Infuriatingly, the boy continues to walk away, completely ignoring my increasingly frustrated yells. Eventually I settled for just floating along after him, humming the most irritating tune I could think of. It was a tactic I had picked up from a colleague, who had used it to great success whenever he wanted to attract someone's attention.
And it worked in this case as well, after a while. The boy stopped, scowled, looked around to make sure there was no-one about, and then turned to face me.
"All right, what do you want?"
That gave me brief pause. What did I want? Mostly to know what the hell was going on, I supposed.
"Do you know what's going on?" I asked accordingly. The boy shrugged in what I thought was a most uncalled-for casual manner.
"You're a ghost. You're dead. You got hit by a car; I saw it happen."
"Well, yes, obviously," I said, struggling to keep the sarcasm out of my voice. "But what I really want to know is if this is-"
I shut my mouth and meekly nodded. Once again, the casual shrug.
"Well, I don't really know. I've seen lots of ghosts but none of them have really talked to me 'cause they think I can't see them. And I'd like to keep it that way, please."
And with that maddeningly unhelpful comment, he turned back round and continued walking. Infuriated, I swished after him and attempted to grab his shoulder; naturally, as in many a Hollywood movie, my hand went straight through. The boy snickered uncharitably.
"You can't just leave me!" I yelled, right in his ear. But apparently my new, flat, dead voice did not have the deafening power of my living voice, because all that happened was that irritating shrug and the greatly unappreciated answer "Just watch me."