Skander sat at his desk, he was writing a story, his pen scraped across the page as he jotted down an exciting fight scene. It was completely dark in his room apart from the lamp on his desk, which cast a slightly yellow hue over everything.
"Interesting story."
"Thanks," Skander said. He kept writing.
"You know that 'San Franksico' doesn't have a 'K' in it, right?"
"Huh? Oh..." Skander said, and crossed out the bay city and re-wrote it correctly. "Thank...wait a minute! Who said that!?"
He put his pen down and turned around in his chair. There was no-one there. Then he heard someone whistling. He looked up to see someone sitting top of his bookcase! The figure jumped off and floated down towards the ground.
"Wha...woah!" Skander spluttered, "Who are you!?"
The ghost floated towards him, "I'm Master Adrian. Master Adrian Jeremiah Stone. And you, Skander Kenneth Jones, have about as much a command of the English language as a Chinaman."
"Who are you?" Skander said.
"I'm a ghost," said the boy.
Skander stared at Master Adrian. He looked a little older than Skander, and was about the same height. He wore a sharp, black three-piece suit and a black fedora hat. A glistening gold double-albert watch-chain stretched from one pocket of his waistcoat through the central buttonhole to the other pocket. His shoes were shiny black leather. He looked like a perfectly dressed young man. Except that everything was slightly transparent and dead.
"I've been watching you ever since you first moved into my house," said the ghost, pacing, "I think I like you."
"I'm talking to a GHOST?" Skander asked.
"Sure, why not?" the ghost replied, "What's the matter? Ain't all jazzed up about talkin' to a spiiirrriiit?" he asked.
"I...I never knew I could talk to ghosts," said Skander.
Master Adrian shrugged, "Yeah, whatever. Well you are now, Skandy-boy." the ghost laughed. "What's the matter? You look like you seen a ghost...oh wait! YOU HAVE!" and he laughed at his own joke. "Relax, kid, I'm not here to hurt you."
"W-well that's a relief...ah...nice to meet you...uh...Master Adrian."
"Oh scrap the formalities..." Adrian said, "Just call me Adrian."
"O-okay," said Skander. "So um...when did you die?"
"Fourth of January, 1919. In the middle of an epidemic of Spanish Influenza," the boy said. "Thats...what? 90 years ago now? Wow. Yep, I've been dead a loooong time. And this was my house. And this was my room. But I still think it's my house and I still think this is my room. I'm never gonna leave this place because I don't want to. Now that you can see me and talk to me, let's get that one thing straight. I'm here to stay whether you like it or not."
"Hey buddy," said Skander, "I...I don't want any trouble..."
"Good," said Adrian, "I don't want to give any."
"We...w-want to be friends?" Skander asked. Truth to be told, having a ghost for a friend was a pretty cool idea.
"Sure," said the ghost. "Nice to meet you."
Skander watched Adrian pull out a semi-transparent gold pocket watch from his waistcoat. He checked the time on it and then pocketed it.
"That looks like a pretty expensive watch..." Skander said.
"It was my father's," Adrian replied, "He gave it to me when I got the Influenza. I had wanted it my entire life. Well, now I can keep it my entire AFTERlife!" he chuckled. He pulled ghostly silver case from his coat and opened it. He pulled out a cigarette and put it between his lips. He lit the cigarette with a match from a pocket match-safe.
"Isn't that supposed to be bad for your health?" Skander asked.
"I've been dead ninety years," Adrian said, "What health?"
"Right," Skander nodded.
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