Christina lay still. She blamed fear for her paralysis. The scary man was standing on the other side of the room, looking back at her from time to time, grinning.
"Whatever it is, forget it."
"Let me tell my friends that I've gone. Otherwise, they'll come looking for me."
"And how, my dear, is that a problem?"
"They'll stop you or something."
"No. Just more play mates."
"Please!" she was crying, her tears slowly blinding her.
"Let me tell you something, little girl. I have been around for longer than you'd think. I have no intention of dying just yet."
"But you're already dead." Christina sounded confused, her sadness making her voice weak.
"Not properly. You want to know what I mean by properly dying? Let me tell you a story..."
* * * * *
It was a typical day with no special occurences all over the world. That Friday the 13th had been a surprisingly uneventful one. Well other than the mad man in his office.
Callum Crawfield had been sat at his desk for a large portion of the day and so he was now getting slightly bored of it. He had done all of the relevant paperwork for the day and so had little else to busy himself with, so he decided to go and get himself some water, his throat feeling especially dry all of a sudden.
As he walked down the corridor, he had a bit of a fright. Stood there in front of him was a tall man, no older than he was. Normally, Callum would have simply walked past him and not questioned his presence. But he was wearing bizarre clothing. Like he had just come off the set of some period drama. Well, a period murder mystery.
The man had blood on his hands. That was what first alerted Callum to the problem. And that, in turn, alerted Clive to the identity of the Seer. He started to walk towards the man, stretching his fingers.
The man just had one of those faces - you knew the second you saw it that he was a bad man. A very bad man. His eyes were dark, eerily so. His nose was slightly bent and partly resembled a hook. But it was his mouth, no his smile, that was the worst. His lips curved a lot more than they should, making the usual crescent moon shape a lot harsher.
Callum took a step backwards, bumping into his colleague, who then carried on towards the evil smile.
"No!" he shouted, "Stay away from him!"
The colleague, a man called Phil, looked at him in utter disgust. He dismissed his warning and started to convince himself that he had smelt some form of alcohol on his breath when he had passed him earlier. He began to plan what he would tell everyone else when he passed through Clive. The man shivered and so looked for an open window to shut.
Phil entered the nearest office and reached out to shut a window that was barely big enough for a cat to climb through. Clive entered behind him and, with one fluid motion, pushed Phil out of the window, his tie getting caught on the splinters of the wooden frame.
The final feeling that Phil felt as he plummeted to his death was regret. Regret that he didn't have chance to do all of the things that he had wanted to do, simple things like going abroad or buying a fast car or. Splat.
By this point, Callum was running for his life. He ducked into his office and hid underneath his desk, cowering in extreme fear. He waited for Clive to find him.
"Who are you?" was all he could manage.
"Your worst nightmare."
Callum died screaming.
But then Callum woke up. He looked down at his body, ripped into tiny shreds. Before he had chance to react, he saw Clive again.
Callum's death was painful. Once he was dead, it just got worse.
That day marked the first ever time when a ghost had ceased to exist through a single violent act. It had been the most horrific thing that had ever happened; it even made Clive wince a little. Callum had felt pain that nobody else would ever feel.
And it made Clive smile.