"Walking California like a restless ghost," Ash mouthed to himself.

  He caught a taxi, giving the driver the address to his sister's place.

  As the city lights blurred past, Ash caught his own reflection in the window.

  Red hair, piercing green eyes. A genetic souvenir from a Norwegian grandfather who knocked up an American tourist and never looked back.

  His own father had inherited that foreign blood, which earned him nothing but hatred and multiple poisoning attempts from a vicious stepfather.

  His dad had eventually run away to the alleys, making the bottle his only lover.

  The taxi rolled to a stop in a run-down neighborhood.

  "Back to the hood," Ash muttered to himself, paying the driver with a crisp bill.

  He walked up to the worn front door and banged his fist against the wood.

  A moment later, light, tiny footsteps padded against the floorboards inside. "Who is it?" a little girl's voice called out.

  "Ash."

  "Auntie! Someone is saying he's Ash!"

  "Don’t open it!" a panicked woman’s voice shrieked from the back of the house.

  Ash raised an eyebrow.

  Suddenly, heavy, frantic footsteps thundered toward the door—like a giant sprinting to defend a dragon's cave.

  A single deadbolt clicked. The door cracked open a fraction of an inch.

  "Ash?" his sister gasped.

  Before he could answer, she unlatched the other three locks, reached out, grabbed Ash by the collar, and violently yanked him inside.

  She slammed the door shut behind him, instantly throwing the locks back into place.

  "Ah, my head! What the heck, sis—" Ash muttered, stumbling and rubbing the top of his skull.

  But before he could finish the sentence, a small blur crashed into him.

  His daughter wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his chest.

  Her trembling hands reached up, feeling his face, his jaw, the rough scruff of his beard. A second later, she started to wail.

  Down the hallway, a boy rushed out holding a baseball bat, followed closely by his aunt's husband, who was brandishing a frying pan.

  "You picked the wrong house, fo—" the boy started to yell.

  He stopped dead in his tracks. The baseball bat slipped slightly in his grip. "Dad?"

  The husband lowered the frying pan, his jaw dropping. "Ash? You're alive?"

  His son dropped the bat completely and bolted across the room, crashing into the hug.

  Ash didn't speak. He didn't even hug them back.

  He just collapsed to his knees, his hands planted firmly on the floorboard to support the crushing weight of his two children holding onto him.

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  He just knelt there in the hallway, letting them cry, until his shirt was completely soaked.

  On the other side of California, the TV blared through the dark living room.

  "I will make you pay!" a cartoon voice shrieked.

  "Hahaha! And who is this weakling?"

  "Yes, I am a weakling when I am alone. But with my friends... I am not!" The animated hero started to scream, powering up.

  "He who stands behind me, I will protect! He who stands beside me, I will help! But he who stands in front of me, threatening my friends... I will kill him!"

  A massive explosion of color erupted from the hero's aura, flashing brightly across Daniel's face.

  "What the heck are you watching, Daniel?" the Prince asked, leaning on the couch and staring blankly at the screen.

  "Some anime," Daniel muttered, sinking deeper into the couch cushions.

  "I have eyes, you know that, right?"

  "Real funny, dude. Lucy recommended it."

  "Well, the writer is the laziest thing I have ever seen," the Prince critiqued. "Or worse, he just doesn’t know how to write."

  "Yeah, pretty much. Most anime uses the animation to cover for bad writing," Daniel replied.

  The Prince rubbed his chin. "But that sentence he said... 'He who stands behind me, I protect'... Maybe with my charisma—"

  Before the Prince could even finish his grand monologue, Daniel pushed himself off the couch and walked away, leaving the ghost talking to empty air.

  He shuffled into the kitchen, the harsh refrigerator light illuminating this face as he grabbed a carton of milk.

  Then, from the cabinet, he pulled out the coffee grounds.

  And The Prince was glaring daggers at the back of his head.

  "Watcha glaring at?" Daniel muttered, pouring the dark powder into a mug.

  "I am glaring at my best friend, who just walked away while I was talking."

  "You know I can hear you from the kitchen, right?"

  "I know, but that’s disrespectful," the Prince huffed, crossing his arms. "Didn’t your mother teach you some morals? You can’t just walk away when someone is talking to you."

  "But you always do that."

  "No, I am different."

  "Because you don't have a physical body."

  "Funny clown."

  "Oh, now you're offended," Daniel smirked, stirring his mug.

  "Just shut up and make your new drug," the Prince snapped.

  "Drug? It’s called coffee. I just need some of it to wake up."

  "You've already had three cups of that thing, and you woke up three hours ago!"

  "I know, but—"

  "No buts, Dani," a new voice echoed from the shadows of the hallway.

  Arthur stepped into the light, leaning casually against the kitchen doorframe.

  "Your father, and now you," Daniel grumbled, not looking back. "The heck do you want, kid?"

