Fifteen year old Gus surreptitiously stalks down the silent hallway, a half-empty container of 409 held out in front of him like a gun.
Today he's come to a decision; no ghoul, no matter how utterly terrifying, is going to get him to abandon the place he is diligently house-sitting. He swore an oath to protect this place from evil, okay not really, but Mr. Henshaw is paying him twenty bucks a day to water the plants and feed the fish and he can't do that with a vengeful poltergeist on the loose.
He creeps towards the kitchen, giving himself another silent pep talk as the floorboards creek ominously. His days of screaming and running like a six year old girl are over, today he will face this specter with all the courage and fortitude that he can muster. He will drive this spirit out so that it can no longer trouble the souls of the living.
Armed and ready, in a manner of speaking, he reaches for the door handle. Taking a deep breath to prepare himself for facing the phantom he flings the door open and screams a war cry, raising the bottle of cleaner up like a real weapon.
The ghost is at the island table, facing Gus with a mouth full of red…Jelly.
"Dude, a squirt bottle, really?" The apparition grins widely, the motion cracking the white paint that covers its, his, face. Shawn leans forward and takes another bite out of the peanut butter and jelly sandwich that Gus had brought himself for lunch. He looks at his outraged best friend, "You should have seen your face."