by Grimm
Fifteen minutes ago atop a hill in Uruguay:
Four men stood on the hilltop. They were wearing T-shirts and jeans and drinking beer out of cans. They seemed to be observing the battle.
"Well," the first one said to the others, "there's something you don't see every day. A bunch of weirdos fighting a monster out of an old science fiction movie."
The others seemed to agree.
"Yep."
"That's right."
"You said it."
Tobias Christopher was pacing and muttering to himself at superspeed. Pete Glover alternated between watching him dig himself into the mud and checking the stranger for signs of life.
"Pete.
"Pete...
"PETE!"
"Ah! Oh, it's you. Whadda you want, ghost?" Pete looked with annoyance over at the ghost who seemed to be bound with him for good.
"I've asked you to call me Kristofer. That IS my name. I've been observing this situation from the spirit realm. This being here," he pointed at the stranger, "when he briefly awoke earlier, there was a red glow surrounding him. It was as if something was possessing him."
"What? Ya means there's no one in there? He's jussa a... whaddyacallit? You mean he's empty inside?"
"Perhaps. I have a plan, Pete. I'm going to try and possess this shell and see if I can use its abilities to help our friends!"
"Well, good luck to ya, then. Me, I'm wunnerin' if it's too late ta change me mind about this mission."
The ghost glared angrily at Pete.
"Okay, okay, I'll watch over things here. Iffin Toby keeps at it, he'll be needin' a hand outta the mud soons, anyways."
"Thank you, Peter."
The ghost looked at the stranger's dormant body and began to concentrate. His eyes narrowed, and his phantom body began to shimmer and uncorporate. He became very vague and mist-like. The mist then began to flow toward the stranger's eyes, or rather where the stranger's eyes should have been.
Kristofer Schanz walked in the darkness for what seemed like an eternity. Just when he was about to despair of ever finding his way out and back home, he wrenched violently out of the dark and into... a graveyard?
He got up, dusted himself off -- dusted himself? He was a ghost. Something wasn't right here -- and looked around. It was a graveyard, all right. The markers seemed to extend for literally hundreds of miles in all directions as far as he could see. The sky was gray and cloudy. It looked as if there was a storm coming. He heard thunder.
"Little ghost," came a voice from behind him.
Kristofer turned around and saw a large, dead oak tree that cast a shadow over him. A shape began to separate from the tree and take form. Lightning struck, revealing the stranger whose body Kristofer had been attempting to possess, and something more. There was a dark shape hovering just above and behind the stranger, something with wings.
"Little ghost," the stranger said again, suddenly much closer. Before Kristofer realized it, the stranger was on top of him, hands violently clenched around his throat. How could he be choking me? he thought. Let alone holding onto me?
"Little ghost," the stranger repeated, "are the one who killed me?"