Disclaimer: Neither Yugioh nor Ghost Whisperer belong to me.

Author's Note: No, I've never read Meg Cabot's Mediator. This story was partly inspired by the television show, Ghost Whisperer, starring Jennifer Love Hewitt- love her! - And very minimally inspired by a fanfic I read that was inspired by Mediator. So any parallels with that book in my story are accidental, coincidental, or both. To be honest, I'm not even sure what's going to become of this story- it may not ever be finished, seeing as I'm making this up as I go; but it's been nagging at me to be written and lo and behold I listened. I know, I know, I have other stories that need updating, but I can't control my ever-buzzing imagination. I blame the plot bunnies; they've been very bouncy lately. This may have also spawned from a story I had written back in 2005, and it will never see the light of day, so don't ask.

Now that I've said my peace, tell me what you think.

Edit: Oops, I was thinking 1900s and put 19th century instead of 20th. It's fixed now.

1. I See You

© Ethereal Fae, November 2008

The first encounter I had with a ghost, I was probably seven years old, and extremely naïve.

I was sprawled out on my bed- having just come home from ballet lessons- and was ready to take a nap. I had just begun to close my tired eyes, when something moved in my peripheral vision. Without hesitation, I glanced to the foot of my bed. There sat a disheartened teenager, clad in slacks and penny loafers. He jumped slightly when our eyes locked.

I waved. "Hi."

He freaked out, and vanished into thin air.

I told my mother about the strange boy, even down to the fine details of what he wore and how he was completely transparent. Mom was understandably distraught. At first, she thought I had watched some horror movie with my dad, and yelled at him for influencing a child's active imagination with 'such volatile images'. Then she slipped into denial, brushing the entire situation off like it hadn't even happened. I bugged her about it again, after waking up one morning to find the strange boy leaning over me, eyes blank, but curious.

Mom threatened to send me to a psychiatrist if I didn't stop telling tall-tales, so eventually I just stopped talking about it.

I think Mom- underneath it all- was afraid because she might actually believe me.

So, here I am, nine years later; still seeing apparitions. Except these days I was doing more than just seeing them, I was helping them. I'd learned after a very interesting encounter with a hysteric, middle-aged woman-spirit that some ghosts didn't quite know what had happened to them. That's where I came in. I took the liberty of helping these poor, lost souls find closure enough that they could move on peacefully. Some were easier than others. Ghosts- despite popular belief- weren't generally vehement when it came to moving on, simply because most of them already knew they were dead. I did have a few unnerving instances with volatile poltergeists. Mom didn't let us stick around long enough for me to help them. After her coffee mug had smashed itself into the wall one evening, she immediately began packing our stuff and practically dragged Dad and I out the door.

We moved several times through the course of my childhood. Mom did her best to find us newer houses that wouldn't be likely to warrant any unwanted visitors in the middle of the night. Because of this, it was especially difficult to start friendships. I was never really close to anyone because once they had been to my house they refused to speak to me thereafter, spreading stories about 'the girl with the creepy house'. I got used to it. I wouldn't want to be around a haunted house either if I were them.

But I wasn't them. I was me; your average, girl-next-door, who just so happened to see dead people.

It was cliché in every sense of the word, but it was my life.

I'm just taking it one day at a time. I'm Anzu Mazaki, the freak who talks to no one in particular, and even an occasional wall.

If they only knew.

"Please tell me we're not moving to some dumpy apartment like last time?"

Mom gripped the wheel of her run-down truck a little tighter than need be. "We're moving to a lovely little house on the edge of Domino. It's beautiful, and elegant, and..."

"Don't forget it was built in 1907."

I shot Dad a look. "1907? What are you trying to do, drive me crazy? The apartment was only built thirty years ago, and it was loaded with ghosts!" Mom winced; she still had trouble dealing with the 'g' word.

"Relax, Himeko. Everything's going to be fine." He patted her hand for reassurance.

Mom lessened her grip on the steering wheel, but was neither convinced nor comforted. She knew half as well as I did that things were never going to be just 'fine' with us. There were always going to be things following us, like moths to a flame.

Come to think of it, for some reason they did flock to me. It was strange, and continually annoying. They always popped up at the most unwarranted times, too. They seemed especially fond of bothering me while I was in the shower. Stupid, see-through apparitions...

