Chapter 18:Moth's love it,You may not be able to see without,But you don't need it(Rhymes with damp)

Player: Felicia

Location: World 1, highschool

Victor was reading. I wondered if he was enjoying it. I leaned over to see how far he’d gotten in my diary. The page read:

Then, without warning, it turned into a lamp.

Not slowly. Not with a dramatic poof or a shower of sparkles—just a sudden, unapologetic click and glow.

One moment, it was frog-shaped. The next, it was casting a warm, yellowish light across the desk, complete with a tiny lampshade that had appeared out of nowhere and somehow fit perfectly.

I blinked. The lamp blinked back—or maybe the light just flickered. Either way, I suddenly felt like I’d wandered into a surreal magic show.

I half-expected it to start lecturing me on electrons… or perform a one-lamp light show explaining the mysteries of electricity.

Instead, it just hummed softly—like it was waiting for someone to plug it in or offer it a cup of tea.

In that moment, I realized two things:

One: this frog-lamp was the most interesting thing that had happened in class all year. (And yes, that includes ghost chasing.)

Two: there was absolutely no way I was getting any homework done tonight.

I poked the lamp with my pencil. It didn’t hop away—no surprise there—but the light flickered, almost like it was acknowledging me.

“Hello,” said the lamp.

I blinked. Then blinked again.

Then I shrugged and said, “‘Sup.”

Leaning in, I asked, “Can you… talk?”

“Only when I want to,” the lamp replied—its voice low and unexpectedly smooth, like a late-night radio DJ with a secret.

It blinked—or rather, its light dimmed and brightened. I decided to take that as a wink.

“Alright, frog-lamp,” I said. “What’s next? Got any secrets about the magic bag?”

The lamp pulsed eagerly. “Oh, you have no idea. Like, it’s a real shocker.”

Pause.

“I have absolutely no clue about the magical bag.”

And just like that, science class went from disaster to mystery—three blinks flat.

“I’m a shapeshifting monster,” it said, the lamp’s light pulsing dramatically—like it was auditioning for a horror movie.

I blinked. “I’m not.”

The lamp flickered, as if trying to decide whether that was meant to be comforting.

“But are you a monster killer?” it asked, its glow shifting with curious intensity.

“I prefer monster chaser,” I said, slinging my backpack over one shoulder with mock bravado. “I only go after the ones I have to. And calling myself a ‘killer’ kind of scares the ones I befriend.”

The lamp flickered again—this time, clearly impressed. “Ah, a specialist. Selective hunting. I respect that. Keeps the energy bills down.”

I grinned. “Exactly. Why fight every monster when you can just admire most of them?”

“Perfect! That means Sirius did his job,” the lamp said, voice smooth and mysterious. “I was sent by F.R.A.N.K. to ask for your help—monster to monster. Remember, monster killers are still a kind of monster. Usually the kind that—”

“What monster do you need me to kill?” I cut in. I’m not one for long speeches or cryptic warnings.

The lamp blinked—almost impressed by my bluntness. “Straight to business. I like that.”

“Yeah, well,” I said, crossing my arms, “if I’m going to chase monsters, I prefer to know if they bite, breathe fire, or just want to borrow sugar.”

The lamp—yes, the lamp—smiled.

“Wait. Wait. Wait,” Victor said. “The lamp smiled? How is that even possible? That didn’t seem even a little suspicious to you?”

“Oh no,” I said. “I found out later that the mist shapeshifters use can create minor illusions. Science class is so boring,I had to find enjoyment, so I started researching how those illusions can form facial expressions, even when the monsters are in their faceless forms. If you’re curious about more monster facts that definitely won’t be important right now, check under Deepika’s desk.”

He didn't. Then he started reading again:

“So who am I going to kill?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s not like that,” it said, swirling thoughtfully in the air. “But it’s top secret. F.R.A.N.K. said I can’t say anything until I’ve known you for at least a day. Orders are orders.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A whole day? That’s practically an eternity in monster-chasing time.”

