A few months ago your grandparents were kind enough to give you their old family home, and it looks wonderful. For a house that was built in the 1700s, it was in good condition. Nice windows, beautiful yard, two floors PLUS an attic? Oh, it was great. You never knew why your grandparents would give up such a beautiful home, but it didn't matter because the house was yours.

As time went on you started to notice strange things. Half-filled glasses of wine on the table, footsteps in the hallway, and the TV being left on one channel. The soap opera channel. It was odd because you don't watch any soap operas, but you just shook it off. As time continued, things got weirder. Your cats Gigabite and Atomic bomb would often meow at a painting down the hall.

At the end of the hall hung an old Renaissance painting. It was a pale-skinned man with long black curly hair and yellow eyes. What creeped you out was that the more you stared, the more alive it looked. As if it was staring right back at you. You then decided that that was enough staring and headed to bed.

Later that night you heard a loud thump. When you got out of bed and checked out into the hallway, you saw a vase on the ground. Now, you had to think. The cats were in bed with you, so how could the vase fall? Very odd. But as you walk over to pick up the vase, you notice the painting. The man from the painting was gone. Then you felt a hand touch your shoulder, and in an act of reflex, you punched him in the jaw.

He stumbled back and caressed where you struck, glaring at you. "How dare you strike me." He spoke in a soft but mildly angered voice. "You must be the grandchild, correct?"

You were too stunned to speak.

"Well? Speak." He said impatiently. Not only was this elegantly dressed man some type of ghost, he was also an impatient asshole. Wow, what a combo, am I right?