>>56741712Alright anons, I'll tell you a story from primary school about a kid I used to know. Jamie, the "Cyndaquil Kid." Always in that worn Cyndaquil hoodie, with a plushie clutched tightly in his hands. His room was a chaotic shrine of drawings and toys, plus this creepy Pokémon Crystal cartridge he claimed was haunted. The kid smelled awful, like stale cigarettes, and we joked that his mom put them out on him. He had this unsettling vibe, the kind that made you think he might end up in jail someday. Just a massive nerd who wasn’t great to be around.
One day at the playground, Jamie approached us, excitement bubbling over. He managed to convince us to check out the abandoned shed nearby. Inside, the air was thick and musty. He fired up his Game Boy, and Cyndaquil appeared on the screen, its eyes glowing in a way that felt wrong. Whispers started, low and creepy, almost like distorted Pokémon cries. The atmosphere felt suffocating, like being trapped with a kid who was too far gone. Jamie was completely absorbed, mumbling about summoning some kind of spirit.
Then shadows began shifting around us, moving like Cyndaquil but twisted. We freaked out and bolted, but Jamie just stood there, laughing like it was all a joke. I still hear that laugh sometimes. Now, I can’t even look at Cyndaquil without thinking of that day. The last time I saw that cartridge, it lay in the grass, burned and warped, like it had absorbed something dark. Just typical for a kid who took his Pokémon obsession way too far and had the vibe of someone who would never quite fit in.