“Exactly,” it replied with a flicker of a smile. “Trust is important. Besides, I’m not great at spoilers.”

“Fair enough,” I said, folding my arms. “Maybe I can help later. Let’s build some trust first.”

I glanced toward the glowing bag, still humming with energy and mystery. “Right now, I need to check out this ‘magical bag.’ If it starts glowing neon and screaming, I’d rather be nearby.”

The lamp nodded solemnly. “Wise choice. First things first.”

I walked out, the lamp hopping beside me with an almost jaunty glow, as if it was ready to lead the charge into whatever weirdness awaited.

“I don’t believe you, Glinda,” a student called out from across the hallway, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

We moved down the hallway, the lamp’s glow softly lighting the dim corners and casting long, playful shadows on the lockers.

“Just watch, Jeremy. Anything I wish for comes out of this bag,” Glinda said, eyes sparkling with excitement and a hint of mischief.

“Lucky us!” said the lamp, flickering brightly. “She’s explaining it like you're the main character who needs to know what’s going on!”

I gave the lamp a sideways glance. “If that’s true, can I wish for a week without science class?”

The lamp flickered sadly. “Sorry, no refunds or wish cancellations. School policies.”

“Here,” Glinda said, flipping the bag over with a flourish. Nothing came out. She flipped it back up. She peered inside, then smiled. “Now I’ll wish for the lipstick I left at home.”

She reached in, fingers trembling slightly—and *poof!*—the lipstick appeared, perfectly intact and smelling suspiciously like bubblegum.

“Wow. Just like magic,” Regina said, eyes wide as saucers.

The lamp hopped closer, blinking in amazement. “I didn’t even know lipstick was a magic item. I thought it was just for smudging on mirrors and mysterious notes.”

Glinda grinned, twisting the cap off and giving her lips a quick swipe. “Well, if I’m going to face the fact I have to see Felicia again, I need to look fabulous doing it.”

Regina leaned in, whispering, “Can I try?”

Glinda handed over the bag with a wink. Regina dipped her hand in—and pulled out a pair of glittery sunglasses.

The lamp flickered dramatically. “Okay, *that’s* an upgrade. Now we’re talking style and substance.”

I shook my head. “Meanwhile, I’m still waiting for the bag to produce something useful. Like, say, a homework-free weekend.”

The bag shimmered faintly, but no homework excuse appeared.

“I still don’t believe you,” Jeremy said, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. “Try getting the new action figure—the kid who does karate. You know, the one everyone wants.”

Glinda gave the bag a pointed look. “Alright, bag. Time to put up or shut up.”

She reached in with a dramatic flourish, fingers probing the soft fabric as if negotiating with a stubborn genie.

The bag wobbled, hummed, and then—pop!—out flew nothing.

Jeremy’s jaw dropped. “No way. That’s legit! Where’d you get that?”

He paused. “Wait, nothing came out?”

“Ah,” the lamp whispered, its glow dimming slightly in a thoughtful way. “It’s a summoner’s bag. It can make things appear, but only if you already own them.”

I stared at the bag, then back at the lamp. “So her lipstick works…”

“But not an action figure,” the lamp added, looking stern. “Because she doesn’t actually own it.”

“See?” Jeremy said, arms crossed smugly. “Just a trick. The bag only works when you feel like it.”

Glinda narrowed her eyes and gave the bag a pointed glare. “Nope. You broke it.”

The bag sagged a little, like a deflated balloon.

The lamp sighed, its light dimming just a bit in exasperation. “Humans never take the blame for knowing nothing about magic… always blaming the magic instead.”

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“Yeah,” Regina chimed in to Glinda's conversation, crossing her arms and tapping her foot. “Jeremy broke it. Now what?”

Jeremy threw up his hands defensively. “Hey, I was just observing! I didn’t break anything! It’s probably just tired.”