  "He’s right. You can’t have three cups of coffee in three hours. Your heart will stop."

  "That’s what I'm hoping for," Daniel shot back, taking a bitter sip.

  "Then you're stupid for killing yourself that slowly," Arthur replied. "A knife would do the job much faster."

  "Well, thanks to your father, I’ve gained some etiquette in killing. And the first rule is that a knife kill is too messy."

  "That’s my bro," the Prince sniffled from the living room, wiping away a tear.

  Daniel sighed, rubbing his temples. "Where is your girlfriend, Romeo?"

  "She's still asleep."

  "Then she doesn’t like you." Daniel leaned back against the counter. "A woman who loves her man wakes up before him to make him breakfast."

  "Oh, that’s why she wanted to set that stupid alarm of hers," Arthur mused, crossing his arms.

  "Well, then you're the idiot in this relationship."

  "Meh, doesn’t really matter."

  "Her cooking is that bad?" Daniel asked, finally turning around to face the teenager.

  "No, it’s somewhere between okay and good. But I prefer making my own breakfast, or just buying it."

  "I actually used to be like that until I met Sophie. Oh my god, her cooking is the best thing you will ever put in your mouth."

  "You know I had dinner with you every Friday, right?" Arthur deadpanned, raising an eyebrow.

  As they continued their banter, bare feet padded softly against the kitchen tile.

  Jean walked quietly into the room, bypassing Daniel entirely and immediately stepping to Arthur’s side.

  "Good morning, Jean," Arthur said.

  "Good morning... Arthury," Jean said softly.

  Daniel choked on his coffee. "'Arthury'?" he repeated, a massive smirk spreading across his face. "Your father would be so proud."

  "I am already proud," the Prince declared from the other room.

  "Come on, let me show you where the bathroom is, babe," Arthur replied.

  Before he could pull away, Jean stepped up onto the tips of her toes and pressed a gentle kiss to Arthur’s cheek. "Thanks for caring, dear."

  Daniel completely lost it.

  He started laughing so hard he threw his head back, letting out a booming cackle—and slammed his skull directly into the open upper cabinet.

  An unsealed bag of flour toppled over the edge, dumping directly onto Daniel's head and exploding into a thick white cloud like a flashbang.

  Arthur burst into hysterical laughter, collapsing onto the kitchen floor.

  Jean quickly slapped a hand over her mouth to hide her smile, her shoulders shaking.

  Daniel stepped out of the white smoke, as his black clothes became snow.

  Daniel spat, "Prince, can you fix this?"

  "Sure, can do, idiot," the Prince sighed.

  He raised a glowing hand.

  The thick cloud of flour instantly froze in mid-air,

  With a lazy flick of the Prince's wrist, the white powder hardened, compressing into a dense, solid ball before shooting directly into the garbage can.

  "Thank you, Prince," Daniel grumbled, coughing and wiping the remaining white residue from his eyelashes.

  "Just be careful next time. Your aura decreased by 500," the Prince mocked.

  "How the heck do you know about aura?"

  "I watched that strange anime of yours. They have stats, and the one for coolness is called 'aura'."

  Daniel just rubbed his face, letting out a long sigh. He walked over to Arthur, grabbing the boy's hand and hauling him back to his feet.

  "Go show your girlfriend the bathroom, kid," Daniel muttered.

  Arthur wiped a tear of laughter from his eye. "Next time, be careful," he smirked, taking Jean’s hand and leading her down the hall.

  While Daniel stood in the kitchen muttering curses under his breath, on the other side of California...

  "So, let me get this straight. You got out of jail because of a 'lottery to change someone’s life'?" Ash’s sister asked, crossing her arms and staring a hole through him.

  "Yeah, that’s basically how it went down," Ash said.

  "Well, since you're rich now, you don’t need the five dollars I owe you," her husband, Jack, chimed in from the kitchen doorway.

  "No. You still owe me five bucks, Jack."

  "You're as stingy as ever, Ash."

  "You wanted the five bucks to buy 'sweets.' You pay your debts."

  "'Sweets'?" Ash’s sister repeated. Her voice dropped an entire octave. Her eyes narrowed into slits as her head slowly snapped toward her husband.

  "No, honey! That was way before I married you!" Jack stammered, his eyes going wide as he held up his hands.

  "Liar," Ash deadpanned. "On your wedding day, you literally told me to give you three bags for free."

  Jack’s wife didn't say a word. Her hand simply dropped to the counter, her fingers wrapping tightly around the handle of the cast-iron frying pan Jack had just set down.

  As she lunged forward, ready to commit a violent felony in the middle of the living room, Ash casually placed his hands on his children's shoulders.

  He steered them calmly toward the kitchen, deciding to give the happy couple some "privacy."

  (Ghost Editor here: Thank you guys so much for the support! If you want to keep supporting this strange thing my friend is doing, please consider making a free account, hitting follow, and leaving a rating. Bye, and please pray for me.)