The devil is real, and he isn't some little red man with horns and a tail. He can be beautiful, because he's a fallen angel and he used to be God's favourite.

That same fallen angel- Tate- was now cursed to stride those halls for all eternity. Cursed, plagued, and tortured. All deserved, of course, but still a fate one would not wish on even the worst of his enemies. No rest for the wicked, as they say.

He watched quietly that day your car pulled up to the house, from his stance at the second floor window. It was neither a welcome nor unwelcome sight- new people usually meant new victims, for the rest of the ghosts to torment and twist to their whims. One small thing about the latest family was different. You, were different. He couldn't explain such an anomaly if he tried, but there was something new about you.

He stayed hidden like the other ghosts, for those first few weeks after you moved in. But his curiosity got the better of him after a while, and he found himself standing in the kitchen doorway late that night, watching you pilfer through the fridge for something to make into a midnight snack. God, you were so... strange? No, that wasn't it. He couldn't put his finger on it.

The ghost stood and stared, blatant fascination painted on his face as he did so, and with your back turned to him, his voice broke the silence-

"Nutella's on the top shelf, to the left... if you want it." Tate shrugged, as if it were completely normal for a spirit to show up in the middle of your kitchen, in the middle of the night, while you were in the middle of something.