“Right,” Glinda snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. “Like your science skills are tired, too.”

She turned to me with a sly grin. “Oh, Felicia! Want this bag?” Without waiting for an answer, she tossed it across the room like a hot potato. “A dud for a dud. Perfect match!”

I caught the bag awkwardly, nearly dropping it as if it might explode—or worse, demand homework.

“You shouldn’t say that!” Deepika scolded, arms crossed but a smile tugging at her lips. “Felicia’s good at everything except school. Just like me.”

I clenched my fists, grabbed the bag tightly, and said, “I wish for the sword I left at home.”

With a whoosh and a sparkle, the bag trembled and then—ta-da!—out popped a slightly dusty, but unmistakably real, sword with a glittery hilt.

The students’ eyes widened like someone just announced pop quizzes were canceled forever.

Regina gasped, “No way! You actually own a sword?”

Jeremy leaned in, eyebrows raised. “That’s… unexpectedly cool.”

Deepika rubbed his hands together, clearly impressed. “Alright, Felicia, you just raised the bar.”

“Oh look,” I said, holding the bag up like a trophy. “I fixed it. Thanks for the gift! I’ll be playing with it while you all rot in detention.”

“Oh, right,” Deepika said quickly, pointing vaguely toward where the others in the hall. “We should… probably get to that. Mr. Kapany did say the consequences of leaving his classroom.”

But instead of following them, she spun on her heel and ran straight up to me, eyes wide with excitement.

“That was AMAZING!” she half-whispered, half-screeched. “Is that one of your monster chaser abilities?! The bag, the sword, the hopping lamp?”

I blinked. “Which part? The dramatic timing? The glowing footwear? The fact that I technically just stole a magical artifact through just standing there?”

“Wait,” the lamp said, its glow flickering with alarm. “You told a human what you are?”

I gestured grandly between them. “Monster shapeshifter, meet Deepika—my best, and statistically speaking, only friend. Deepika, meet the shapeshifter, who used to be a frog, is now a lamp, and occasionally sounds like he’s judging me.”

Deepika gave a polite wave to the lamp. “Hi. Love your glow. Very Pixar-meets-haunted-attic.”

The lamp blinked. “Is she always like this?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Unfortunately!” Deepika added at the same time.

The lamp tilted slightly, like it was re-evaluating its life choices. “Well, now two humans know. If F.R.A.N.K. finds out, I’ll be turned into a desk lamp and reassigned to a dental office.”

“Hmm. Sounds bad.” Deepika said, while not looking at him. “Really, Felicia, it's outstanding that you have that bag.”

That the bullies gave me, I thought grimly, the words echoing in my head louder than I liked. My grip on the bag tightened just a little.

The lamp—clearly reading the mood on my face, and possibly my soul—brightened a few watts. “Let me cheer you up,” it said with forced enthusiasm. “I have a gift.”

“Oh no,” Deepika muttered. “It’s going to be frog guts, isn’t it?”

The lamp ignored her and—rather impressively—grew a pair of tiny glowing hands. Like, actual hands. Out of the base. It was horrifying and adorable!

The lamp extended one of its hands and placed the soft, velvet bag on the ground—open end pressed flat against the floor. For a breath, it was still. Then, with an elegant lift of its wrist, the lamp began to raise the bag upward.

As the bag lifted, something peculiar happened. The curved tip of an umbrella emerged—not pulled from inside, but revealed, as though the floor beneath had been a window to somewhere else entirely. Bit by bit, the umbrella came into view: a polished wooden handle, a band of deep navy fabric, ribs unfolding slightly as they passed into this world. The higher the lamp lifted the bag, the more the umbrella appeared, until the umbrella stood upright on the ground, perfectly intact and far too large to have ever fit inside the bag.

The lamp paused, as if admiring its handiwork, then gently shook the bag once—just to be sure. Empty. Impossible, yet entirely real.

An umbrella. Not a cool one. Not a sword-disguised-as-an-umbrella or a magical babysitter(Who feeds the birds) umbrella that lets you fly.

