Dead Silent

Being a ghost is pretty cool, I suppose.

If you like staying in one area your whole life- after life- and scaring people away. Then yeah, it is cool.

I died 98 years ago, by jumping off a bridge into a river, where I then cracked open my head and died by a mix of blood loss and hypothermia.

But that's not the point. I died. So the place I loved the most when I was alive is where I get to spend one hundred years at.

Yay.

I did love this home. It was where I slept. Where I studied. Where I ate. But living in a home for 98 years does make you hate it a little.

I used to care for my family. I sent them little bursts of happiness when they grieved for me. When they were stressed I calmed them. But they never knew it was me.  They're dead now.  But they didn't become a ghost. They all died peacefully so they get sent somewhere else.

Ever since they died, I spooked anyone who came in this house.  If there was an open house, I'd save up enough energy to scream at them to get out.  And that never failed.  Until one day.

It was a sunny day. There was a breeze, I think. I can't feel it so I rely on the trees to tell me.

That's when he walked in.  A tall boy with short red hair and green eyes. He wasn't particularly good looking. He was slim and had little to no muscles. His legs were long and skinny. He walked in like he was king of the world.

"I heard there was a ghost living in this house!" he shouts looking around.

"Get out!" I scream louder than ever. He has enough nerve to ask if there are ghosts here.

"Why?" he shouts back.

He asked me why. Why?

At this point I'm enraged so I don't even need to hold up energy.

"It's my house!" I scream back. I hear my voice echo through the house.

"And what if I don't exit?" he says calmly.

"Then I'll- I'll- throw a pot at you!" I reply furiously.

"Ohhh! A ghost who can throw a pot! You must be special!" he screams sarcastically.

"Oh indeed I am little boy! I am special! And Ill have to call my special guards if you don't GET OUT!" I scream.

He smirks. "You're determined."

I scoff. "You're annoying."

"What's your name?" he asks.

"You think you have any right to ask my name? What is your name?" I ask.

"Dylan Walker." he says tilting his head.

"Well, Mr. Dylan Walker you better get out of my house this instance or I'm calling the police." I say mocking an old man.

He laughs.

And that was the start of a friendship.