Sir Alister's POV
I don't know what it was, one moment I was simply resting comfortably, if not a little cramped, on the mattress me and the rest of the ghost council members slept on in the McGee's basement. And the next I was rooting through drawers upstairs trying to find something suitable to cut my hair.
After a while of struggle, what was left of the sanity in my brain made me remember that human objects couldn't work, so I puffed a pair of scissors into my hands. My hands, shaking, as I held the bladed object in my hands. Memories of figures that are meant to help children grow, destroying dreams with this simple object made me feel sick. And it feels so jarring, because that figure no longer matters, and everyone understands, so this feeling, it's confusing and it hurts.
I won't be able to do it on my own. I couldn't bother the rest of my companions with a task so arbitrary, they knew my history of my... identity. But while tired they have proved to be, while understanding, a bit difficult to manage.
I couldn't wake the children of the house, Molly, and Darryl. I had grown fond of them. And while I know either would be more willing to help while tired (well- mostly Molly), I wouldn't be able to bear being the one behind an exhausted state in either one in the morning.
Scratch… He would probably do it, maybe; if it was the morning. But of course, it is the middle of the night, and trying to wake him would simply be fruitless.
Last on my list of possible performers of this task were the parents of the household. Mr, and Mrs. McGee. Pete, and Sharon. Dad… And Mom…
Calling them such would prove without a doubt embarrassing for either party. Not even just for me. But just thinking of how my friends' faces would shift in a look of confusion, and the parents… what would they think? What would they say? They would no doubt be confused... Perhaps angry even.
Yes, if you were to live or even be AROUND the McGee's for any reasonable amount of time. Anger was not an emotion that would naturally come to mind. But of course, previously seeing Molly in her wraith form, so angry at the mere idea of me and my friends even taking a passing glance at the thought of us taking Scratch away. Even after she had literally KILLED our boss mere moments before, makes you think on what the others would do.
But my mind was not filled with much rationale, so I phased through the walls in search of the parents' room. It only took a few minutes for my head to become flustered, what would I say? What would I ask? What would they say? How would they react?
But too soon was I unable to answer those questions and I was already through the wall to the bedroom. Looking over my two options, I didn't know who to choose.
The mother, Sharon, out and about working countless hours doing who knows what kind of strange jobs this town could throw at her would need her rest. But of course, that also left the father, Pete, having to travel towns over to ask people questions to help this small town that gave little back also needed his rest.
Of course though, the choice was made for me when I saw the man stir in his slumber. I want to leave as if it wasn't happening to ensure I won't have to convince him that I'm not abnormal.
But yet I float still as I watch Pete groggily sit upright to figure out what anyone would need in the night.
3rd Person POV
"Alister? Is that you?", Pete said after yawning, clearly tired, as he rubbed his eyes to clear his vision.
Alister already felt his ectoplasm spiral with guilt at unintentionally waking him up, "Yes…", he whispered.
Pete looked at the alarm clock on the bedside table, it was about 20 after midnight, "Heh, do uhh, do ghosts go to bed later than humans?" He joked, before noticing Alister's stilled demeanor.