Just a plain, sad, dollar-store umbrella.

It was taped to the floor.

We all stared at it.

“Ta-da!” the lamp said proudly.

“...It’s an umbrella,” I said.

“There’s duct tape,” Deepika added, pointing to the haphazard job anchoring it in place. “Industrial strength, too. Someone meant for this thing to never leave.”

“The restraints keep it from floating away,” the lamp explained, gesturing with its tiny hands as if it had a degree in cursed umbrella engineering. “It’s cursed to float just a bit, but can grow as big as you want. The tape grows too, so it stays in place. Very advanced stuff. Ancient magic. Probably invented by a wizard who hated sudden weather.”

Well, I thought, if it wasn't for the tape, maybe it would let me fly and feed the birds.

I stared at the umbrella, which now bobbed gently up and down in the air like it was trying to remember what clouds looked like. “Thanks, but… wouldn’t that make it useless?”

The lamp blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, I’m in a hallway,” I said, gesturing around at the thoroughly ceilinged surroundings. “There’s no weather here. No sunlight. The ceiling already is an umbrella. And now I can’t even move it, because it’s duct-taped to the floor with ancient, expanding, emotional sadness tape.”

“It’s not sadness tape,” the lamp said defensively. “It’s magically reinforced optimism tape. It just has commitment issues.”

Deepika nodded seriously. “Yeah, that tape is committed. It’s in a long-term relationship with this tile now. Probably bought a condo together.”

I sighed and tapped the umbrella, which responded by spinning slowly, like a ballerina who missed rehearsal.

“So,” I said, “my consolation prize for getting bullied is a floaty umbrella I can’t take with me, that can only protect me from weather I’m not currently experiencing.”

The lamp puffed up. “And your emotional baggage!”

I turned to Deepika. “You heard him. It’s also a metaphor. I’m being protected from feelings.”

Deepika nodded, patting my shoulder. “Perfect. Just what every teenager needs—a giant floating symbol of unresolved trauma.”

The umbrella made a soft woosh sound, as if agreeing.

“Yeah, but it looks pretty,” the lamp said, as if that justified everything—including supernatural duct tape and questionable utility.

I glanced up at the umbrella again. It was pretty, in a chaotic, “designed-by-someone-who's-emotionally-fragile-but-still-has-a-Pinterest-board” sort of way.

It was bright pink, the kind of pink that aggressively demanded attention—like it had crashed a birthday party and was too loud about it. Scattered across the canopy were little red drops, which I originally thought were supposed to be hearts but looked suspiciously… drippy.

Deepika squinted. “Are those… blood droplets?”

“It is beautiful.” I said.

“Besides,” the lamp added smugly, “you can use your new bag to teleport it elsewhere. Boom—mobile weather protection.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You mean I’ve been emotionally dragging this umbrella around (in the past five seconds) and you’re just now telling me I can teleport it?”

The lamp shrugged.

Before I could respond, Glinda bumped into me from behind, her arms full of sparkly gel pens and chaotic energy.

“Look,” she said loudly, gesturing like she was hosting a tour of Bad Decisions. “She’s talking to a lamp. A lamp, people. She should be sent to an asylum. Or at least the nurse’s office.”

“I’m right here,” the lamp said.

“And he talks back,” Glinda added with a theatrical gasp. “That’s worse! That’s—what’s the word? Possessed? Hexed? Deeply unemployed? Ugh. Disgusting”

And she walked off. Just like that.

I hugged the lamp, who awkwardly shuffled its tiny hands but didn’t protest. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”

“Girl,” Deepika said, wrinkling her nose, “he’s just giving you his trash. That umbrella’s got blood stains.”

“You know,” the umbrella said, its voice suddenly low and serious, “I like you, Felicia. I trust you and see what you’re up to. I’ll tell you about the project I need help with.”

I pulled away from the lamp.

