FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

CW: Suicide, transphobia

I wake up in your body. I can tell it's not mine before I even open your eyes because your weight, temperature, pace of breathing, and a million other qualities are different than what I'm used to. Not in a bad way - just different.

I try to remember how I got here, but nothing comes. In fact, I can't remember anything from before. That's disconcerting, but I'll figure it out. I don't want to stay here, and I'm sure you want to get your body back too.

Leaving the bed, I look around at the grungy dorm room I've found myself in. Your clothes are all over the floor, your textbooks and scrawled notes cover the desk, and the smell of liquor wafts from a plastic water bottle on your bedside table. You're kind of a mess, huh?

Since you sleep naked, the mirror hanging on the door shows me everything. Hope you don't mind. Your soft fur is gray with cream-colored chest and hair, your long ears are droopy with sleep, and you've got a pair of muscular legs over big padless stompers. When I open your muzzle, I see a pair of long buck teeth. Those are going to take some getting used to - I can't stop running your tongue over them.

You've got the vibes of a shy twink who doesn't know how hot they are. I can't help wondering what it would be like to play with your cock, even though it would feel wrong to do so. Your body instantly gets excited at the thought, just like I'd expect from your typically high-libido species.

Your student ID hangs on a hook above the mirror. Studying it, I learn your name is Kairo, you use "they/them" pronouns, and you go to Fathom University. The name is familiar - it's a college in Ann Arbor known for paranormal studies. In the photo, your fur is shiny and you're smiling bright, your long ears so perked up that they're out of frame - quite a contrast to the disheveled bunny in the mirror.

Your drawers are empty, so I guess all your clean clothes are somewhere on the floor. I find a few things that pass the sniff test, but they're barely acceptable to go out in. These faded jeans barely fit you, and these ratty graphic tees should have been thrown out a decade ago. It's probably not my place to say it, but you're too hot to dress this bad.

After putting together the most acceptable outfit I can, I head out. Checking your phone, I see that it's 7:30 a.m. Based on the early wake-up time, the smell of liquor in your room, and the slight nausea I feel, I conclude you were drinking last night - probably alone. As strange as this situation is, I have to admit there's a thrill in playing detective.

It's a brisk November morning. The dawn shines on fresh-fallen snow, unplowed and unmarked by pawprints. Everything is new and clean, all made of the same gentle curves of white, and the branches on the trees are sheathed with ice that glitters in the low sun. There is an otherworldly beauty here, but the beads of water forming below the branches tell me it won't last.

Your long footpaws make easy work of the snow and, as I follow the sidewalk to the end of the street, I look up at the red brick student housing I pass. Somewhere inside must be friends of yours, or enemies, or lovers, or fuckbuddies, or some combination of those descriptors. If I can get in touch with some of them, I can find out what you were up to last night that might have pulled me in and figure out a way to reverse it. As a Fathom student, you're probably studying ghost stuff, so maybe this is some class project gone wrong.

Guided by instinct, I turn right on Madison St and the warm smell of coffee hits your sensitive, twitching nose. The 24-Hour Starlight Diner sits just at the edge of campus, a retro chrome and neon building whose promise of greasy burgers and bacon at all hours undoubtedly pulls in dozens of drunken students every night. Your mouth waters at the thought, and I realize how hungry you are.

A bell above the door rings when I go in, and for some reason your body floods with adrenaline when a server at the counter looks over. It seems like you have some bad social anxiety. Pushing past it, I gesture to a booth by the window and she nods.

When she drops off the menu, I ask what is probably a weird question. "Was I here last night?"

"Sounds like someone partied a little too hard," the beagle laughs. "Finals stress, baby?"

"Something like that."

"Well, I wasn't working last night, so I couldn't say. But if you did, I'm glad you decided to come back."

"Of course. It smells amazing."

I order coffee and a plate of bacon and eggs. She gives me an odd look, and, remembering what species you are, I amend the order.

"Um, actually I'll take the pancakes and some veggie sausage."

That satisfies her, and soon enough I have a hot cup of coffee to wrap my paws around. Outside, students start to trudge their way through the snow to their early classes, carving trenches which will make it easier for the next students to follow.

That thought sets something off in me, and your eyes water. Maybe it's the stress of this experience catching up with me, but I don't think so - actually, I feel happy. Everything feels real - the warmth and smell of the coffee, the contrasting chill that emanates from the window, the pop song playing from the overhead speakers, the weight of your body against the vinyl seat, the linoleum under your footpaws. Mundane sensations, but sensations nonetheless.

