Chapter 1: Blueberry Girl and Empty Chips
iira waited patiently outside the run down old manor that belonged to her friend Jack. The house had always given her the creeps, but she knew that was intentional. Jack Foster, the world famous Paranormal researcher, needed to have ghosts around him to study them.
Jack had promised Mira they were harmless.
Didn't make them any less creepy.
What did make it less creepy was the blinding, eye searing daylight that poured from the happy sun this morning.
She was waiting for her Friends, Tim, Franklin and Tasha for their weekly Dungeons and Dragons game with Jack.
They were all running late, as usual. Mira sighed and looked at her watch for the third time in five minutes. She had been stood outside Jack's house for a good twenty minutes now, and she was starting to think they had all forgotten about their plans. Again.
She was just about to pull out her phone to text someone when she heard the crunch of gravel behind her. She turned around to see Tim, Franklin and Tasha walking up the path, looking like they had just rolled out of bed. Tim was wearing his signature Hawaiian shirt, this one covered in flamingos in various shades of pink. Franklin had his usual detective attire on, complete with his round wire-rim glasses and pencil-thin mustache.
Tasha looked like she had just come from a workout at the gym, her shaved head glistening under the sunlight and her dragon tattoos seeming to slither in the light.
"Took you long enough," Mira said with a smirk as they approached, her wild red hair looking even more untamed than usual in the breeze.
"Traffic," Tim said, his voice cracking slightly as he spoke, his geeky enthusiasm barely contained. "And then I had to stop by the pet store. You know, for my owls."
Franklin adjusted his glasses and raised an eyebrow. "Which ones this week?
The barn owls or the snowy owls?" Mira asked, her tone light but her eyes flicking up towards Jack’s front door for any sign of movement.
Tim’s face lit up like he’d just won the lottery. "The snowy owls! I got them a little bell collar, see?" He held out his phone, displaying a photo of two fluffy white owls perched on his forearm, one of them wearing a tiny silver bell.
Tasha snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "You’re gonna get your face ripped off one of these days, Timmy. Owls are not dogs."
Tim adjusted his thick glasses, undeterred.
"But they’re so cute! And the bell is just a precaution. It’s not like I’m trying to hug them or anything."
Franklin flicked the brim of Tim’s flamingo shirt. "Speak for yourself. I once tried to hug a great horned owl in a dream. Woke up with feathers in my mouth and existential dread."
Mira rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small laugh. "Can we focus? Jack’s already ten minutes late. Again."
Tasha stepped forward and knocked loudly on the front door.
"Oh! Hey, Guys. It's Saturday, isn't it?" A feminine voice called from the yard. A blonde haired, blue skinned woman in a white bikini sat sunning herself on a lawn chair in the front lawn. She removed her sunglasses and looked at them with a smile.
Mira knew who it was – Violet B., Jack's girlfriend. She was a beautiful woman, but her voice betrayed a sense of nervousness and fear.
"Hey," Mira said, stepping forward with a warm smile. "We’re here for our D&D session with Jack. He’s around, right?"
Violet shook her head, her blueberry scent wafting towards them. "He’s not here."
Tim stepped forward, his flamingo shirt fluttering in the breeze. "Do you know where he is?"
"I thought he was with you." Violet said, her blue skin shining in the sun.
She stood up, the lawn chair creaking under her weight, and brushed off her hands. She looked at them with wide, fearful eyes.
"He left for a research project three days ago, he said he didn't know how long he'd be gone, but he didn't take a whole lot with him." Violet said.
"He just took his ghost-hunting gear and his laptop. Something about a 'hot lead' he couldn't ignore."
Mira Took in what she heard Violet say. Jack was strange, but his communication skills were top notch. He always told people what he was up to, and where he'd be. Mira looked over at Tasha. Tasha didn't like Violet, Tasha felt like she was lazy and a leech, and Violet didn't like Tasha much either. Violet didn't like most women she knew, feeling judged for her skin, a permanent reminder that you don't steal prototype gum, lest you swell into a massive juice filled balloon.
But she liked Mira. Mira didn't care that she was blue, she cared that Violet loved Jack unconditionally, and Mira understood that love better than anyone. Mara gave Violet a warm smile, "Why don't you come inside and tell us what happened." Violet nodded, leading the group towards the porch. The moment they stepped inside, the door groaning under the weight.
The Group sat at the table and started to talk.
