There were Eight
Rana- Suddenly chose to do a murder mystery. Surprised that there's no Ocs? Oh, shinigami means Death God in Japanese and I don't own Prince of tennis.
One — Save the World Echizen Ryoma!
The boy looked up groggily and wondered—annoyed—why he had been woken before the sun rose. At the edge of his bed where the light only barely stretched across from behind him was a man's hand—his father's no doubt. That pissed off Echizen Ryoma a little more.
For a very fraction of a second, he had thought—he did not fear—that something otherworldly had grabbed his ankle and woke him up from the first pleasant sleep that he had received since he had gotten his job as a meter maid at the Seishun Police Station.
His dad—or at least his arm—was lucky that Echizen was too sore to move. There was no doubt that he would hurt him otherwise—somehow.
Then the arm retracted into the shadows—slowly and creepily—and was invisible amongst the darkness of his room. Or, it was probably his groggy eyes. Yeah, that was probably it.
"Echizen Ryoma~" That definitely was not his father's voice or whisper. His dad was loud and annoying, not quiet and creepy. "Help!"
"What?" He felt braver than he should have been with an intruder in his house.
"Help!"
"Help!"
"Don't let the others-"
"Help!" Multiple voices bean talking then their voices multiplied and shouted and screamed and wailed until his head was splitting.
"Shut up!" The voices stopped. They all stopped. All that was left was a pregnant silence. He looked around and searched for the intruders and wondered how the heck they had gotten into his room. There was no sign of them within the black darkness, no movement and no way to have entered that space where no one should have gone. The only movement was that of a fly idly gliding past his ears. "Show yourself!"
As though four spotlights were suddenly turned on, four figures simultaneously appeared surrounding the edge of the bed. Echizen tried not to appear afraid but noticed that he had sat up against his headboard. A closer inspection of the figures showed that they were all around his age, probably a year or so older, and all wearing black, fancy suits with their arms crossed over their chests. All of them were staring at him—as though sizing him up. It was creepy.
"So he's the one that shinigami-san chose, nya?" asked a red haired, childish one to the one next to him. The other had shaved black hair—reminiscent of a bowling ball—with two bangs hanging down on separate sides.
"Don't say it like that, Eiji!" he whispered, unaware that Echizen could hear from his bed. "He's our only hope...We don't want to offend him."
He sounded worried—frantic, even.
Only hope? Chosen by a shinigami? Were those people insane?
"Yeah! Shut up Eiji-sempai!" said an annoying one with spiked up black hair. "We don't want that shorty to be mad at us!"
Echizen was still too shocked to retort.
"So, shorty!" He looked to Echizen, an excited look on his face. "Will ya help us ghosts save the world or what?"
For the first time in his life, Echizen Ryoma fainted.
If anyone wants it to be a story, review and say so. If not, it won't.