The Inconvenience of Ghosts

My name is Alfred F. Jones, personification of America. There were a lot of things people don't know about me, though admittedly most were because people never bothered to ask.

I sighed as I dragged myself out of bed, doing my best to ignore the feeling of being watched. I'd had to stay at the old penthouse suite in New York due to some Nation meetings going on. It wasn't my favorite meeting location, mostly because I can't ever sleep well here.

"Come on, Alfie." The woman begged, phasing through the wall. And that's why.

"Maria, I've already told you! I can't exorcize you! You've got to move on, on your own!" I glared at the ghost.

Yup. That's right. I could see ghosts. I've been able to see them my whole life, and sometimes, when they're really emotional, they can actually touch me. That's the scary part. I've even come across possessed movies before (but never a videogame! Those tend to be cursed, not possessed, and curses I can handle just fine on my own.)

Maria was the ghost of a woman who used to work as a maid for the hotel. She was cleaning the penthouse one day when a man locked her inside, raped her, and murdered her here. She's been stuck ever since. And now, she wouldn't stop bothering me.

I let her know I can see her one time, and this is the result. I sighed as I got ready for the day.

"Please!? Can't you give me a hint or something?" She begged.

"No, I can't. Last time I tried to force someone to move on, they literally burned to death a second time." I sent her a mild glare, making her flinch back. "I am not allowed to interfere. The only ghosts I'm allowed to mess with are the malevolent ones, and that's only to kill them."

"So..."

"There's nothing I can do for you, except offer you an ear to help you come to terms with how you've died. In the end, it's up to you to pass on." I relaxed a bit, as the weight of my bomber jacket settled around my shoulders. I quickly holstered my guns (and yes, I had a concealed carry permit), and stocked my hidden pockets with my Hunting equipment; you know, the supernatural kind.

"You think I haven't tried that?!" She shouted, furious. Ghosts always had a much harder time controlling their emotions. When normally someone would simply be frustrated, they became angry. Attraction becomes infatuation. Really, with the way that people become unable to process emotions after death, it was no wonder ghosts formed attachments or became twisted and malevolent.

"Maria, Maria. Calm down." I soothed, speaking some Spanish to help calm her. She was originally from Mexico, and the fact that my brother, Deigo (Mexico), made sure I had the accent down, helped a lot.

She quickly calmed. "Maybe... you need not to just come to terms with it, but forgive yourself, and let go of the past. That man is dead. There's nothing for you, here."

With that, I walked out of the door, leaving the ghost to dwell on the mistakes of her past. Either my words would send her to the other side, or she'd still be there when I got back. Either way, I'd done all I could.

I plastered a fake grin on my face as I raced downstairs, making sure to avoid the ballroom—another hotspot—and the second to last elevator on the left—a worker had committed suicide there.

I still had a World Meeting to attend in about an hour, and I honestly hated those buildings. Most of them had been stupidly built on cemeteries or old Indian Burial Grounds. I found out decades ago that most ghosts don't like people who are louder than them, so I put out the whole 'dumb loud blond' thing to keep contact to a minimum. It didn't always work, unfortunately.