A birth and a death on the same day
And honey I only appear so I can fade away
I wanna throw my hands in the air and scream
And I can just die laughing on your spiral of shame

Twin Skeletons (Hotel in NYC) - Fall Out Boy


She hadn't been this excited a decade. Well, she was rater excited when her sister's family (the brats) moved out of the house that trapped her spirit. But, this news was even better; someone new was moving in.

She would have someone to take care of her house and she would have someone to follow around and someone to protect instead of piss off. Who knows? Maybe her new roomie will be a hot guy or something.

Today is the day, she thought as she passed through the bathroom wall and glided down the stairs with an eerie grace so that she could wait in anticipation for her new house buddy. Her thoughts were running a million miles per minute – maybe he would be a special one, like those ghost adventurers, that were able to sense and speak to spirits like her. Maybe he was a pansy and would freak out if she accidentally dropped something that she was planning on pranking him with. (She wasn't sure why she thought her house mate was a man, she just had that assumption). Or, who knows, maybe he was going to be an asshole and she was just going to have a pleasurable old time torturing him, just as she had done to her sister and her sister's family. (Though, she was always nice to her niece, who was a sweetheart, much unlike her mother)

Although she liked remaining in a distant relationship with humanity, she was trapped in a huge blue house all by herself untill god knows when. She wasn't the happiest with her lonely, semi-transparent state. (Thought it did have its perks. Please see the sentence about hot guys)

:::


:::

While she was busy thinking about the grave situation of her being a ghost (and dead), she almost didn't hear the smashing of a car door or the key turning in the doorknob's lock. She looked over at the door while it was hesitantly being cracked open; behind it stood a young looking man who looked like he was cosplaying a Victorian person from a novel. (However, his attire did go well with the theme of the house, which was a Victorian manor house in the country.)

She moved closer to him to get a better look; he had a nice looking face (she couldn't lie; well she could, but she rarely lied about good looking men). Unfortunately, he was seriously lacking in the eyebrow department, but he made up for it with the chin. (God, you could commit a murder with that thing). His chin didn't even seem human – it was the size of the cosmos. She couldn't help but burst out laughing at this ridiculous looking man!

As she tried not to fall through the couch, she noticed that his ears perked up and his brow was brought together to form a line of concentration. It looked as if he was trying to hear something that wasn't exactly there. She stopped (or tried to stop) laughing so she could see what he was going to do. He didn't do anything but move his left hand to his right pocket (out of habit she supposed). But, besides that, he just carried on regularly, as if he hadn't heard a thing.

He brought in a few boxes filled with his junk and created three heaping (okay that was an exaggeration) piles of boxes. She sat on one and watched him start to unpack his belongings. He was peculiar; there was something about him that she liked. She just wasn't sure what it was quite yet.

Could it be that she liked how he seemed to have this aura of elegant clumsiness around him (she watched him trip at least twelve times in four hours) or the tiny bits of arrogance that escaped when he straightened his somewhat annoying but still adorable bow tie? Was it because he was different, because she was bored of ordinary – she had been seeing that for the past ten years.

The things that he unpacked from the boxes looked like a bunch of space junk. (Maybe he was a collector or something) When the sun began to set, he flicked on the television that looked like it was from nineteen ninety-four which he had set up just moments before. He put on the local news program and ate some Jammy Dodgers (which he also unpacked moments before. She was starting to think that this man had a slight problem – there were many packages of Jammy dodgers in those boxes) When the program ended, he dug through another box to pull out a book on advanced quantum mechanics, which he carried over the single chair remaining in the house (that was her chair from when she was alive and well and breathing…) He proceeded to sit down, finding a comfortable reading position (oxymoron) to read his science nerd book. (She was seriously starting to reconsider his being a collector; maybe he was some sort of engineer)

He drifted off to sleep quietly as he neared page four hundred and seventy-two. His head lolled to the left side and book closed suddenly as his hands became relaxed and almost weightless. She continued to watch him (my, she had been doing a lot of that lately…) and she smiled. It was strange; she enjoyed watching people sleep as a pastime because she was stripped of that wonderful pleasure. She dug through four boxes until she found a blanket, which she attempted to pull over him (She knows that her house can be quite drafty; her snob of a sister never shut up about it).

"Good night, Stranger", she whispered even though she knew he wasn't able to hear her. "You know, I really need to find out what your name is." She muttered to herself. While he was still sleeping, she decided that it wouldn't be invading his personal life if she continued to rummage through his stuff (in hopes that she would be able to find out more about this man).

In the box that she was sitting on for the longest time, there were pictures of him with a red haired woman and a man with a great nose. There was another of him with a woman whose hair was as crazy as her great aunt Shirley. There were countless other photographs of young and old men with many different women (extended family?)

In another box, there were weird machines that she had never seen before. The most obscure of them all was some sort of screwdriver thing that looked less like a screwdriver and more like something else (if you catch her drift). She picked up the strange looking gadget. And for the first time in a while, she struggled to pick up an object with her not so fully solid hands.

"I'm going mad." She muttered, "You're a fucking ghost, Clara, your whole being is madness." She flipped the thing around a few times and found a button; her curiosity got the best of her and she pressed it, bracing for the worst.

