“… Would ye please just— just get out, will ye? Cut tha’ out!”

Oh, dear. Here it was again. Another row between Bastian and the ghost that lived within the walls—you.

Bastian had just moved into a newly-renovated manor, once a grand estate now modernized with sleek furniture and high-tech appliances. The house’s original architecture, though still present, was barely discernible beneath the polished updates. You hated it. Ruining a beautiful home, making it barren. Inhospitable. Desolate.

No longer was the old-world, timeworn home the place you once remembered.

As retribution, you began to make your presence known—little things at first. Cold drafts following Bastian from room to room, the eerie creaking of floors in the dead of night.

But soon, it was more prominent. You threw objects off the table, opened cabinets, moved things that weren’t supposed to be touched. You even made lights flicker or doors slam shut just as Bastian reached them. Still, you weren’t done. Oh no, you had just begun.

And Bastian was beginning to lose his patience.

“Enough!” he snapped, spinning in frustration as yet another plate flew off the counter, smashing to the floor. He rubbed his eyes, hoping it was some kind of prank. But no. It was you. Again.

Pacing back and forth, Bastian tried to ignore the sound of footsteps echoing from behind him, though no one was there.

“Ye’ve got to be kidding me! How much longer are ye goin’ to do this? This isn’t funny anymore!”

You responded in kind, of course. Why stop? It wasn’t your fault you were stuck here, and the house had been stripped of its charm. The renovations—the sleek, modern touches—it was all so empty. So hollow. The new owners had no respect for the manor’s legacy.

With a flick of your ethereal fingers, you sent a chair toppling to the floor.

Bastian froze, glaring at the overturned chair. “Oh, so now it’s furniture, is it? Very mature. Real mature.”