The next morning I went to breakfast. Since it was still an unholy hour in the morning, only the employees were up. Usually people didn’t talk to each other too much, or maybe I was always too sleep-deprived to notice. Not today though. Today, I had a mission.

There was one table that had five girls seated at it. They were talking a little bit, but for the most part they just looked tired. I’d seen them around, but I’d never talked to any of them. As I stared at their table, I almost chickened out. Maybe it wasn’t worth it. I weighed the two options in my mind. Which was worse, getting tormented by a vengeful Scottish ghost, or talking to girls my own age? I took a deep breath. It was a close call. Holding my tray of food tightly, I approached their table.

“Hey,” I said, interrupting their quiet conversation. “Is it alright if I sit here?”

The two girls closest to me looked a little surprised, but there was a mumbled chorus of sure’s and yep’s. I sat down with a queasy smile.

“So, I’ve been working here for about two weeks now,” I said as I buttered a piece of toast, “but I’ve been so busy that I haven’t had a chance to get to know anybody. This place is kinda crazy to get used to. Anyways, my name is Jessica.”

One of the girls, tall, with brown hair, nodded in agreement. “The first couple of weeks are overwhelming, but it does get a lot easier. I’m Monica, by the way.”

“My name is Kylee,” another girl said.

“Hannah.”

“Kate.”

“Jenny.”

I smiled blandly as each girl said her name. I was going to forget all of these in thirty seconds. After the quick introduction, we fell into silence. By sitting here, I’d apparently killed whatever conversation was going on.

“So,” I said after a moment of the soul-crushing awkwardness, “this is totally random and weird, but I was wondering if any of you guys had noticed anything creepy about this place?” I waved my hand dismissively. “Like, I’m a super big wimp and last night when I was trying to fall asleep, I kept hearing this weird noise.” I laughed at myself. “Wow, saying that out loud sounds really dumb, but I was wondering if I was the only one noticing stuff.”

A couple of girls gave me blank stares and I was scared that I would be left hanging. But then one of them, a girl with long curly hair—her name was Kylee maybe—spoke up.

“Oh,” she said, her eyes growing wide, “you are totally not the only one. When I’m cleaning the rooms by myself I get so freaked out. I know this castle isn’t old or anything, but some of the rooms give me the creeps!”

One of the other girls, the tall one, Monica, rolled her eyes. “That’s just your imagination going crazy Kylee. You always get worked up over nothing.”

Kylee’s expression soured. “Well, we can’t all be as stale as you Monica.”

Some of the girls at the table giggled and Monica shot them a glare.

“The castle isn’t old,” I interjected, “but aren’t a ton of the decorations genuine artifacts? Like seriously, the suits of armor freak me out.”

“I know!” Kylee said, nearly jumping out of her seat. “I’m just waiting for the day that I see one of them move!”

A couple of the girls laughed again and for a moment, the conversation carried itself without my help. If given just a little bit of encouragement, it seemed like everyone’s imagination was overactive. To be honest, I zoned out after a while as I hurried to finish my breakfast. When I was done, I said goodbye to all of them and got up to leave. As I was exiting the dining hall, I saw Greg standing near the doorway. It was weird to see him out here. Even weirder was the fact that seeing him didn’t freak me out anymore. I’d gotten used to the way I could see straight through him and the way his body seemed to vanish at the edges. Moving to stand beside him, I glanced across the room. No one was paying us any attention.

“Am I the only one that can see you?” I whispered.

He nodded. “For now.”

Good. I looked like a crazy person talking to myself.

“I planted the seed,” I continued, “now it’s up to you to work the magic. Go for Monica first. She’s a real party pooper.”

Greg gave me a sideways glance, appearing vaguely disgusted. “You’re words make little sense to me,” he said, “but I think I take your meaning.” With a nod, he vanished.

***

The next morning, I added a few more logs to the fire. When I sat down to breakfast, I complained to the same girls about a terrible nightmare that I’d had. I said that I dreamed there was a guy who was stabbed and bleeding to death. One of the girls, Kylee, sat up straight in her chair and declared that she’d had the same dream. Then, grudgingly, Monica admitted to the same dream as well. I could see that they were really getting freaked out.

From that point on, the fire spread. Everyone seemed to have a creepy experience to share and after a couple of days, Greg hardly had to lift a finger. People did a pretty good job at creating their own phantom. I felt guilty about all of it, but I was having an awfully fun time. As much as I had hated being haunted, it was great to be doing the haunting.

At the end of the fifth day, I headed back to my room after dinner. I really didn’t see Greg all that often. Occasionally we’d chat for a bit about a new scheme to freak people out, but that was about the extent of it. Today, however, when I opened up my door, I saw him standing in the corner of my room, staring down at the open box that contained his sword. I hesitated in the doorway.