"WHAT THE FUCK!" she screamed as the machine made a loud ratchet noise that scared her half to death (Joke's on you, she's already dead). She dropped the machine and it hit the ground with a loud clop. Scared that he was going to be awakened, she scurried to hide behind a pile of unpacked boxes. He bolted awake (it almost looked like he was never really sleeping) and went to turn on the nearest lamp. He seemed a little confused on how the blanket that was covering him got there, but that didn't stop him from getting up and finding that weird looking thing that made hideous noises when you pushed a button.

He started mumbling to himself about how he ought to be more careful with his sonic screwdriver – apparently it was an ancient relic. (Maybe he was a mechanic that was also a collector?)

"What are you?" he questioned the screwdriver (to be honest, she was asking herself the same thing), "it says you are human, but it also says there are no other humans here, well no beings, actually." He sighed and gave him a quizzical look. "Now I'm talking to myself, a screwdriver, and someone that isn't here; I really need some new friends."

She hovered to sit on top of one of the boxes where she swung her ghostly legs back and forth like a little (alive) innocent child. "Oh, don't you know, stranger, talking to yourself is a sure sign of madness."

"I'm going mad – properly and completely loony." He said just after she finished. She stood agape at what he said; it was as if he was listening to her but he wasn't at the same time, but whatever it was, it was weird and she didn't want it to happen again. As she stood up, she knocked over the box that she had been sitting on. He zoomed around in her direction, pointing the screwdriver (and having it make that hideous noise). She soared up towards the ceiling, not wanting to stay but not wanting to leave either.

"I know you're here; I don't why you are or what you are, but you were powerful enough to leave me a message on my psychic paper."

"What?" she said to no one in particular.

"and what does 'she killed the star' even mean?" he asked. If she could, she would have grown even paler at those words. She needed to get in contact with this man, but she wasn't sure how. She remembered spotting twenty-four of the same colored blue crayons in a box and she could write in his quantum mechanics book (because who in their right mind reads about quantum mechanics).

She floated to the box and dug loudly through it, trying to attract his attention and find the blue crayons.

"Now I'm going to have to pick up this mess. Thank you!" he complained. She made her way over to him with her newly found blue crayon and wacked him with it.

"Oww…"

"Serves you right." She huffed. She walked over to his book for science geeks and opened it, looking for a semi-blank page. He ran over to the book that seemed to be holding itself up in midair and grabbed it right out of her transparent hands.

"Hey!" she yelled even though she knew he couldn't hear her.

"No, no, no! Don't use this – this is important!" he said as he scramble over to another box and pulled out a piece of paper and scrambled over to the floating blue crayon, "use this instead; it's a revolutionary war relic, but you know, you have got to sacrifice some things for the sake of knowledge."

She took the paper forcibly out of his hands. It was singed at the edges and stained an awful tea like color, but it would function.

Hello, she wrote on the paper. He looked at it.

"Hello, I'm the doctor."

I'm Clara.

"Clara, Clara, Clara," he said as if he was testing her name out (she can't imagine why), "that's a nice name; you should definitely keep it."

Thanks… I guess.

"Why can't I see you?"

Well part of it may be that I'm a ghost, but I'm just throwing out suggestions.

"Can you speak while I sonic you? Hold up the crayon."

Hold up – nobody's sonicing anybody. Who the hell are you? What the hell is a sonic and why the hell did you move into a giant Victorian manor house all by yourself?

"I'm the Doctor, time traveling alien with two hearts. This," he held up the screwdriver, "is a sonic screwdriver and I moved into this house tentatively because you sent me a message to come here. Now start talking."

Okay. I'll talk about shit now and ask questions later, time boy.

She started talking about Star Wars and kittens and couches and her niece who was such a nice little four year old and rubber ducks and she just talked to herself like she had been doing for the past ten years of her afterlife. She didn't even realize that he was pointing the sonic screwdriver at her; she didn't hear him say that she could stop talking now because she was giving him a headache. She didn't realize that he could see her now.

"CLARA!" he shouted loudly.

"WHAT COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT!" she shouted back.

"Not so loud, please! Goodness! I can't believe that worked! This is so exciting!"

"What?"

"Clara, I made the sonic find your vocal emissions, it was like you were trapped in a pocket universe-"

"English please." She asked, "Wait, you can hear me?"

"Yes, as I was saying, I pulled you more into this universe; you're still a 'ghost' but you're more solid, or stable whatever you want to call it, and your voice is able to function in this sense of reality."

"Am I able to sleep now?" she asked.

"No."

"Can I eat?"

"No."

"So you're a space man, like, from a different planet?"

"Yeah, you okay with that?"

"Doctor, I'm a fucking ghost. You're an alien; nothing would surprise me at this point in the afterlife."

"Okay, well, good."

"And you're okay with rooming with a ghost?"

"Eh, I've had worse roommates."

"That made me feel so much better, let me tell you."


AN: Hello! Someone suggested that I start a new multi-chapter story. Let me tell you, I brainstormed all weekend, and all I could think about was GHOST AU, so Ghost AU happened.

I'm seriously really busy with play practice and I don't think I'm going to be able to update my one-shot series this weekend, I'm sorry *cringes and runs away*

So please review (if you liked it and want to see more) favorite (if you liked it and want to see more) and follow (if you liked it and want to see more) because hey, who knows, if I have the time and the inspiration, I may get up another chapter in lickety-split!

-bleuboxes