An old ghost had returned to him, he could not see it but he knew it was there. He could feel it following, observe his every move and thought. Once he might have found it frightening, but the time for fear had come and gone long ago.
In spite of his lack of fear, he found the presence no less haunting. if this particular ghost had a name, it would have to be Stagnation. It twisted and perverted serenity, sowed frustration and let it fester.
He found himself at a loss for what to do. Nothing he did seemed to be able to cleanse his existence of it. What was even worse was that it had begun to to stir his demons – and there was no telling what could happen once they woke up.
Thus he lay in bed, unable to sleep, plagued by the stale breath of this particular ghost. Twisting and turning, he searched for a position that did not frustrate him.
Eventually, though, his body broke the deadlock and sleep came to him. The ghost did not seem too bothered by this, content to continue observing as it always had. It noted, with some degree of curiosity, the counteracting effects of an open window and the cold air it brought in.
With an ethereal breath, and a spectral touch, it closed the window soundlessly. Then returned, to watching him sleep.