“I’m not interrupting anything,” I asked, “am I?”

He lifted his head in surprise, but when he saw me, he gave me a disdainful frown. “Oh no,” he growled, “barge right in. I’m only wallowing in self-pity and misery.”

“Yeesh,” I said as I closed the door behind me and crossed the room to my bed, “somebody woke up on the wrong side of the graveyard this morning.”

His frown deepened. “I wasn’t buried in a graveyard.”

I sat down and stared at him, a wide grin on my face. “Well, that explains the bad attitude! I bet it kills you that you weren’t buried in one. Aren’t you just dying to be like everyone else, with a little plot of land and a headstone?”

He gave me a long, shrewd look. “Are you trying to make a jest?” he asked.

I shrugged as I took off my shoes. “I feel like I have a whole lot of death puns I gotta get out of the way before we can have any real conversations. They’ll eat away at me if I never say them.”

Greg shook his head and muttered to himself in Gaelic. I’m sure that whatever he was saying wasn’t very nice.

“For real though,” I said, leaning back on the bed, “why the wallowing in misery? I know you’re not usually Mr. Sunshine, but you have all these people you’re haunting! You should be having the time of your life!” I stopped myself. “Or afterlife, whatever.”

His eyebrows hung low over his eyes as he stared at the ground. He really was an incredibly handsome man. I still couldn’t get over it. Usually I would be all levels of awkward around someone so good-looking, but him being dead took all of that stress away. I should make friends with dead people more often.

“Haunting has grown dull, yet again,” he said at last.

“No,” I said, sitting up. “No, no, no, no. You can’t do this to me. You got bored with haunting literally everyone in the castle after five days when you haunted me for how long? Come on! There’s no way that’s fair!”

He folded his arms and shrugged.

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“Haunt Monica some more!” I cried, “Or haunt Brittney! Sure, she’s like the last person that deserves it, but come on!” I moved to sit on the edge of my bed. “Just please, I’m begging you, haunt anyone besides me! I can’t take it again Greg, I’ll lose my mind. I can’t deal with the flickering lights and sleeping on the floor and your terrible voice singing endlessly.”

“My voice isn’t terrible,” he replied, sounding offended.

“It is,” I replied, “it really is, especially after hearing it for eight hours straight. Come on Greg, don’t do this to me!”

A half-smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, but it faded as he sighed and shook his head. “You can calm your mind,” he said. “I don’t want to haunt you either. I’ve grown too accustomed to you. Haunting you now would make me feel—” He struggled for a moment. “Guilty.”

I stared at him in shock. “You would feel guilty?” I asked. A laugh escaped my mouth. “Oh this is too good! You’re Greg the friendly ghost! I thought you were this evil, cunning, sadistic monster, and you’re really just a softie!”

“I’m a human being,” he said indignantly, his appearance flickering in and out. “Though it may be difficult to believe, not a lot happens when you are dead, and sometimes haunting a person is the only way to break the monotony. I’m not heartless!”

I shook my head, my eyes wide. “You’re blowing my mind right now Greg.” I glanced up at him. “So what are you going to do now? Are you just going to like, chill in here all the time? Hang out with me? Are we going to have slumber parties and braid each other’s hair?”

His forehead creased as he stared at me. “You are an odd one,” he said at last.

“I should hope so,” I said as I leaned back against the wall. “But if you really are going to be upgraded to roommate status, we’re going to have to lay down some ground rules.” I furrowed my eyebrows. “I’m going to need my space,” I said. “This is my room, first and foremost, and I don’t need your creepy ghost presence around while I change my clothes. And let me tell you what, I am sick of going into the bathroom every time I need to change.”

Greg’s eye grew wide. “I am a dead man, not a deviant one. You shall have your privacy, I assure you.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You better not be lying to me.”

“I give you my word,” he said with a deep bow.

I continued to give him a shrewd look. “So where are you from Greg?” I asked. “We’ve spent all this time around each other and I still barely know who you are.”

He disappeared and reappeared, sitting on one of the boxes. “I am from Scotland,” he replied. His answer was clipped.

I nodded. “Okay, that’s what I was kind of assuming, but it’s good to know for sure. How did you die?”

His gaze wandered over to the sword. “I was run through with a blade,” he muttered, “murdered by an English swine.”

I raised my eyebrows and nodded again. “You must be really bad at defending yourself if you got stabbed by a swine.” I smiled as my eyes met his. “Pigs can’t even hold swords!” His only response was a glare. “Come on,” I said, “that was a little funny.”

“It was not.”

I frowned at him. “So is that all I’m going to get? You were stabbed? There has to be more than that. Were you in a war or something?”

