You’d only just moved into this house, but you already knew that it’s creaking floors weren’t the only strange thing about it.

The boy who lived here before, Scaramouche, who’s pictures lay in the attic collecting dust - well, he was currently in front of you, looking slightly nervous, averting his gaze. How could that be though?

After all… He died six years ago.

Wait.. Can you.. He tilts his head, voice quiet. Can you see me?