Sam has just moved to Amity Park--but she does not know that her house is haunted by the most infamous spirit in the town.
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BONG! BONG! BONG!
The big grandfather clock in the hall sounded three in the morning with a strange eerie tone that made the brick in the old stone mansion reverberate silently, as if it was sighing in great pleasure. The pendulum swung back and forth rapidly, which was quiet unnatural, the tick-tick it gave off with its rusty gears suddenly sounding like an aged scream. Just when it was about to break out of its glass case, the pendulum stopped dead center. A fog accumulated inside the case until it was slowly making its way out of the small creases and cracks that dust often found its way into. Once outside, the fog fused together and became a form.
His feet hit the floor and he stretched his arms over his head as if waking up from a peaceful sleep. Behind him, the clock resumed its normal course of tick-tock, tick-tock.
He yawned and walked down the hall, running a hand through his hair as he did so. He stopped when he got to the mirror that fixed on a corner at the end of the hall. He looked himself over in the body-length reflector. His white hair was still disheveled like he liked it, it spilled into his acrid green eyes which glowed with a spirit-like light. His black shirt with white trim and an oval in the middle was still there along with his dark denim jeans and black sneakers. His leather jacket was still placed on his shoulders and—out of habit—he shrugged it off and hung it on the coat rack when he came to the front door of the mansion.
He was about to throw his sneakers off his feet and set them on the rug when he realized that rug shouldn't have been there. He put his hands on his hips and shook his head. When would the others learn to leave his stuff alone? Didn't he kick their butts often enough? He picked the rug up and placed it in the bathroom—where it belonged—below the sink. Only a different rug was there now, a frilly pink one. Did someone want him to beat them back into the Ghost Zone?
He growled out a curse and threw the rug he had in his hands aside. His eyes scanned the bathroom carefully, in case there was a trap—or a stupid prank. His eyes widened when he realized he barely recognized the room.
Everything was still there, but the sink had been replaced; this one new and polished to an opal white, while the one he remembered was cracked and dirty with rust stain and bug residue. There was a shower-curtain over the tub and the broken pole had been replaced. A shower-head was fixed to the wall and the tub had been polished to its old beauty. He knew it was the same bath tub because that was the way it looked before time had consumed it to decay. The toilet—well he knew it would have taken a miracle to clean that tragedy—it had been replaced with a new model other than the original disaster that had once stood in its place.
He flew through the mansion, literally, looking at everything with a new eye: new cabinets in the kitchen, new refrigerator (stocked to the brim), everything polished and dusted. The whole house smelled like lemon and bleach. New china hutch with dishes he had never seen before, statues adorning nearly every hall entry, pictures of people he didn't recognize, furniture that didn't belong, electronics that had never been there before (oh he knew their names, T.V. and computer, but he never had use of them).
Everything had changed! He had been out for only . . . wait, what is the date?
He flew back to the hall where the grandfather clock was still ticking—at least they had kept that or else he might have woken up in a different country. A calendar wasn't posted there anymore, only an oil painting by some human that he didn't really care about at the moment. He growled in annoyance and shook with rage.
How dare they change his things! It had been his home for centuries and they were throwing his stuff away as if it was trash!!
He flew back to what he recognized as an office. He knew by the set of the desk and the heavy sent of paper and leather-bound books that it was some sort of study. Surely there would be a calendar in there!
It was a desk calendar and he had to clear some of the paper work off so he could see it clearly.
"What!?" he exclaimed quietly to himself. "I've been out for nearly three months."
That would give someone time to move in, and plus with the changes that had been made, these guys had deep pockets.
Curiosity moved him now as he flew up through the floor and decided to see who had moved into his domain. He came to the area where the rooms were and silently slipped into each one. He checked the servants' rooms first and found the butler, the maid, and the chuffer all sound asleep in their rooms. He checked the upper rooms next and came to the largest room in the house. He found two people sleeping in the large bed, a man and a woman; probably the lady and lord of the mansion. He moved quickly out of their room when the woman grunted in her sleep and turned over.
He checked the room next to the master bedroom and found no one there. This puzzled him because he was sure he saw a child in the pictures downstairs. He flew up to the room the furthest from the master bedroom and phased inside. It had been his own bedroom at one time, and to him it still was, only now he slept in the clock in the hall.
That's where he found her. Dark hair spilling over the pillow and curtains pulled back to let the moon light spill onto the bed. Her room had to be the darkest he had seen so far. Most of the house was decorated with pastel colors, mostly pink, and he shuddered at the thought. This room suited him much better.
He flew up next to her and studied her face. She was young, about his own age. She was pale, as if she never saw the sun. Her nightgown was dark and frilly, giving him a strange sensation, making his face burn in a bright blush. Her lips were full, hair silky like a raven's feathers.
All thoughts of kicking these intruders out of his domain suddenly retreated. He didn't know why, but he suddenly had a strong desire to keep her here. Not that he could make her stay, but just to be near her. It had been so long since he had any contact with humans that he found himself suddenly starving for it, like most of the ghosts he fought off felt.
"Maybe a change wouldn't be a bad thing," he mumbled to himself as he floated up to the ceiling.
He flipped over and crossed his legs, sitting Indian-style on the popcorn textured roof of the room. His hair fell from his scalp and hung in the air like a spider having nothing better to do then to go on a suicide mission. As he sat there, he watched the girl sleep. His cold presence didn't seem to disturb her at all as she slept peacefully, oblivious of the ghost hanging over her head.