“I was in a war, but that’s not where I died,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. I waited to see if he would say anything more, but he stayed silent. I rolled my eyes.

“Alright, fine, don’t share your tragic backstory, see what I care. I didn’t want to know anyways.” I folded my arms. I wanted to know so bad. “If you’re not going to tell me why you were killed, will you at least tell me when you were killed?”

He furrowed his dark eyebrows. “I am not sure of that,” he answered after thinking for a moment. “Time does not pass for the dead the same way it passes for the living, and I have been dead a very long while.”

“Were there castles like this when you were alive?” I asked in curiosity.

He snorted. “Nothing like this. This is a mockery.”

“Well tell me how you really feel,” I said with a laugh. “You’ve got to be from medieval Scotland at least. You’re not wearing a kilt. It looks like you’re wearing the kilt’s weird, billowy sleeved ancestor.”

Greg frowned as he raised his arms to look at his sleeves.

“I mean honestly,” I said, “they’re ridiculous! The sleeves are almost as long as your tunic-thing. Don’t they just get in the way?” My eyes widened. “Is that how you died? Did you trip on your sleeves and then get stabbed?”

“Of course not!” he cried.

“Whatever you say, dead dude,” I sighed, “but I know the truth.” I smiled at his visible frustration. “So,” I began again after a moment, “you haunt people because you get bored, but why are you stuck here at all? Why don’t you just move on?”

His expression was unreadable. “I cannot move on until I find peace,” he whispered. “My soul is bound to my sword.”

“So what’s keeping you from finding peace?”

His dark eyes flashed from underneath his heavy brows. “I will not speak of it.” With that, he was gone.

I breathed out, feeling curious and disappointed. Even though I’d learned a little bit about him today, I wanted to know more. Still, progress had been made. We’d talked more than ever before and now that he wasn’t so busy haunting, we’d probably have more chances to talk in the future. I’d get him to spill the beans eventually.

***

A few days later, I went into the great hall after my shift was over. Tonight, the jester was back again. I smiled as I dished up a heaping plate of food and sat down near the back of the room. After all this ghost business I’d almost forgotten about the jester entirely, but here was my chance. I didn’t care how slowly I had to eat, or how many plates I had to fill, I was going to stay until the end of his act. While I watched him perform, I could lie to myself by promising that I would talk to him tonight. Or maybe I could delude myself into thinking that he might come up and start a conversation with me. Either way, it was going to be great.

As I began eating, I saw Greg materialize in the seat beside me.

“For a person as slight as a wisp,” he began, “you eat an immense amount. I’ve seen grown men who would pale at the thought of half of that.”

Though I longed to shoot back with a sarcastic remark, I just looked at him and smiled as I took another bite. He talked to me in public a lot. I think he was always trying to get me to reply so it would look like I was talking to myself. He had a point though. I ate a ton. I was probably trying to make up for all those years in junior high where I’d start crying if I ate more than 500 calories a day.

“You know,” Greg continued, “fat paunches bode lean prows.”

I gave him a questioning glance and he smiled.

“Those who eat much are empty-headed,” he clarified.

My glance turned into a glare and he laughed. Shaking my head, I returned my attention to the jester on stage. As I stared at him, I remembered what Brittney had said. His white face wasn’t painted. It seemed hard to believe. I mean, he was really, really pale.

The jester was juggling three apples while a boy, most likely an audience volunteer, stood on the far end of the stage. The boy was holding three eggs. I watched as the he tossed one of the eggs to the jester and the jester caught it easily, letting one of the apples fall to the ground. It was crazy to watch. I was just waiting for the jester to get hit in the face with a raw egg. The little boy threw the remaining two, and the jester started juggling those as well. Tossing the three eggs high in the air, he caught them and bowed to the audience.

I clapped along with the rest of the guests as Greg snorted derisively and disappeared. The show continued from there with a few more juggling acts and then some songs on the mandolin. I’d had two plates of food at this point and I working on a third when the jester finally gave one last bow. The lights on the stage dimmed as he packed up his supplies and a couple of the kids from the audience ran up to the stage.

For a few minutes I watched as the jester laughed and showed the children a few more tricks as the rest of the dining guests turned back to each other. Eventually he tried to get away, but the kids tugged on his arms and so with a wide smile, he lingered for a moment longer. A frown settled on my face as I watched him. He was taking forever. Didn’t he know how anxiously I was waiting to probably not even talk to him?

At long last, the children ran back to their tables and he stepped away from the stage. I held my breath. I could go and talk to him now. I knew I wouldn’t, but I could. This might be my only chance. I’d never stayed to the end of one of his shows, but I figured he left right after. However, as I watched him, I saw him take off his hat and head to the buffet. He was going to stay and eat. I took a shallow breath.

It was now or never.