[ WP ] You are a ghost haunting an old house . You enjoy listening to the outrageous ghost stories told about you by teenagers who dare to spend the night . Rarely is there any truth to them , but you enjoy the embellishment , most of the time anyway .

It's not that bad. I enjoy being able to float around where I please, but I miss being corporeal. Sometimes, even after 30 years of being ethereal, I try and put my hands on things. I can sometimes make things shake, but that's about it. The best part of all of this is the kids. These dumb teenagers will come in every once in a while -it feels like every couple of weeks but that might be ghost time-, and make up some dumb story to scare each other. By far, my favorite one was when I was a top hat salesman. Apparently, according to these kids, I had taken rest in this old hotel ( this house was never a hotel ) and fallen off to sleep. My bags were so full of hats that they toppled over on top of me and suffocated me in my sleep. Some say I'm the ghost of a crazy ax murderer. What if I died by my crazy girlfriend who lived in this house and also haunts it? Nope. Never had a girlfriend. Sometimes, the stories go back far far into the past. Some kid said I was some English knight who somehow made it to America hundreds of years before Columbus. I love to here their stories. Sometimes I think these kids should write books. I'd read them. Speaking of books, my death was actually mundane. I was reaching for a book on the top of my shelf. I fell off the ladder ( which was not precariously placed as these kids would think ), and hit my head. When I woke up, I was dead. I was a ghost. They took my body away, buried it, burned it, or something. To be honest, I do n't care. It's not mine anymore. It's not much different to live as a ghost. I ca n't read books or watch TV anymore, but I have scared teenagers to fill that need. I'll stay here and live. I have plenty of stories. One time, a bunch of middle-aged people came into the house. They had been here before, almost thirty years ago. They told the same stories, but... it was refreshing. They told it in a different light. They told it with a nostalgic tone. It made me feel glad to be a part of something these people remember so dearly. There will always be more kids and more stories. Until the day this house is torn down, there will be more. I do n't really know what I'll do then. I have time. I can figure it out.
