For as long as she could remember, Mori had been treated like a rat; small, stinky and infamously prone to getting scapegoated even when it wasn’t her fault. What didn’t help Mori’s case was her unusual habit of dressing in a hoodie and denim jeans combo, complete with forest green sneakers. Nothing about her stood out, not even her amber eyes or unruly mop of shaggy blonde hair. All in all, a typical caricature of retro nerd culture.

In fact, if it wasn’t for a group of bullies chasing her down one fateful night, eyes burning with a red-hot rage, then she would have avoided stumbling into the doorway leading to a house. Not just any house, mind you, a haunted house. One that had been condemned for destruction 2 months ago. With no options left, Mori wrenched the damn thing open and sprinted inside, unaware of the horrors and screams to come.

I’d rather not talk about the unpleasant experiences poor Mori faced that night; ghastly ghouls, sharp teethed fiends, emerald eyed daemons, they all chased her. Day, night, it didn’t matter to them. All they cared about was the feeling of euphoria they would experience every time they clawed at her flesh.

Eventually, after what felt like forever, they leapt onto Mori, ripping her still-beating heart out of her chest and eating it in one bite. The sheer shock of losing such a vital organ proved too much for her, so she died. Just. Like. That.

To this day, she haunts the grounds where she died, wailing in agony for hours and hours on end. Why, it’s enough to make a grown man want to kill himself. But I’d digress. After all. Not everything buried remains dead for long, my friend, especially ghosts.