Pocket Stories: Ghosted

Prompt: Write about a person who meets with the ghost of an old friend for tea every so often.

Shep hiked his rucksack further up his back and started the five mile walk to the abandoned cabin, set deep in the Briscoln Wood. He couldn't remember when he'd first come upon the cabin, which was more like a glorified shack, held together by sheer force of nature. He did remember how shocked he'd felt when he'd found out it was haunted though.

He reached his destination just as the sun sunk below the tree line, giving the cabin a foreboding air. He wasn't worried though. The cabin may have been haunted, but he knew the haunter and how much they disliked the "others" disturbing their guests.

The cabin was in shambles and squirrels darted out of their hidey-holes as Shep made himself comfortable. The only set of furniture that was usable was a little table with two rickety chairs. He busied himself with setting the table with the battered tea set from his rucksack. 

Whistling merrily he bent over the dilapidated fireplace and started a small fire to heat up the water.

"You do know that the temperature of the water matters not to me, yes?" The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. 

"Well it matters to me, old man. I can still feel things and would rather not drink cold tea if I don't have to," Shep replied without looking up from his task.

Brycen finally decided to materialize and draped his long elven limbs elegantly in one of the chairs.

Shep glanced over and chuckled. "Brycen, I've been telling you for years, you pretentious elf, the only one you're impressing is yourself. Just sit like a normal person and enjoy the memory of the tea." 

Brycen looked down his nose and retorted, "Shephard, my lad, do not presume that you are in any position to tell me what to do. I have earned my state of phantom immortality and I shall use it the way I please."

"Too bad that goblin who did you in can't join us," Shep said slyly.

"Of course he can't," Brycen scoffed. "That filthy ingrate can't even pronounce his own name, I won't let his coarseness ruin such a pleasant evening."

The two bantered and teased as Shep poured the tea for the both. He sipped his slowly, enjoying the warmth as the evening's chill crept into the cabin through the massive cracks riddled throughout the walls. Brycen used a ghostly finger to stir his tea, unable to lift the cup.

All too soon Shep had finished his cup and the remaining tea was cold. He dumped out the extra water and packed everything up in his rucksack.

"Same time next week, my friend?" he asked the ghost.

"I will clear my schedule, young Shephard." Brycen began to fade to wherever ghosts went, when he added, "Worry not for your safety this evening as you return home, the spirits have their orders and they will obey."

"Thanks for that. Til next time," he said, but Brycen had already gone.