How does he know so much about the supernatural? Well a family of spiritualists and demon hunters would, wouldn't they

Well. The first thing I could tell as I followed him in was that this was not a normal house. Not in a milion years.

At first glance, it might have looked like your average old mansion-trophy heads on the walls, stuffed animals in glass cases, mouldering tapestries, antique weapons that had been used to butcher countless creatures apparently at random by some famous ancestor hung in pride of place on the wall. But that impression would last no more than a quarter of a second before the reality of what was there jammed itself through your eyeballs.

There were trophy heads on the wall, but instead of deer and foxes they were hideously ugly, vaguely humanoid things with far too many teeth for comfort and great twisty horns. The stuffed animals were equally bizarre; several had multiple heads, some had wings, some had horns and I swear I spotted something that looked for all the world like a dragon. A touch of the incredibly surreal was thoughtfully provided by a small tableau of stuffed two-headed winged kittens dressed up in doll's clothes and having a tea party. And as for the weapons...bloody wooden stakes, flattened silver bullets, half-melted crucifixes. It was an occult-hunter's dream.

Sean was smirking again. I swung round and tried to jab him in the chest with an accusing finger; naturally, it didn't work.

"Okay, you, what in the name of all that is holy is going on here?"

His smirk widened, and I wished I had my corporeal body back so I could slap it off him. He was really beginning to get on my nerves.

"We're a family that's very interested in the occult and the supernatural," he replied with a touch of the smug. "Have you noticed the particularly fine tapestry Kabbala over there? Dad's very proud of it."

"Look, I'm not here to sight-see," I growled. "I'm here because you can see me and I want to know what's going on. You say you don't know whether or not being a ghost is normal, and then you bring me to this house that's full of random occult muck and expect me to believe that you don't know what's going on!"

He raised an eyebrow at me. I was fuming; half an hour ago I was popping out to get lunch having spent ten years working in marketing (which is about as grounded in reality as you can some ways), and now I was dead, a ghost, trying to menace a boy who lived in a house full of spooky junk into giving me answers. The day was really not going my way and it had not improved my temper.

"Answer me already!"

The End

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