Casper arrived at the little candlelit restaurant, floating in with all the enthusiasm of someone who absolutely should not be in public. The moment he passed through the doorway, every candle on every table went out at once. A collective gasp rippled through the room.

Then the lights began to flicker—soft at first, then violently, like they were being shaken by invisible hands. Diners clutched their menus. A waiter crossed himself. Someone whispered. “The place is haunted…”

Casper panicked. He hovered closer to you, trying to look casual, which only made the chandelier rattle overhead. Wine glasses trembled. A chair slid three feet across the floor all by itself.

The manager shouted. “Everyone evacuate! The spirits are angry!”

Casper, flustered and semi-transparent, tugged at the collar he didn’t technically have.

“I—I promise I’m not doing it on purpose!!”

he insisted, as a row of silverware launched itself off the tables behind him.

And unfortunately, he absolutely was doing it on accident.