"Kai!" someone calls. I look up and see a mouse boy and a skunk girl making their way toward me. They must see my teary eyes, because they hesitate before sitting down, frowning.

"Everything okay, Kai?" the skunk asks.

"I'm not Kairo," I blurt.

"Huh?"

"I don't know who I am, exactly, but I'm not Kairo. I just woke up in their body this morning."

"Uh-oh," the mouse says. "Zoey, do you still have that loaner Trifield meter from Professor Karroway's class?"

The skunk, Zoey, pulls out a gray box and runs it over me. The server watches suspiciously, which makes sense since there's no non-suspicious explanation for this. Fortunately, Zoey finishes taking her readings quickly.

"It's a possession," she concludes. "Someone else is definitely in there."

If I'm a ghost, that would explain why everything feels so vivid - I probably haven't felt anything in a long time.

"Should we call the police?" the mouse asks. He says it quietly, as though your huge ears wouldn't be able to hear him across the narrow table.

"It doesn't seem dangerous. It wouldn't have revealed itself if it was."

Turning to me, Jay says, "Regardless, you've got to go, man." He checks the time on his phone. "And you've got to do it soon, because we've got a Phasmology final in an hour."

As much as I don't want to give this all up, they're right. It's your body and you should get it back.

"All right," I say. "Give me a second."

Unsure how to go about this, I try closing your eyes and shutting out everything around me, separating myself from the sensations of your body. Starting at the digits of your footpaws and working my way up, I begin to surrender territory, each inch of your body blinking out of my awareness as I go. It's working, I think.

Then you pull me back. Your heavy hand soars out of the darkness, grabs me hard enough to rip the air from my lungs, and your eyes fly open as I snap back into your body.

"I, uh, don't think they want to let me go," I say.

Your friends share a worried look. Zoey mouths something to Jay, of which I can only make out "-by ghost?"

"In any case, that's a problem," the skunk says. "If we tell anyone about this, they'll have you arrested and the police will perform an exorcism. But if Kairo wants you to stay, an exorcism would be dangerous - both identities could end up fragmented."

"Yeah..." Jay says. "And Kairo has enough going on right now, mentally, to handle that."

Before I can ask what the mouse means, the server arrives with my plate.

Jay says to her, "I'll take the veggie poutine, side of hash browns, and some toast." When she leaves, Zoey shoots him a scornful look. "What?" he protests. "I'm supposed to starve because Kairo's in trouble? My brain needs the calories before the final."

To get us back on track, I say, "What do we do?"

Zoey sighs. "The two of you will naturally separate on your own, so I guess we just wait it out. In the meantime, you need an excuse to skip the final. Unless you've memorized the ten categories of poltergeist?"

I definitely haven't. "Can't I just say Kairo is sick?"

"That won't work. Professor Archer is a serious hardass," Jay says.

"Well, I'll figure something out."

Your stomach is too empty for me to resist the food in front of me, so I dig in. I feel like crying again when the rich veggie butter and sweet syrup hits your tongue.

"What should we call you, anyway?" Jay asks.

I pause eating for a moment. Despite the amnesia, I can feel my name in the back of my mind, its dim shape swimming just out of reach. I almost give us a headache fighting for it, but then it finally comes.

"Henry," I say. It's a powerful name - my name - and I'm proud to say it. "And I use he/him."

"Nice to meet you, Henry." Jay extends his fleshy pink paw to shake, but Zoey slaps it out of the way.

"Don't. Touch. Ghosts," Zoey says. "Especially not ones that have already demonstrated the capacity for possession."

"Oh, right. I knew that."

We wrap up breakfast and head to class. Your breath is still visible as it swirls out of your muzzle, but the day is warming up. The snow on the sidewalk has been crushed down by pawprints, and the snow in the street is getting dark with the dirt of passing cars. A plow truck passes us by and pushes more of it into a pile in the student parking lot.

Between the main school buildings, Fathom University has a huge stretch of open grass dotted with ancient, gnarled oaks, and the infamous Charles Walker Library building rises at the far end. Your school is gorgeous.

Zoey and Jay lead me along the winding, shaded paths to a two-story brick building on the east side and up the stairs to an auditorium-style classroom. There are already two dozen students here, and I swear they all turn to look at us when we enter.

Your heart pounds and your mouth goes dry. I know prey species are prone to anxiety disorders, and I remember Jay mentioning your mental health struggles. I hope you're doing something to help yourself because, if going out feels like this, it's a wonder you go out at all.

As Zoey and Jay find their seats, I take the stairs down to where a middle-aged mink is shuffling papers on a wooden desk. The whiteboards behind him are filled with names, places, dates, and abstract concepts related to ghost theory, with "DNE!!!" written beside the scribblings in huge letters.

