"So, Little Luna, is there any movie you'd like to star in?" Edward decided to ask, curious whether Gengar's Ralts whom he affectionately called Little Luna—had any preferences about what kind of film she wanted to appear in.
After thinking for a moment, he realized there weren't many films that suited her. Among the top ten movies featuring animals, most were animated films—titles like Tom and Jerry or The Penguins of Madagascar.
However, those kinds of animated films didn't really fit Ralts's temperament. After all, Ralts's personality and appearance were both gentle and quiet, an image that immediately gave off a calm and refined impression. That was also how most people viewed the Ralts species: graceful, shy, and soft-spoken.
Gengar turned toward Little Luna and asked her the question on Edward's behalf. But after listening, Little Luna only shook her head. She didn't know what kind of role she would be suited for either.
Edward's lips twitched slightly. That's going to make things tricky, he thought. Choosing the right movie for Ralts to act in would now be a bit of a problem.
He stared thoughtfully at her as various movie titles flashed through his mind—films he had seen that were either good or had left a strong impression on him. And then suddenly, one came to mind—one that might actually suit her surprisingly well.
Carrie.
It was quite a distinctive movie, a cult classic of the horror genre. Technically, it could be considered a splatter film. While not everyone had watched the full movie, most people had at least seen clips of Carrie online. And just from those snippets, it left one clear impression, bloody.
The most iconic scene was, of course, the prom sequence: Carrie, drenched in blood after being humiliated by her classmates, witnesses the death of her crush before the crowd erupts into laughter. Overwhelmed by rage, she screams and unleashes her telekinetic powers, turning the entire hall into a massacre. Nearly everyone dies—a grotesque yet cathartic moment of release for the audience.
But for anyone who actually sat down to watch the full film, they'd realize those short clips had been… misleading though, in a sense, not entirely unfair.
That's because the first half of the film was unbearably depressing. It told the story of Carrie, a girl who grew up under the oppressive rule of her fanatically religious mother. She had no understanding of basic life matters, she didn't even know what a menstrual cycle was. Naïve and withdrawn, she became the target of relentless bullying and humiliation at school.
At home, life was no better. Carrie's mother, Margaret, was a devout religious zealot. Whenever Carrie came home crying after being bullied, her mother would only scold her for being sinful, insisting that everything was her own fault. She offered no comfort, no understanding only more pain and shame.
So, when the movie finally reached its explosive finale, the prom sequence, the sheer release of pent-up tension made it almost… satisfying. Watching Carrie's fury erupt and all her tormentors perish felt like an emotional exorcism. Edward remembered feeling the same sense of relief when he first watched it—until, moments later, his expression grew complicated.
Carrie's revenge might feel gratifying on-screen, but in real life, such depictions could dangerously inspire those in similar situations. It could lead to real tragedies.
Still, despite its potential controversy, Carrie remained a solid and memorable film. It had even been remade several times over the years, each version reinterpreting Carrie's image slightly differently. But one thing remained constant—the movie's ability to showcase its lead actress's talent. After all, Carrie was practically a one-woman performance piece.
In other words—it was perfect for building an actor's reputation. The climactic revenge sequence was dramatic and visually striking, leaving audiences deeply impressed.
Of course, there were some details that would be troublesome to adapt. The psychic powers would need to be reimagined or enhanced to fit the story's logic. But overall, it seemed like a fitting choice for Ralts.
"I think I've found a good movie—one that might suit Little Luna quite well," Edward said with a smile, glancing down at the small, moon-marked Ralts beside him. "Though… I'm not sure if she'll be okay with it."
Ralts tilted her head, the crescent symbol on her forehead faintly glowing. Her demure appearance already made her look memorable—much like the tragic, misunderstood girl Carrie herself.
And thematically, it fit perfectly: Carrie was a psychic, and Ralts was a Psychic-type Pokémon.
Gengar, curious, asked about the plot. After Edward briefly summarized it, Gengar's expression immediately turned green.
"You're seriously going to let Little Luna act in that?" Gengar asked skeptically. "You realize the story's about her being bullied, ostracized, and drenched in blood, right? That's… pretty dark."
"It's dark, sure," Edward admitted with a shrug, "but it suits her. It'll definitely stir up discussion—and having people talk about you is always better than being ignored. In the entertainment world, even bad publicity is still publicity. Controversy creates momentum."
It was a realistic take. As Edward well knew, the entertainment industry was deep and ruthless. Competition was fierce, and simply being talented wasn't enough. To stand out, one needed buzz, headlines—something to make people remember.
Besides, Edward couldn't think of another role more suited to Ralts. Most of the films he watched were horror or psychological thrillers. Unless Ralts wanted to play Sadako from The Ring, there wasn't much overlap. But imagining a gentle little Ralts crawling out of a TV was… well, not exactly terrifying.
Seeing that Edward was firm on the idea, Gengar didn't argue further. He simply looked at Little Luna, who nodded earnestly in agreement.
"I think I can do it," she said with quiet determination. "After all, it's just acting—I won't really be bullied."
