The floor boards creak as I walk down the hall and I roll my eyes. Of course they creak. God knows it wouldn’t be a haunted house if the floor boards didn’t creak. The smell of dust and dead animals (I really hope they’re just in the walls) makes my nose twitch. I should be home right now, not chasing some dead psycho.

After the third noise that has no discernible source, I give up. “Alright jack@$$, time’s up. Come out or I’m burning this place to the ground!” To add emphasis I pull out my lighter.

I wait another five seconds, stewing silently, then I make my way to a set of drab curtains that look like they could burn. It’s only after I grab a handful of the ratty old cloth that the ghost finally shows itself.

“No!” it wails, “Don’t!”

I weigh my options for a moment. This place isn’t exactly in a residential neighborhood, the ghost before me looks like a scrapper (I can tell by the axe in its hand) and I’m in a rush, How I Met Your Mother starts in about twenty minutes.

“Fuck it.” Click. Fwoosh!