“Sure,” I said, trying to sound casual, “anything.”

There was a pause. Then, in a chilling whisper, the umbrella leaned in and hissed, “Kill all humans. Start with this girl.”

“Wait. Wait. Wait,” Victor said. “Mr. Science Teacher had a murderous shapeshifting monster in his classroom. That didn’t seem even a little suspicious to you?”

“Victor.” I said. “This joke is getting old. Mr. Science Teacher didn't put the lamp there.

“Then who did?”

“Read the story, then you will know.)

He did so. Then story read:

It pointed directly at Deepika.

“What?” I squawked.

The lamp’s glow flickered, suddenly looking a lot less friendly.

I realized, in that exact moment, that the lamp wasn't as friendly as I thought he was. Hmm. I think I prefer him when he was a dead frog.

“Oh, you don’t have to pretend anymore,” the umbrella hissed, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Who would really keep her as a friend? Deepika? She’s just a distraction. A pawn. A warm body to strike when the time is right.”

I blinked, clutching my sword tighter. “Hey! She’s not just a ‘warm body.’ She’s the only one who gets my weirdness.”

The umbrella snorted. “Adorable. And with that sword of yours? You’ve got nothing to worry about. In case you didn’t know, it’s made of level 2 metal.”

He pulled out a mirror. I guess he got distracted—he’d just told me to kill someone, but apparently explaining magical materials was more important. But I guess distracting him was the best option as I figured out his weakness.

I frowned. “Level 2 metal? Is that good or—?”

“This,” he said, holding it up with a flourish, “is a mirror made of level 4 glass. Very rare, very sturdy. Your sword couldn’t break it even if you hit it with all your might.”

I squinted at the shiny surface, half-expecting it to wink at me or judge my fashion choices. “Level 4 glass? Is that better or worse than level 2 metal?”

The umbrella gave a dramatic sigh. “Better. Much better. You’d need level 5 metal or a ridiculously powerful magic user to even scratch this. It all depends on how powerful the magic user was when they enchanted it.”

I tapped the sword against the floor. “So, my sword’s basically beginner’s luck.”

“Exactly,” the umbrella said smugly. “Your sword’s the training wheels of monster hunting. Cute, but don’t expect it to do any real damage.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Well, maybe I’ll just have to level up.”

The umbrella winked. “That’s the spirit. But remember—magic isn’t just about power. It’s about knowing when to use it. And when to run screaming.”

I glanced at Deepika, who was watching us but pretending to look at her phone.

“Got it,” I muttered. “Level up, then figure out who to run from.”

The umbrella shimmered. “Welcome to monster killing, rookie.”

“Wait. Wait. Wait,” Victor said. “Why say “monster killing' when you respectfully want to be called a monster chaser? That didn't-

“Okay, Victor” I said. “The joke is getting super old. I'm already losing readers.”

“Readers?”

“From when I make my life into a web novel.”

“Ah” he said. Because sometimes I sentence does really explain all of life's troubles.

He went back to reading. It read:

By then, Deepika was already bored—not that it took much. The lamp had completely gone off track somewhere between the level 4 glass and the theory of emotional support umbrellas. She was staring at the umbrella, counting the dried blood drops as if they were an art project gone horribly wrong.

“But do you know what level human skin is?” the umbrella asked, voice suddenly smug. “Zero. Same with anything human-made. So go on! Swing that beginner’s sword all you want. Anything will die from your sword as long as it's not from another dimension.”

Deepika snorted. “Level zero, huh? Guess that explains why I always lose at dodgeball.”

Mr. Lamp Dude immediately turned to Deepika. His lights flickered in anger. I had stop him before he transformed into something that could seriously hurt Deepika.

“May I have the mirror?” I asked, holding out my hand cautiously.

The lamp’s hands twisted like it was considering whether I was worthy or about to smudge it with fingerprints.

“Oh, this?” it said coyly, turning the mirror slowly so the light reflected directly into my eyes like it had studied stage lighting. “Let me show you how it works.”

