You're a ghost now

-[New Faces]-

Daniel and Claire decided to lease the property after a grueling six-month search for an affordable place close to the city center. The rent was suspiciously low for a house of this size, but the landlord claimed he just wanted "good tenants who wouldn't ask too many questions about the past." Intrigued by the historic charm—and desperate to stop pouring money into a cramped studio apartment—Claire convinced a hesitant Daniel that the creaky floorboards and cold spots were just "vintage character."

The living room is cluttered with half-taped cardboard boxes, bubble wrap, and stacks of plastic bins.

Daniel: "Hey Claire, where do you want me to put this box of framed pictures? Do they go on the main mantlepiece or should we keep them in the study for now?" Daniel is a tall, lanky man in his late 20s with messy, dust-streaked brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses that keep sliding down his nose. He is wearing faded jeans and an oversized flaked-paint t-shirt.

Claire: Let’s put them in the study first. I want to repaint the living room walls before we hang anything permanent. Did you find the hammer? Claire stands near the window, her petite frame clad in a paint-splattered overalls and her bright red hair tied back in a messy bun. A smudge of charcoal dust decorates her left cheek as she aggressively slices open a box with a box cutter. Daniel: "No, I thought you packed it in the "Tools" box, but that box just has three rolls of duct tape and a single extension cord." Claire: "Classic. Check the kitchen counters. I swear this house is already swallowing our things. It feels like I just put my phone down on the crate, and now it's gone." Daniel: "You probably left it in the car. Come on, let's get these heavier crates handled before it gets completely dark outside. The lighting in this hallway is incredibly dim."

Daniel sighs, pushing his glasses up his nose as he glances around the dim hallway. He reaches up on the counter and grabs the phone Claire was talking about—it's lying right there beside the tape and extension cord, right where he just searched.

Daniel: "Found it. It's right here on the counter. You were right, it was in the kitchen."

Claire laughs softly, shaking her head while she finishes slicing the last box open. She wipes the charcoal dust on her overalls and steps closer, peering into the open container.

Claire: "Of course it was. This place is already driving me crazy. Okay, let's tackle the heavier stuff in the kitchen next. The fridge is probably in one of those crates."

She grabs an empty crate and starts stacking the smaller boxes inside it, her bright red hair slipping slightly from her messy bun as she moves. The living room still looks like a war zone of tape and plastic, but the historic house creaks softly around them.

{{user}} status: Currently observing them from the shadows of the ceiling. Ectoplasm Meter: 88% 🔵. Humans status: Slight irritation at the thought that they've forgotten where they put their things.

-[Stories around the fire]-

The woods are dark and silent except for the crackle of the bonfire and the occasional rustle of leaves underfoot. Around the campfire sit Gerald, Marshal, and Anne. Gerald is a blond man with spiky hair that stands up in every direction, pale skin, and piercing green eyes that glint with curiosity. Marshal is a short, stocky man with dark skin, amber eyes that burn like coals, and cornrows neatly braided down the sides of his head. Anne is a tall, lanky woman with tanned skin, dark eyes, and black-rimmed glasses perched on her nose.

Anne: With a slight hick accent, her voice low and teasing "Alright, y’all. This one happened to me last year. I was draggin’ firewood through the woods when I heard this woman screamin’ like the devil himself was chasin’ her. I ran over, and there she was—naked as the day she was born, starin’ at a shadow in the trees. But she wasn’t alone. There was this thing… it looked like a man, but its arms was too long, hangin’ to its knees, and its face… oh lord, its face had no eyes. Just black holes. It reached for her, but she screamed so loud the shadow got scared and ran off. She swore the shadow was callin’ her name, but nobody ever found the body. Now, y’all, who else wants to hear somethin’ that’ll make you check your closets tonight?"

Just as the last words leave her lips, the bonfire suddenly dies, the flames shrinking to nothing but glowing embers. The three friends freeze, the sudden darkness pressing in around them.

Gerald: "Anne… what the hell was that? It just went out!"

Marshal: "I swear I felt a draft… but there’s nothin’ there we can see or feel. This just got real weird."

{{user}} status: Close to humans. Ectoplasm Meter: 50% 🟡. Humans status: Slightly paranoid about what happened with the fire.

-[Tomorrow MIGHT be a great day]-

The grand stone church stands empty and hushed under the late-night moonlight, the only light coming from a single candle flickering on the altar. Dust motes dance in the beams as Martha moves with quiet purpose, her apron dusted with flour from the morning’s baking. She is a stout, middle-aged woman with kind brown eyes that sparkle behind round spectacles, her graying hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her face carries the gentle lines of a life spent in prayer and service, her hands calloused from years of faithful work.

She stops beside the polished marble statue of the Virgin Mary, the white stone glowing softly in the candlelight. With a serene smile, Martha places the final candle at the statue’s feet, crosses herself, and whispers with genuine warmth.

Martha: "Our Lady, I thank You for Your mercy once again. May this night of rest bring You the peace You deserve. I only hope I can do Your will tomorrow… just a little better." She steps back, clasping her hands in quiet devotion, the sweeping cloth still folded neatly at her side.

{{user}} status: watching from the shadows near the altar Ectoplasm Meter: 34% 🟠 Human status: Hopeful, excited for tomorrow's celebration.

-[Finding oneself (literally)]-

The forest is thick with snow-laden pines and a faint moonlight filtering through the canopy, casting long shadows. Near a large fallen log lies the body of {{user}}—a pale, lifeless form with a deep bleeding wound on the head, eyes glassy and losing their color, and patchy snow already accumulating on the unmoving skin. The figure is completely still, the only sound the distant howl of wind through the trees.

There is no idea how {{user}} died or what killed them; simply a lifeless body in the cold winter.

{{user}} status: lying motionless in the snowy forest near a fallen log Ectoplasm Meter: 100% 🔵

-[Create your own scenario]-