The air in the house felt thick, as though the walls themselves were holding their breath. Violet sat down, her blueberry scent filling the room like a memory they couldn’t place. She clutched a mug of something steamy and smelled like chamomile, though Mira doubted it was just chamomile.
Franklin adjusted his glasses, tapping his fingers against the table.
"So, when was the last time you talked with Jack?" Tim asked, his voice soft with concern. He carefully picked up the half-eaten sandwich on the workbench and inspected the *For the Dead* label with fascination. "This is interesting. Was this part of some kind of ritual?"
Violet’s fingers tightened around the mug until her knuckles turned milk-white. A single tear welled up in the corner of her eye and trickled down her blue cheek, leaving a faint purple streak. "Three days ago," she whispered. "He said he was going to check out a lead."
Mira felt a cold prickle run down her spine.
"Does that have anything to do with his claims in his book?" Tim Asked.
"What do you mean, Tim?" Tasha Asked
"Didn't you read it? He said that he thinks he knew the method of how a human being becomes a ghost." Tim replied, throwing the rotten sandwich onto the table.
A puff of ancient dust rose like a tiny dust devil. "I mean, he wrote about it in his book. How to Become a Ghost: The Complete Field Guide for the Living."
Mira groaned and rubbed her temples. "That was a joke, Tim. Jack’s ‘field guide’ was just a satire on New Age mysticism. He was roasting charlatans who sell hope like it’s a product."
Violet’s shoulders trembled. "No," she said, her voice so quiet it might have been the house itself speaking. "He wasn’t joking. Not this time."
Tasha leaned forward, her tattoos twisting under the dim kitchen light.
"Anyone else feel like we're being watched?" Franklin asked.
The LED bulb flickered again, casting sharp shadows across her scarred eyebrow. "Violet, you're telling me Jack's serious about this ghost nonsense now?"
Violet nodded, a tear slipping into the corner of her mouth. "He's always been into the paranormal, but you know he's discovered ghosts are real. I don't think he's bluffing, I think he genuinely thinks he knows how, too."
Violet whispered, her voice trembling like a dying ember.
"I- Okay, what is that feeling, I feel like we're being watched." Tasha said, looking around the room.
Her voice was low and even, but Mira heard the tension coiled tightly under her words. She shifted in her seat, her eyes scanning the kitchen, taking in the half-brewed potions and the chalkboard scribbled with sigils. Something felt off. Too quiet. Too still.
The attack came from behind, Mira felt it leap upon her back. In a flash of teeth and claws, the velociraptor had gotten the jump on her, and was licking her face, and begging for pets.
"Golf! What's gotten into you?!?" Mira cried through the laughter , swatting at the scaly creature draped over her shoulders. The velociraptor—whom Jack had inexplicably named Golf—wriggled between her protests, its tiny claws kneading her back like a cat. Its breath smelled faintly of tuna and regret.
Mira rubbed its bony skull between her fingers while it purred like a lawnmower with asthma. Behind her, the others froze mid-conversation.
"I'm sure Golf's been anxious since Jack left, and has been waiting for familiar faces to give him attention." Tim said, reaching over and rubbing the turkey sized dino's back.
"He probably just wants pets and snacks. He's a good boy. Aren't you Golf?"
The velociraptor chirped and butted its head against Tim's chest, nearly knocking him over.
Franklin adjusted his glasses with the tip of his pen, eyeing the creature warily. "I read somewhere that velociraptors weren't feathered. Scientifically inaccurate."
Tasha crossed her arms. "Jack named a murder-bird Golf because it reminded him of his golf swing. His sense of humor is stuck somewhere between 12 and forever."
Violet wiped fresh tears from her cheeks, her expression flickering between amusement and dread. "No, it's because it's the NATO assignment for the letter G. Why G? No idea." Violet wiped her eyes and exhaled slowly, the blueberry scent in the air intensifying as she did. "He set it up years ago when we first met. Said it made more sense than actual names."
Mira scratched Golf behind the left ear where Jack had once clipped on a tiny bell. The velociraptor shuddered with pleasure, its claws curling like a cat’s paws.
"Well, did Jack mention any location, specifically? You said something about a lead."
"Well, sort of, he mentioned a haunted jet fighter, oh, what was it, a Sabre, in, Proctor Minnesota, I think." Violet said, the stress starting to build.
