stood on the other side, the Deadbeat draped around his shoulders like a scarf. A scarf that was making little worried noises and kneading Dib's collar. Dib's eyes fixed on the bent, red-hot metal shrapnel Lewis gripped, then scanned slowly up to his face.

With a groan, Lewis threw the shrapnel over his shoulders and sank to his knees. He covered his face with his hands. This was such a mistake. I have to get out of here before I hurt the kid.

"Um. So. Yeah. You're kind of terrifying. For sure." Dib cleared his throat. "But. Um. You don't seem like you want to hurt me. Usually I'm facing off with someone who definitely wants my insides on the outside, and I really don't get the chance to sit and talk with ghosts much. So. How 'bout we try again. Hi. My name is Dib."