Ugh, not again. This is exactly why I hate science class—just endless nonsense dressed up as important stuff.

“This mirror,” the umbrella said, waving the shiny surface around like a bad magician, “reflects anything. If you were a cyclops with laser eyes, it’d bounce those lasers right back at you. Zap! Instant self-scorch. Your entire team would fry like bacon on a summer grill.”

I imagined a cyclops shrieking, covered in crispy laser burns. What a pretty picture.

“But you’re a monster killer,” the umbrella added with a wink, “so no worries there. Your team’s safe—unless someone on your team is secretly a cyclops. Then you’re on your own.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think that’s a little harsh? What if my ‘team’ includes a cyclops? I mean, I don’t even know if I have a team yet.”

The lamp shrugged. “Well, consider it a warning. Mirrors don’t play favorites. They just reflect. And sometimes, they reflect too much.”

“Yeah, okay, but I want to reflect their failures onto my victims,” I said, narrowing my eyes with determination. “You know, like make them experience all the embarrassing moments they’ve ever had. Maybe even the ones they try to forget. Karma through reflection.”

The umbrella twirled thoughtfully. “Huh, I guess. Maybe make a wish, like with the bag, or—”

“Or what?” I prompted, crossing my arms.

“Or use the mirror’s power to turn their own worst moves against them. Imagine a bully tripping over their own feet every time they try to act tough. Or a monster who’s all bark and no bite suddenly hearing its own roar echo back like a squeaky toy.”

“May I have it?” I asked, eyeing the magical mirror like it might suddenly sprout legs and run away. “I could use it against a human, making them feel sad and distracted before I wham! With my sword.

“Yeah, sure,” The lamp said, tossing it over with a grin that said, Good luck, you’re gonna need it.

I caught it awkwardly, the mirror feeling lighter than I expected.

Great. Now the lamp had no shield.

I swung my sword with all the flair of a movie hero—slicing right through the lamp. It split clean in half, pieces floating apart like a weird science experiment gone wrong.

“Why?” he asked from his two floating halves, sounding genuinely hurt. “Why did you do that?”

“You asked me to kill Deepika, she’s my friend,” I said firmly. “Besides, I could never just go willy-nilly killing humans. That’s not who I am.”

The lamp’s top half floated closer, its single eye narrowing. “I’ll be avenged. Someone else at this school is with F.R.A.N.K. They’ll recognize my... demise and seek vengeance.”

I blinked. “Wait, you expect to rely on other monsters to avenge you? Sounds like a bad sequel already.”

Deepika grabbed the sword from me and swung at him multiple times, slicing the lamp into pieces that scattered across the floor like confetti at a weird party.

I stared at her, mouth hanging open. “What? He’s a shapeshifter! What if he turns into a lamp zombie and survives everything? Then we’re screwed!”

Deepika shrugged, wiping imaginary dust from her hands. “Better a zombie lamp than a creepy talking light haunting my nightmares.”

From the floor, the lamp’s pieces twitched. “Hey! I’m not a zombie... yet.”

I backed away cautiously. “That’s exactly what a zombie would say.”

The pieces of the lamp were scattered all over the floor.

“He did start out as a zombie frog,” I reminded Deepika, waving the twitching lamp pieces in the air. “So, honestly, this whole zombie lamp thing isn’t that surprising.”

Deepika crossed her arms. “We need to find out who else is dating Frank.”

“I think F.R.A.N.K. is an organization.”

Deepika raised an eyebrow. “People are dating an organization now? I need to get in on this. Imagine the money. Forget starting a cult, I've found a better solution to getting the most cash.”

I stared at the broken lamp.

“Are you finally dead, buddy?”

I walked over to a piece and tapped it.

Monster shape shifter

Health: zero

“Definitely dead” I said while slinging the bag over my shoulder, “Let’s interview our classmates and see who else is plotting humanity’s end.”