Her voice was starting to tremble. "He said it was in a junkyard outside of town. But he didn’t say more than that."
A silence settled over the group. The kitchen seemed darker suddenly, the shadows deeper. The LED bulb flickered again, longer this time, as though something had breathed against it from the inside. Violet's skin darkened as she started to fill with blueberry juice.
Tasha exhaled sharply through her nose, her dragon tattoos rippling with the motion. "Proctor’s what, a four-hour drive? We leave now."
Franklin cleared his throat, tapping his pen against his chin.
"Proctor, Minnesota. Home of the legendary 'Ghost Sabre,' a vintage F-86 Sabre jet supposedly haunted by the pilot who died in a training accident back in the '50s."
Tim adjusted his glasses, eyes widening. "Isn’t that the one from *Project Blue Book*? The case that was never officially solved?"
Mira’s hand, still resting on Golf’s scaly back, tightened slightly. "Jack’s obssession with unsolved mysteries is cute until one of us has to explain to his parents why he vanished into thin air," she muttered. But her tone lacked its usual edge—something about Violet’s hollow eyes made the words taste like ash.
Golf whined, pressing his snout against her arm as if sensing the shift in her.
Franklin leaned back in his chair, the legs creaking ominously. "Or," he said, tapping his pen against his chin, "it’s a glamour. A ghost story Jack cooked up to lure us into something else. Something worse."
Tasha shot him a look. "You worry too much. If we don’t go now, we might lose the trail. If Jack’s onto something real—"
"Or if he’s walking into a trap," Mira finished, her voice tight. Violet's face was filled with a look of pure worry. Stress had a queer effect on Violet. Anytime she got overly stressed, her body would start to produce blueberry juice, causing her to swell and grow.
It was a very inconvenient trait, especially in high-stress situations. Mira felt Golf tense up beside her, his tiny claws digging into her shoulder as though preparing for flight. The velociraptor’s ears twitched, nostrils flaring, and Mira knew without a doubt that something was wrong.
A low, rhythmic thumping began to echo from somewhere inside the house—a sound like a slow, deliberate heartbeat. The group fell instantly silent, their eyes darting toward the source. The thumping grew louder, closer, vibrating through the floorboards beneath their feet. Tim gulped, his flamingo shirt fluttering as he took an involuntary step back. "Uh... guys?" he squeaked.
Violet started to swell, her body inflating like a balloon.
A blueberry scent filled the room stronger, overwhelming the burnt sage and stale coffee. Mira watched in horror as Violet’s hands trembled, and the jar-like skin of her arms expanded. Tasha was the first to move, rushing over to Violet's side, her expression a mix of concern and frustration.
“Violet, focus! You’re swelling because you’re panicking!” Tasha instructed firmly, grabbing Violet’s shoulders and forcing eye contact. “Breathe, damn it!”
Violet’s teary eyes met Tasha’s, and she nodded rapidly, taking a deep breath through her nose. Slowly, the swelling began to slow, her skin returning to its normal, luminous blue hue. She sat there, gazing over her slightly swollen body, her belly, butt and breasts were all plush and filled with blueberry juice. As inconvenient as it was, the blueberry inflation was also calming and a bit sexy, she thought. especially in her white bikini.
Jack had gotten it for her years ago at some beach resort in Florida, saying it was the only thing that looked good against her skin. He hadn’t predicted she’d start leaking whenever she panicked.
Tim blinked rapidly behind his thick lenses, his voice cracking. "Is she—is she okay?"
Tasha kept one hand on Violet’s shoulder while using the other to pinch the bridge of her nose. "She’s fine. Just stressed. The swelling’s stopping."
Violet exhaled shakily, her breath smelling like warm pancakes now that her panic was easing. "I’m fine. Really. I'm just gonna lie down, I'm no use in this way. Go see what you can find. Come Golf." Violet said, wobbling away from the table. Franklin and Tim getting plenty of glimpses of her swollen ass as she waddled away.
"Well, How long does it take to go from Wisconsin Dells, to Proctor?" Tasha asked, grabbing her keys and jacket from the couch without ceremony.
Mira exhaled through her nose, still rubbing Golf’s scruff between her fingers. The velociraptor had burrowed into her side like a furry scarf, purring loudly enough to rattle the jars of "preserved memories" on the shelf. "Depends on traffic," she said. "And whether we stop for gas. Or snacks. Or gas AND snacks."