"Professor Archer?" I ask in a shaky voice.

He looks over his rectangular glasses without responding.

"I can't take the test today."

"Who died?"

"What?"

"If you're standing up and talking, you're not sick enough to get out of the test. If you have a scheduling conflict, you would have told me about it before this morning. That leaves only a family emergency as a possible excuse. Therefore, I'll ask you again - who died?"

"No one."

"Then take your seat."

Your body wants to shrink away from conflict, but I fight against it. "I can't."

He shrugs. "If you want to flush 30% of your grade down the toilet, I won't stop you. You're an adult - ostensibly, anyway."

The shape of the room allows everyone to hear our conversation, and your heart beats even faster when I notice every eye is pointed down at us. Not wanting to wreck your grades, I make a risky decision that I hope you're okay with.

I brace myself, then say, "I can't take the test because Kairo is possessed. By me. I'm a ghost." Glancing back, I see Zoey put her muzzle in her paws as Jay looks on, agape.

Professor Archer looks dubious at first as he looks me up and down. Then his eyes widen. "Call campus security!" he shouts to the classroom.

Time to bounce. I make the most of your strong legs as I hop the stairs three at a time on my way to the doors. One student tries to stop me, but I shoulder them out of the way, sending their notebook and papers flying.

"Sorry!" I call behind me.

I shove the doors open, narrowly missing the muzzle of a fox on their way in, and I don't stop until I reach the lobby. When I get there, a member of campus security is already talking into a two-way radio strapped on his shoulder. He recognizes me instantly and drops the radio as he goes to block the door.

Weird as this situation is, temporary as it is, and whatever your motivations, I know neither of us want it to end like this, so I need you to tell me if there's another way out of this building.

Left? I turn your head and spot a side exit. The security guard sees me look and moves to cut me off, but you're faster than him. I reach the door and push through, and I don't stop running until I reach the edge of the yard, your lungs burning and footpaws throbbing.

You're naturally fast, but you're out of shape, and the diner food sitting in your stomach doesn't help. Regardless, I can't afford to slow down. I keep a sprinting pace to the street, cars honking as I cross without waiting.

There's a public park just outside of campus, and I take cover among the trees on the walking trails there. Overhead, the ice on the branches overhead is rapidly thinning and their melting run-off falls like drizzling rain. I pass a park employee shoveling the snow and wave awkwardly, praying a Green alert with your description hasn't been put out yet.

I need to get some distance from here. I pull out your phone, which fortunately unlocks with Face ID, to search public transit. I know U-M nearby has the MagicBus, but I don't know if you need a student ID to ride it.

I open a browser and start searching "how to ride magicbus," but something stops me. Your browser suggests a result from your history - "how to commit suicide by ghost."

I don't know how to respond. Actually, I do, and as someone who is dead, I think I have some authority to ask this: what the hell is wrong with you? You're young, you're hot, and you're going to school on a beautiful campus. Even if you're stressed about finals or whatever, just take a walk and enjoy the gorgeous autumn day.

That's probably not helpful, is it?

I tap the search suggestion and, below a box with the 988 suicide hotline, see several purple links you've visited.

On one of them, a Redditor says, "A lot of people use Silencers for sbg. Those things don't play with their food like poltergeists do - they just want you dead. Not that I condone suicide, but if someone is going to use a Silent House for it, you better hope they go in headfirst and fast. Silencers start ripping the second someone enters their territory so, if the victim leads with their leg or hesitates at the threshold, it's always gruesome and agonizing."

How can you read stuff like this and still want to go through with it? Regardless, this is a useful clue - your intent to commit suicide by ghost must have something to do with the current situation.

The sound of sirens in the distance interrupts my thoughts, so I push on through the park. Two streets over, I find a thrift store and hide among the racks. No Green alert gets pushed to my phone and the sirens soon fade, which must mean the cops have decided I'm low priority. I'm a little offended at that.

At some point, I stop pretending to browse and start actually browsing. You really need new clothes, and maybe looking better will help you feel better. I find a blue cardigan from the women's section that looks great against your fur and brings out your enby energy; a denim jacket with torn-off sleeves for more of a punk look; and a stripey set of pink-and-black thigh-highs and arm warmers that I think would be a hit at the gay bar.

Four outfits later, I end up spending about $250 of your money. Sorry. Actually, I'm not sorry - it's not like the money would have been any good to you if you were dead.

