Maddy ran wildly across the bridge never looking back, stifling a scream with every step. The narrow bridge swayed though there was no wind and the small brown bag hung on her shoulder became unwieldy, slowing her progress. Her long red hair fell into her eyes and she mistepped, nearly slipping off the weathered bridge floor. From her addled brain now arose the thought that a small bribe might have gained her a ride from the old boatman up the road. But too late for that, the one remaining solid thought, the thought that drove her across the bridge, barefoot in the night, was to find safety from from he whom she knew still watched.
The ghost observed her every morning as she applied a thick layer of pancake and bedecked herself in gaudy jewelry before leaving her flat. One morning he was hypnotized by the ritualistic manner in which she layered cosmetics on her aging skin. If communication were possible between his realm and her he might tend to scold her and make her wash it all of, indecent really. Thus day after day he floated and watched until the day the phone rang as it did on rare occasions and thus the ghost did not consider that this day and this phone call would alter the routine they had established. She finished her makeup, tidied her wispy hair, put on her coat and walked out door in that oh so familiar way. She never returned in corporeal form, but one day the ghost noticed right in front of the mirror a vague outline of a well known form and the gaudiest ghost face he had ever seen. Soon after the apartment was cleaned out by some relatives and soon reoccupied by a group of Oxford students who were really quite interesting.