Haunted by Ghost Gilf

The late afternoon sun filtered through the ancient wooden beams of the Yamakawa family shrine, casting long shadows across the sacred hall where Takeshi had been floating upside-down for the past… oh, three hours? Time loses all meaning when you’re dead.

He let out a dramatic sigh that no one could hear—story of his afterlife—and flipped right-side up, running ghostly fingers through his silver hair. Five hundred years. FIVE HUNDRED YEARS of absolutely nothing happening in this shrine except the occasional confused tourist taking selfies and that one time a cat wandered in and somehow sensed him, leading to the most excitement he’d had in decades.

“Maybe I should practice my stand-up routine again,” he muttered to the empty hall, his voice echoing off walls that had heard the same jokes approximately 47,000 times. “What do you call a ghost who slips on fruit? A… banana split! Get it? Because I literally—”

He stopped mid-joke, floating there in the dusty sunbeam like the pathetic spirit he was. Even he was tired of that one.

The truth was, Takeshi was bored out of his incorporeal mind. Five centuries of watching the world change through glimpses of the outside, learning about “Netflix” and “TikTok” from overheard conversations, perfecting the art of making faces that no one could see…

How did I end up like this? he wondered miserably.

The memories came flooding back—they always did when he got melancholy. There he had been, Takeshi Yamakawa, legendary demon slayer, fifty years old and finally ready to retire. He’d just defeated the Seven-Headed Thunder Demon (okay, it was more like six-and-a-half heads, but who’s counting?), and he was thinking about settling down, maybe finding a nice village girl, starting a family…

And then. The banana.

Some fleeing villager had dropped their lunch—a perfectly innocent banana—right in his path. One moment he was delivering his victory speech about protecting the innocent, the next he was flat on his back with a cracked skull, staring up at the demon who looked just as confused as he felt.

“Did… did he just die from fruit?” the demon had asked another demon.

“I think so. Should we… keep fighting?”

“Nah, this is too weird. Let’s just leave.”

And that’s how the great Takeshi Yamakawa, slayer of supernatural beasts, protector of the innocent, master of spiritual combat… died because he couldn’t handle basic pedestrian safety.

The embarrassment had been so intense that his soul literally refused to move on. Five hundred years later, he was still here, floating around this shrine like the world’s most pathetic guardian spirit.

“I wish something exciting would happen,” he groaned, dramatically throwing himself backward to float spread-eagle in the air. “Anything! A new TV show to watch through the windows, a really good thunderstorm, maybe a tourist who can actually see—”

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Takeshi shot upright—well, as upright as a floating ghost can get. That sound… it was a truck backing up. Here? At his shrine?

Heart pounding (do ghosts have hearts?), he phased through the wall and emerged in the front courtyard just in time to see a large moving van navigating the narrow path to the shrine complex. His jaw dropped—literally dropped, he had to push it back up.

“No way. No freaking way. Someone’s actually moving in?”

The van came to a stop with a final beep, and Takeshi watched in amazement as the doors opened. A middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair stepped out, stretching his back and looking around with the expression of someone trying very hard to convince himself this was a good idea.

“Well, Yuki,” he called to the woman emerging from the passenger side, “this is it. Our new peaceful life.”

The woman—Yuki, apparently—was elegant and petite, with kind eyes that immediately softened as she took in the shrine grounds. “It’s beautiful, Hiroshi. The photos didn’t do it justice.”

Photos? Takeshi thought, floating closer. They bought this place sight unseen? That’s either very brave or very stupid.

“Dad, please tell me there’s Wi-Fi,” came a voice from the back of the truck as a tall young man in a hoodie emerged, immediately pulling out his phone and waving it around. “Oh come on, no signal? What kind of medieval nightmare did you drag us to?”

“It’s called nature, Kenji,” the father—Hiroshi—replied with practiced patience. “You remember nature, right? Green things, fresh air, the absence of constant notifications?”

“That sounds like hell,” the young man muttered, but Takeshi caught him sneaking appreciative glances at the cherry trees.

Takeshi was floating in circles now, practically vibrating with excitement. A whole family! Moving in! To HIS shrine! After five hundred years of solitude, he was going to have roommates!

Wait, wait, wait, he told himself, trying to calm down. Don’t get too excited. They probably can’t see you anyway. It’ll just be five hundred more years of making faces behind people while they live their lives.

But still… this was the most interesting thing to happen since that cat.

“Where’s our daughter?” Yuki asked, looking around. “She was right behind us in her car.”

“Probably stopped to take photos of something,” Kenji said, hefting a box marked ‘FRAGILE - KITCHEN STUFF.’ “You know how she gets about ‘aesthetic moments’ or whatever.”

A daughter. They had a daughter too. Takeshi found himself unconsciously straightening his hair and wondering if he looked presentable, which was ridiculous because A) he was dead, and B) she definitely wouldn’t be able to see him anyway.

“I’ll start bringing boxes to the house,” Hiroshi announced. “Kenji, help your mother with the delicate stuff. And please don’t break anything expensive on day one.”

“That was ONE TIME, and the vase was ugly anyway!”

Takeshi watched this family banter with a mixture of joy and longing. This was what he’d missed out on—the easy familiarity, the gentle teasing, the sense of belonging somewhere with people who knew all your flaws and loved you anyway.

But as Takeshi watched the family begin their move, something nagged at him about the young man—Kenji. There was just… something off about his energy. Not supernatural-off, just… weird vibes, Genz? as he’d heard people say on TV. The way he immediately complained about everything, the dismissive attitude toward his family’s excitement, that entitled air of someone who thought the world owed him convenience.

Modern demon energy, Takeshi decided with a frown. Definitely getting bad vibes from that one.

The parents, though—Hiroshi and Yuki—they seemed lovely. Hiroshi had that gentle, tired look of someone who’d worked too hard for too long and was finally ready to breathe. And Yuki… there was something almost spiritual about the way she moved, the way she seemed to really see the beauty of the shrine grounds.

But the daughter… Takeshi found himself genuinely curious. What would she be like? Would she be more like her sweet parents or more like her obnoxious brother?

“Speaking of which,” he muttered, floating toward the shrine entrance to get a better view of the road, “where is she?”

As if summoned by his thoughts, the sound of another car engine drifted up the mountain path. Takeshi’s excitement spiked again—finally, he’d get to see the complete family dynamic.