Chapter One. My Ghost and Me.

It is not yet midnight when my ghost appears for the first time. I was alone a minute ago. And now he is here. After a short, shocked pause, I begin to scream like a scared little boy. Perhaps this is because, although I am nearly forty years old, I really am just a scared little boy.

The skin of my ghost is pale. He is translucent, like a jelly fish. He looks just like I always imagined a ghost looks. His eyes are the eyes of an albino. They are alive. He is alive. But from the moment I first saw him ninety seconds I ago, I have known that he is a ghost. He is no fake. I can feel his death, even in his silence. He is sitting in my lazy boy, scratching his chin, dully observing me. I do not know why I am referring to him as "my ghost." I can barely think at all.

I notice there is blood dripping from a small wound on the side of his head. He doesn't seem to notice. He is wearing a gray suit that is well-pressed but dusty. There is blood on one of the shoulders, underneath the wound.

My ghost stands up and I begin to yell some more, loud and gutteral. "Aaarghh! aaaarghhh!! aarggh!!!" is all I can muster. He shakes his head slightly from side to side, but seems otherwise unaffected by my shrill screams. My ghost is clearly bored. I guess he expects more from me.

I am looking right in his eyes. He is looking right back at mine. "So what's your name," he asks me casually. I don't know how to respond. I throw up instead.

And so this tale begins. This tale of my ghost. Of my ghost and me.