Mom turned to the left. I stared indifferently out the window, watching the people, buildings and houses buzz by in a whir of colours. Kame Game Shop, Suki's Floral, Burger World, and then the buildings became sparser and houses were further apart. When I felt the car's momentum slowing, I refocused on the outside world. We were driving down a road surrounded by greenery to an old side road.

We had reached our new home, in Domino-it was a suburb of Tokyo, my last place of residence- and Dad had been given a great opportunity to work in conjunction with the CEO of KaibaCorp. Dad was a full-blown technology geek, right down to the embarrassing square-framed glasses and multiple-pens-in-pocket look, so he was ecstatic to be able to help with the maintenance of Seto Kaiba's major duelling equipment.

I got out of Mom's decrepit old truck, and towed the bags I had with me to the porch while Dad handled the stuff in the back. Mom and Dad had taken the liberty of shipping all our furniture here beforehand, so pretty much everything was already in place, save for the everyday necessities.

Mom was right about the house. It was gorgeous. It was definitely an old house, if the architecture was anything to go by. It definitely had the 20th century feel, complete with turrets and a two-level foundation. The house itself was a canary yellow with white accents. I nodded, pleased with its appearance. I had been fascinated with the 20th century since my encounter with a ghost who could neither find nor remember her home.

I had investigated on the internet and found her information from what little she did remember. She was a preacher's daughter in the United States (how the heck had she gotten to Japan?) and since I couldn't very well up sticks and head for the Gold Nation all willy-nilly, I instead found a picture of her home on an ancestral website. The picture was provided by a descendant of the girl's sister; she must have found peace at seeing her home, because I never saw her again.

I made my way up the steps and set my things down in the den. Wow, we had a den. I had forgotten how big these houses were. Mom and Dad came in shortly after, and Dad let a low whistle escape his lips.

"You sure know how to pick 'em, Dear." He hugged Mom close.

She pushed feathered, brown bangs out of her face. "I did my best."

The interior was cozy, with rich woods and bright colors- probably recently painted- and was a nice compliment to our little less than expensive furnishings. Mom's grand piano was already situated in the centre of the den, which was seperated from the kitchen by the hall we were walking into. The kitchen was spacious and cheery. Mom smiled at this; she needed cheery.

I was suddenly excited to find my room, and bounded up the stairs. To my delight, my stuff was arranged in the first room on the right. To my even bigger delight, I had a bay window that overlooked the expanse of land we were on, and giving a perfect sunset view. This was probably the best room I'd had in years. I grinned childishly and flopped on the queen-sized bed in the middle of the room.

A deep chuckle echoed in the room.

My ears perked at the very masculine voice that in no way could've belonged to my father. I lifted my head off the pillow, glancing around the room for any disturbances, and found the source of the laughter. A ghostly figure leaned against the wall by the door. His arms were calmly crossed in front of him, legs crossed at the ankles. He stared intently at me, eyes a little wider after I hadn't looked away.

"Can I help you?" I asked, irritated that my good mood was ruined by another ghostly companion.

His composure shattered for an instant before he quickly regained it. Ghosts usually had that reaction around me, so it didn't really faze me. He didn't answer me; he just continued with that penetrating stare.

He must have thought it wasn't him I was referring to. Idiot. Who else was in the room?

I had to admit he wasn't half bad looking, for a dead guy. Most dead guys had a bullet wound, scarring or something to indicate an untimely death that would give reason for them not moving on, but this guy seemed completely unscathed; except for maybe the bad attitude. He had unusual eyes-the colour of rubies- and angular, golden bangs that framed his chiselled features with a black and red mass of hair in the back to complete the oddity of his appearance. It suited him, I guess, and he looked to be about my age; give or take a year or two. His attire was 20th century slacks with a button-down shirt, jacket, and boots. I wouldn't have recognized the era had I not met so many from this century. I met a lot of Great Depressionists. In Japan. Go figure.

But good looks wouldn't get him a free ticket to roam my room whenever he pleased. This was my house after all, and I wasn't about to have Mom drag us to another town when we just settled in.

"Hel-lo! Are you deaf or just stupid? What are you doing in my room?" I sat up, laying my head in my hand and leaning against my knee. My bangs fell into my eyes and I puffed them out of my face.

Instead of answering the question, he glared vehemently at me saying, "This is my room," before disappearing.

Great, he was going to be one of those ghosts. Just peachy.

Tbc.

Well, what do you think? Should I continue this? I hope it's not too horrible. I just kind of ran with it. Leave me a review please?