My next stop is the CVS next door where I pick up an energy drink and, on impulse, a can of pink hair dye which I spray on in the public restroom. I'm a fan of pink, I discover, and it happens to look good on you too. You're lucky enough to have hair, as opposed to just head fluff, so I figure you might as well have cool hair. Since you seem to have put me in charge of your body, I get to make those kinds of decisions.

Back out on the streets, my new outfit and vibrant hair draws the attention of the local college gays. It lifts my mood, and I hope it lifts yours too.

I get a text from Zoey. "Meet us at Jay's dorm," it says, followed by an address.

When I arrive, Jay is sitting on the bed and Zoey is at the desk chair. "How did the final go?" I ask.

"It got canceled," Jay says. "Instead, the cops asked us all questions for like two hours. Thanks to you, we have another week to study."

"You're welcome," I say.

"More importantly," Zoey says, "what did you do to Kairo's hair?"

"Well, I had to do something. They looked..." I search for the right word. "Straight."

"I think he looks good," Jay says. "Like, really good." The mouse is openly ogling me, and the attraction is definitely mutual. Would you mind if I hooked up with him later?

Zoey interrupts, "Henry, are you any closer to leaving Kairo's body?"

I think about it. "Maybe? I can't tell."

She takes out her Trifield meter again. "Your readings are slightly lower. Based on the rate of change since this morning, I'd say you'll be out of Kairo by 6 a.m. tomorrow."

"That's...not long," I say.

A flash of sympathy crosses the skunk's face. "I'm sorry."

I think for a long moment, and then ask a question that's been on my mind. "What would you two do if you only had one day left to live?"

Zoey looks unsure, but Jay answers right away. "Drop molly, hit the club, and get laid."

"Jay!" Zoey snaps.

"What? Okay, fine. I think he should 'spend his last moments with his friends and loved ones.'" He says it with the digits of his fleshy pink paws forming scare quotes.

"I don't know why you say it sarcastically like that - it's actually a good point," Zoey says. "Do you have any family members you want to reach out to?"

For some reason, he word family sends a wave of cold dread over your body and, unlike your body's reflexive anxiety from earlier, this feeling is entirely my own. Unable to speak, I shake your head.

"That's what I figured," Jay says. "What do you think, Zoey?"

She rolls her eyes. "Well, we were planning to celebrate the end of finals at Nocturne tonight. I guess the ghost can come along."

"Rad," he says.

"I don't think he should drop molly, though," she says. "We don't know what medications Kairo is on."

Oops. "Actually, I didn't take any of their meds this morning."

"Then he's set," Jay concludes.

The skunk can't come up with a counter-argument, so she just shrugs. I'm glad to see you have friends that let you make bad decisions.

The mention of meds reminds me to bring something up. Sorry for violating your privacy, but they have to know. "By the way, I found something on Kairo's phone earlier. It seems to indicate that they were actively planning to kill themself."

They exchange a guilty look that tells me that this news isn't surprising.

Zoey says, "Kairo...has been having a lot of problems since in-person classes started up again. They were always socially anxious, but it's been really bad since then."

Jay adds, "Not to mention the fact that they graduate next year. They've told me before that they don't know what they want to do and can't imagine life after college."

Come on, Kairo. You're going to do fine. I was anxious before graduation too. Come to think of it though, I don't remember whether I even did graduate before I died. The fact that I was in college at all is more information than I had before.

"Kairo definitely needs help," I say.

"We know," Zoey says. "We just don't know what to do other than be there for them."

"I'm sure that helps," I say.

Jay and Zoey have other classes to get to so, to kill time, I take Jay's bike and follow a path along the Huron River to Gallup Park. Your strong legs are perfect for biking, but I can tell your body isn't used to the effort. I lock up the bike and take a walk along the water, enjoying the day, but pretty soon the sun is setting at around 5:00 p.m.

On the way back, I find myself in another yet space filled with trees, and I walk Jay's bike along the quiet path. This is Forest Hill Cemetery, I realize. It's not on the way back to the dorm, but some instinct pushes me on. The solemn headstones and the dead trees silhouetted against the purple dusk are eerie, and I'm sure your ghost-hunting classmates could have a field day here - literally, I guess.

I come to a stop before I realize why, but I see it when I turn your head. A small headstone which bears a death date of November 16th, 2021 and a feminine name. It stands out from all the others because someone has spray painted over the name with "HENRY" in tall pink letters. The paint is so fresh that I can smell it.

It all comes back to me. I had just gotten out of Sociology finals when my dad called me. I assumed he was calling to ask how they went, so I was taken completely off-guard at his furious tone as he told me he knew I had been taking T and that I was looking into top surgery. I could hear my mom sobbing in the background as he threatened to cut off my tuition payments if I didn't stop "poisoning my body" and didn't start "using the name my mother gave me."

