A man walked into a bar and made straight for an empty table at the back of the room. Larson was somewhat worse for wear. He took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his face. He set the hat on the table. He waited. He didn\u2019t have to wait long. Silently, suddenly, the ghost appeared. Baxter, dead for five days, and somehow looking well for it. Baxter, his most hated enemy. Larson knew not to cause a scene. It was happening with greater regularity. As soon as he was alone, and wherever he found himself, Baxter would turn up, just sitting there not saying a word, being dead. On this particular night, in his cups, Larson decided it was time to confront the ghost.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy do you do this?\u201d he whispered.<\/p>\n
With a barely perceptible movement, the other shook his head.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy are you shaking your head? It\u2019s over, don\u2019t you get it? You\u2019re dead.\u201d<\/p>\n
Another shake of the head.<\/p>\n
\u201cI killed<\/em> you,\u201d said Larson, trying to stay calm.<\/p>\n Baxters\u2019s eyes moved slowly to meet Larson\u2019s and regarded him with unconcealed contempt. The headshake was more pronounced this time.<\/p>\n Larson felt a chill. His fear made him angry and, snarling, he lashed out at Baxter. His hand went right through him. He drew back, horrified. But the damage had been done. Events were repeating themselves. The room grew dim and he put a hand to his head and his hand went through his head. Then he realised, or remembered, he had no head, no hands, no body, and he disappeared.<\/p>\n Baxter picked up the hat, put it on, and walked out of the bar.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" A man walked into a bar and made straight for an empty table at the back of the room. Larson was somewhat worse for wear. He took off his hat<\/p>\n