Author's Note: Just a little one-shot that sprang to mind while I was writing the sequal to Heaven's Not Enough. I came across this ghost story while skimming a book about haunted Underground stations while in London. I read the first part of the story before putting the book back. In actuality, the ghost is an Egyptian princess whose body is in the British Museum, but it was too perfect for Yami and Yugi to pass up.

Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh, I just use the characters to fuel my imagination.

Ryou crouched in the abandoned tube station, nails digging into his palms. Why had he let them convince him to do this? He knew he had lost, drawing the shortest straw of the group, but he wasn't the one who needed the money. He was just there because Bakura had dragged him along. And now Bakura wasn't even allowed to stay with him.

He whimpered, curling his legs closer to his body, feeling like the tons of dirt and concrete from above where crushing him and hoping against all odds that nothing would happen tonight, nothing at all.

It had all started over a round of ghost stories, something to entertain themselves on a rainy day. The irony was that he was the one who had told this one, weaving a tale from something that was partially gained from a book and partially from his own knowledge. He had won, but ended up scaring himself nearly half to death in the end.

The story he told was about a pharaoh in Egypt who had fallen in love with one of the palace slaves. Ryou barely remembered half the things he had said at the time, throwing knowledge from the television dramas that he had glimpsed flicking through the channels on the days he was board. Something about star-crossed lovers or fate pulling them different ways; the things that girls swooned over, but it had entertained the others.

They were in love, he had told them, not the flimsy thing that was seen around all the time; the kind of love that the whole group had experienced at least once. But true love, the love that can only be found on television or in fantasy. And they had carried on loving each other no matter what, even through the wars and hardships that sent the pharaoh away to protect his kingdom and the horrible nights that followed when the slave had waited in the palace, hoping for any word of his lover.

But still they survived and their love had lived on. Until that one day. Until the pharaoh discovered that there was one enemy that even he could not hold back.

Until the slave had died.

The pharaoh ordered him to be buried in his tomb, to wait for a time when they could be together in the afterlife. And it had been done. The two had been in peace for years until the European countries had discovered the wealthy that Egypt had; discovered what riches lurked beneath the shifting sands. People had become obsessed with the culture, wanting to know and see more, wanting to marvel at the mummies that excited and scared them. Then, they had been separated, the slave being taken far away from his warm home to the wet country of England to be put on display.

As he had always promised in life, his lover had followed.

Ryou jumped at a small sound, the echoes sliding past him in the tunnel. He shivered, half wanting to close his eyes. He unclenched one fist, moving the small lantern closer to him before examining the small, bloody marks that he had left on his palm.

Of course, on that day, he didn't know that there was a reward for actually catching sight of the ghost of the pharaoh, he hadn't even known that the tale he hold had any truth behind it. One of his friends had looked it up and spread the story around. That had led to the contest to see who would stay the night, and who would get the money.

Murphy's Law had handed the chance to Ryou, who didn't need the money at all, who was also scared of ghosts and who had no interest in following his own story up.

He huddled there in the dark, hoping that morning would come quickly. After all, weren't ghosts condemned to wander in the night? But wasn't it always night down here? He was underground after all. What stopped ghosts from wandering as they pleased in the long tunnels that made up the London Underground?

He fought the urge to look at his watch, not wanting to face the disappointment of noticing that only a few minutes had inched by while he was stuck in this tomb. He flinched at the thought. He didn't want to be reminded in any way about what he was waiting for here.

It was a necropolis of its own, Ryou had heard, the tunnels carved out around or through the mass graves of those killed by the Bubonic plague. The dead had plenty of company down here. And plenty of reasons to be disturbed in their eternal rest.

A whimper startled him, making Ryou jump to his feet and look down the tunnel to his right. Nothing but black shading into the all consuming color of darkness met his eyes. Ryou slumped at the realization. The whimper had come from him; he was just scaring himself again.

Holding back a sigh, not wanting to repeat the experience, Ryou turned back around to settle back down in his place. Only to turn around to meet a pair of red eyes.

This time, Ryou did scream, jumping away from the spirit who stood on the platform beside him. He tripped, falling down onto the ground. Even then, he was scrambling away from the ghost, forgetting about the lantern that he knocked over in his passing. And, through all of it, the spirit didn't seem to hear him. It just continued staring off into the distance.

Ryou stopped his frantic movements, one hand coming up to press against his heart as he tried to calm down. Between him and the spirit, the lantern rolled back and forth, casting shadows as it went, but never affecting the ghost on the platform. Ryou could see him as clear as day.

Gold sparkled from the ghost's legs, wrists, forearms and head; little flashes seen as the spirit shifted, revealing a golden belt that rested between the kilt and the tunic. A gold broad collar peeked out from underneath the purple cape that drifted behind him, caught in some long forgotten breeze.

Hidden in his red tipped black hair and buried among the golden bangs was a strange crown, not the one Ryou usually associated with the pharaohs. The edges were swept back, mimicking the way some blonde streaked through the black portions of the spirit's hair like lightning. The crown came down to rest on the forehead, an eye peering out of the front.

Around the neck of the ghost dangled an inverted pyramid shape, the eye on the front similar to the eye on the crown. It too flashed in the light, the pattern not matching the one of the lantern, as the spirit absently toyed it.

Ryou gulped and backed away, foot accidentally knocking the lantern away and sending it clattering into a wall. The red eyes that had been trained on something in the distance suddenly darted down to focus on the teen that was sprawled on the floor.

He froze, unable to move as those eyes bore into him. Around him, the air suddenly became heated, the floor under his hands hot and shifting like desert sand. The ghost scowled and began to speak, the language unintelligible and guttural to Ryou's ears. It raised a hand, pointing at Ryou as it continued to mutter. It was only when the shadows around Ryou started to deepen and dance that the teenager broke free of the spell.

With a scream, Ryou pushed off the ground and threw himself for the exit, forgetting about his lantern. It didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was getting away from the ghost who could see into his soul and command shadows. He had to run from the guilt that consumed him in the moment that their eyes had locked, the accusation that had filled the red eyes and darkened their color to something that reminded Ryou of blood.

He nearly sobbed in relief as his feet pounded up the stairs and he burst into the open, running right past Bakura as his friend slipped out of the shadows. Ryou didn't hear Bakura ask him what was wrong, nor did he hear the sound of running feet as his friend tried to keep up with him.

All he knew was that he had to get away.

In small circle of light in the abandoned underground station, the ghost stared in the direction the teenager had fled in, the scowl disappearing as he sighed. He reoriented himself, eyes flickering shut for a moment as he searched. The red eyes opened slowly as he found what he sought, body relaxing from its tension.

The ghost began to walk, footsteps echoing eerily in the station and yet slightly muffled; like the concrete and steel did not want to acknowledge the manifestation from a time before them. A manifestation that brought the memory of desert heat with him. From around him, the shadows rushed up to lick at his feet and the hem of his cape, slowly dancing up his body as the transparent figure disappeared from the circle of light and into the darkness of the tunnel.

Silence reigned for a while, the world of steel and concrete stolen back for a brief moment. Then the breeze returned, carrying on it the scent of sweat, water and sand. And a voice, weighed down with time and distance, deep and tinged with sorrow.

"Mery-i."

Read and review please! As always, criticism will be greeted with a smile and flames with laughter.