“Why hello there Angelica…” Mr. Korbian smiled, the crack in his skull growing even further. “I heard about your grave…it seems your ceremony was today, yet you have already grown moss, and have acquired wilted roses.”

Angelica stared menacingly. Mr. Korbian was **not **to be messed with. His millennia old grave still sat there. He scared off other little ghosts and was the meanest one in the graveyard. But he was just an ordinary ghost. Just cause your old doesn’t mean you’re good. Some one should put some sense into his head, but that dream was as useful as a bag of bones. No one understood, not even himself, that he was just a ghost and his grave, nothing more.