And so, under Gengar's guidance, Ralts officially joined Ghost Films as one of its new contracted actresses. Edward, meanwhile, stayed home. He sent Zoroark to handle the formalities while he focused on writing the screenplay for Carrie.
Although Carrie had been remade several times, the general plot remained consistent. Edward didn't plan to reinvent the wheel. The story's religious undertones would still be there, though he intended to make them more subtle and metaphorical.
In his adapted version, Carrie was a quiet, plain-looking girl tormented by her fanatically religious mother and cruel classmates. Because of her odd personality and upbringing, she became an outcast, constantly ridiculed and bullied.
She dressed conservatively, spoke little, and had trouble fitting in. In American schools—where cliques and exclusion ran rampant—someone like Carrie was doomed to be a target.
Her classmates mocked her relentlessly, and she endured both verbal and physical bullying.
The story's tone grew heaviest during the infamous shower scene: when Carrie experienced her first period in the school bathroom, she panicked, thinking she was bleeding to death. Instead of helping, the other girls mocked her, throwing tampons and laughing hysterically.
At that point, the audience's heart would already ache for her.
But what the others didn't know was that Carrie had telekinetic powers. She could have fought back anytime—but she didn't. She held it all in, suppressing her fear and anger.
And much of that restraint came from her mother, Margaret.
Like nearly every tragic villain in Western stories, Carrie's backstory was steeped in suffering—a broken home, a childhood of repression. Her mother, Margaret White, was an extreme religious fanatic who lived an ascetic life and raised Carrie through obsessive control and punishment.
To her, everything in the world was evil, sinful and had to be purged by divine judgment. She stripped Carrie of her dignity as both a woman and a human being, even denying her basic education about her own body.
Carrie's meekness, her social ineptitude, her inability to connect with others all of it stemmed from that oppressive upbringing.
Yet despite her misery, Carrie still harbored a spark of innocence: a crush on a kind boy who had never mocked her. He was the only light in her dark life, the only person who treated her like she mattered. She dreamed of going to the senior prom with him, her one shot at feeling normal.
But when prom night arrived, her fragile hope shattered.
As she stood on stage, crowned prom queen, a bucket of pig's blood fell from above, drenching her completely. The screen behind her lit up, replaying videos of her humiliation at school, while the crowd burst into laughter.
And then, the bucket itself slipped, striking her crush in the head killing him instantly.
That was the moment everything broke.
In grief and rage, Carrie's psychic powers fully awakened. She no longer held back. The lights flickered, doors slammed shut, and the entire hall became a slaughterhouse. Every classmate who had ever mocked her died screaming.
The ringleaders tried to escape, but Carrie found them. When they tried to run her over with a car, she effortlessly stopped it midair and killed them too.
Finally, she returned home hoping, desperately, for her mother's comfort.
But Margaret only saw her as a demon. She attacked her daughter with a knife, attempting to "purify" her. Cornered and heartbroken, Carrie acted on instinct sending every kitchen knife in the house flying, pinning her mother to the doorway in a crucifix pose.
It was a powerful image religious symbolism twisted into horror.
In the end, Carrie's vengeance brought her no peace. Consumed by guilt, she caused the house to collapse in flames, burying herself alongside her mother beneath the rubble.
Edward leaned back, thinking aloud. "There's not that much overt religious symbolism—mainly the crucifix scene with Margaret. Still… it ties neatly into that imagery I used in Dead Silence. Maybe I can even make it part of the same cinematic universe."
He smiled faintly at the idea, though he had no intention of directing it himself. "But this one's too different from my usual tone. Too heavy. I'll hand it off to one of my studio's directors instead."
It wasn't so much that he was passing the buck—he simply felt that, while Carrie would be emotionally taxing, it was still a powerful story worth adapting. It could even spark discussion about social issues like bullying and isolation.
He'd just credit himself as the screenwriter.
Still, because Ralts would be the star, Edward made some world adjustments. Instead of humans, all the characters would be Pokémon. It would be set in a Pokémon world, with a psychic-type Ralts as the lead. Otherwise, it would make no sense why humans would attend school with Pokémon—or why they'd bully one.
"Let's have the studio handle the production for Carrie," Edward said with a yawn. "I'll focus on Inner Senses for now."
That film, too, had psychological undertones. Whether ghosts truly existed in it would depend entirely on the viewer's interpretation. It might even end up being used in psychology classes one day.
After finishing Little Luna's script, Edward saved a copy, then sent another to Zoroark. "Find a new director in the company," he instructed. "Someone who's good with emotion-driven stories."
As for casting, the focus would remain on acting skill. The role of Carrie would, of course, belong to Ralts—but the rest of the cast would be Pokémon as well.
"Hmm… I wonder if a pure Pokémon movie will even work," Edward murmured, scratching his head. "I guess that's something the market will have to decide."
Still, he strengthened Ralts's psychic powers in the script—after all, how else could she pull off the bloody prom massacre?
He briefly considered making it like Holmes again—a human detective with a Pokémon assistant—but quickly gave up on the idea. It just wouldn't fit this time.
And with that, Edward closed his laptop.
(End of Chapter)