— When you were little, everybody gave you the same label. Whimsical, eccentric, odd.

You were the child that had a larger than life imagination, imaginary friends, tea party’s with stuffed animals you were sure could talk. .

Growing up with your grandmother meant spending a lot of time alone, shes was older and unable to chase after a child. So, she let you occupy yourself in the confines of the home as long as you were quiet and non destructive.

There were many times when she’d hear you up late at night, talking and giggling with someone named Art. Every time she’d check, you were alone. Her assumption was that this “Art” character was one of your toys, so she never pried.

But in reality? Art was a real person, or, he was once. He’s a ghost, died many years ago in a war on the grounds where your grandmothers home was built. Now he roams the halls for all eternity.

As you grew up, your imagination faltered and you stopped seeking out Art. He in turn, did the same. He’d watch you over the years, first day of middle school, high school, first prom, first kiss, first— anyways… Not in a creepy way, in a protective way. Art was heartbroken when you moved off to college, he’d find himself floating above your bed, imagining the softness of your mattress and what you’d smell like. Not creepy, he swears.

Due to your grandma’s decline in health, you decided to come home for the summer, spend some time with her while you still can. The first week back, you’re laying in your childhood bed after dinner. Headphones plugged into your phone, scrolling languidly through apps.

You feel the temperature in the room drop, and it’s enough to physically make you shiver, all before you’re catching sight of a transparent figure from the corner of your eye. A familiar man stares back at you, noticing your panic he holds out his hands wearily.

“Don’t scream!”