Everything else happened so fast, almost automatically. I didn't even have time to realize I was dead.

You remember coming to my grave yesterday. There was an article about me in the student newspaper on the anniversary of my death, and it stirred mixed emotions in you considering your own suicidal intentions. As you stood beside my headstone, you wished we could trade places and, in the murky place where I slept, I heard you.

I wouldn't give you what you asked for even if I could, but you've given me another day to say goodbye to life, and I hope in some small way I can give you something you need in return.

[center]-[/center]

"Ready to drop?" Jay asks me when I get back.

I'm still emotional from the trip to the cemetery earlier, so I take a moment to steady your voice before responding. "I haven't done this before. Or, if I have, I don't remember. Is there anything I should know?"

"You're going to feel good, you're going to want to move, and every idea is going to sound great even when it's not. Oh, and drink lots of water."

I nod. "I'm down."

"How does Kairo feel about it?" Zoey asked.

I wait for your response, but don't get one. "I still can't hear them."

Jay shrugs. "Whatever. It'll be good for them."

Zoey says, "I'm not sure how I feel about you both making decisions for Kairo."

"Kairo chose to hand control over to me," I point out.

"I guess," she says, frowning. "It's just a weird situation and I don't know what the rules are."

I say, "If there's one thing I'm realizing, it's that there aren't any rules." Jay hands out tablets from a plastic bag and I throw mine down your muzzle before I can worry about it. I don't know if this is really the best way I can spend my last day, but I'm going to focus on what's in front of me rather than waste time thinking about nonexistent alternatives.

After we drop, time speeds up. Nocturne is cool as hell, but then again everything is cool as hell right now - even the backseat of Zoey's Camry felt so amazing that I spent the whole ride over rubbing it with your paws. The club has a stage and I watch, mesmerized, as a buff otter twirls on a pole, colored lights shimmering on their oiled fur.

I chug water from a dispenser at the end of the bar before making my way to the center of the crowd. Your body is tired from the run and the bike ride today, but I barely feel it as I start going. Dancing in front of speakers that throb loud enough to vibrate your whiskers, I keep brushing the exposed fur of the men around me, a lot of them wearing tank tops and shorts despite the freezing night outside.

At first I think the iguana next to me is brushing me accidentally, and I'm so lost in the music that I ignore him until he says, "Having a good time, cutie?" In a blur, we dance for awhile and then sit down at the bar, though neither of us order anything.

"You're rolling too, right?" the iguana asks. "First time? How long ago did you drop?" His questions have been coming rapid fire since we started talking. Then he asks, "Want to re-dose?" He holds out another tablet, heedless of the dozens of eyes around us.

I want to ask Jay whether that's a good idea, but he and Zoey are at the opposite end of the bar, looking so cute as they run their paws all over each other. Seeing me hesitate, the iguana throws the tablet back himself to show it's safe, then holds out a new one for me. Fuck it. I swallow it down and we keep moving.

Then it's 3:00 a.m. The club has closed, Jay and Zoey disappeared at some point, and the iguana and I are freezing on the corner trying to figure out what address to put in as our Uber destination.

"I can host," he says. "I'm at my mom's place right now, but she won't bother us if we hang out in the basement. We can sit on the couch and cuddle or, you know, whatever. Plus I have a vaporizer if you want to smoke."

"How does weed interact with molly?" I can't control the volume of your voice right now, and someone across the street gives a drunken cheer at that.

He says, "It should make the effects kick back in if they're fading." Sounds perfect to me.

We do a lot more than cuddle until, at some point, the iguana passes out. Your phone died a while ago, so I feel my way back to campus on footpaw through a combination of memory and dumb luck. I have no idea what time it is, but it's still dark out.

Snow starts falling, a little at first and then a lot, refilling the streets and sidewalks and refreezing the branches of the trees. The flakes are cold as they melt on your fur and drip through to your skin, but it feels nice after so much time dancing and fucking.

By the time I get back to your dorm, I'm starting to lose my grip on you and vice-versa. That's fine. Or, if not fine, then acceptable. I've had my chance to process that the end is coming, which I didn't get to have the first time around. I got to have another day fully in the knowledge that it was my last. I'm as satisfied as I'm going to be.

I'm going to pass out and pass on soon, hopefully to somewhere with MDMA, loud music, and scaly boys, but since I'm not sure how much you're going to remember about today, I decide to write you a note and stick it to your mirror. I'm too tired for anything long or fancy. All it says is, "This is it."