Bill sat on the crowded train planning his evening after a day's work, the jostling relaxed him despite the sheen of sweat covering him in the Summer afternoon. Can I be bothered to drop by the supermarket he thought? There's never enough cashiers, it's a drag. Maybe get a takeaway, hmmm.
Bill's eyes widened as a seven-foot-tall pale-skinned woman loped straight through the carriage door, not breaking it, sliding through, like sunbeams penetrating a window. She flicked her head up and shrieked, jumping two metres and landing flat against the ceiling as though her limbs were glued to it.
Nobody looked up from their phones or even their daydreams. Long wet black hair was plastered to her head, still dripping gently on the train floor, a torn white dress clung to her, hardly covering two pale cheeks and a pair of pointy breasts.
Bill alone saw her, this was his genetic curse. He and about 1/500 people could see and be touched by ghosts. His internet research had not taught him much else. His breath caught in his throat and his sweat turned cold, he could feel his cock shrivel. Ghosts couldn't really hurt or kill you, but they could "interfere" and had a cruel sense of humour. Bill's salvation was that ghosts can't automatically tell who can see them and can only touch you once they know you're their unwilling audience.
Bill tried to remember to breathe and to act natural, should he scratch his face, Was that normal or suspicious? The sweating had not abated. The apparition was disappointed its entrance hadn't been rewarded with any reaction, it dropped to the floor and stalked down the carriage trying to make eye contact with a victim. It zigzagged down the walkway approaching Bills position, he chanced a glance at his phone. Just checking the time, act natural. It's only 60 seconds before his train arrives and he can get away from this timebomb. 'You can do this' he thought.
