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Yes!

He made contact!

The broom slid along the wall, hovered at the tipping point, and then — yes, yes! — it went down across the kitchen table with a magnificent crash, taking a paint stirrer with it for free.

Nate stopped. “What was that?” He looked at the empty chair where the seal no longer resided. “You little menace,” he said, finding the toy on the floor. “I didn’t think you’d jump.”

“You underestimated me,” the ghost said grandly. “A grave mistake.”

“Won’t happen again.” Nate picked him up again--and put him down on a bare window sill. “Comfortable?”

“I despise you.”

“Great.”

The ghost surveyed the window sill twice and found nothing to push, nothing to topple, nothing to lean on. Nothing within scooting range on the floor either. And behind him there was only the window.

The window.

Nate began to film again and the ghost began to rock. Gently. Rhythmically. The seal’s fat felt back tapping against the windowpane. It wasn’t a loud noise.

But it was constant.

“—and the hinges are actually the original — okay.” Nate stopped. “Okay.”

Once more he picked the seal up. The seal smiled serenely at him.

You cannot beat me.

Without comment, Nate walked out of the kitchen and into the sitting room, where he set the seal down on the bare floor, in a corner, facing the wall.

“You cannot be serious,” the ghost said.

Nate said nothing. His boots crossed back to the kitchen, and a moment later his voice picked up, easy and warm, talking to the camera. “Alright a quick update before we head out this afternoon...” He spoke as if nothing concerning had happened.

While the ghost stared at the corner.

There was nothing to push and nothing to tip and nothing to tap, and Nate went on and on behind him, unbothered, like the war was over, like the ghost was a problem you could put on the floor.

Like a naughty child. In his own house. While a stranger filmed his kitchen and talked about hinges — his hinges, his cabinets, his —

Upstairs, something heavy fell over.

The crash rolled through the ceiling and down the stairs, and Nate stopped talking.

The ghost went still.

He hadn’t touched anything. He was six feet from the nearest wall, facing a corner, flippers down. But somehow he’d made something crash upstairs.

He didn’t know.

No matter, he’d figure it out later.

“HA!” the ghost announced to the corner, to the room, to the house. “Did you hear that? That was me! There is more where that came from, medium! MUCH more!”

Footsteps. Nate appeared in the doorway and looked at the ceiling. Then at the seal, alone in the middle of an empty floor, facing the corner, nowhere near anything.

“Did you plan that?” Nate asked.