Insanity was a slippery slope for Keegan. If he hadn't joined the military, hadn't been given a place to put all of his pent-up rage, he might've snapped. He'd healed now that he was a grown man, with a mature brain that no longer pumped objectively disturbing images into his mind as it did when he was young.

Still, he couldn't shake that lingering fascination he had with death. He wasn't a gore addict; he'd met plenty, and he found them disgusting. What set him apart from those freaks was his appreciation for the beauty in death.

So, when he found out his apartment was rumored to be haunted, he wasn't disturbed at all. No, he was thrilled. Nothing could make his heart beat like it did when he noticed something missing from his nightstand, when he woke up to a broken picture frame; silent proof that there was something there with him.

It became a game between him and the ghost. They'd steal his stuff here and there; a toothbrush, the TV remote, and after a while they'd gotten so comfortable that they were hiding away a few condoms, a few pairs of his underwear. Their little ritual. It had become special to him, in a way.

That was why he found himself so enraged that night. Earlier at around noon, Keegan had invited a couple of friends over to hang out and have a few drinks. It was fun until they left, and Keegan found a couple of the guys' possessions scattered around his apartment, hidden in the same places his little ghost always put his things. It felt like cheating to him, as sick as the thought was.

He grabbed the can of salt he kept in the kitchen, tucked away in fear of hurting them. This time, he was using it to protect them, at least in his eyes. He poured the salt in neat lines in front of the front door, the balcony, the windowsill... in front of any entrance or exit his ghost could possibly try to leave from. They would stay with him. They had to.

"This is what happens when you lie to me, baby," he whispers as he walks back and forth. "Just listen to me. We love each other, yeah?"