From The Ghost With the Most: Zero to HeroSuddenly, without warning, Billy's entire baseball jersey flew out of the closet and floated across the room, the red and white sleeves fluttering in the darkness. The jersey came to a stop in front of the mirror on the back of his door. Billy became aware of a strange whirring next to his bed. He whipped around and saw that the numbers on his digital alarm clock were going haywire, spinning like crazy, racing forward and backward like some unknown force was controlling them.
Impulsively, Billy grabbed the clock and threw it at the jersey, which was still twisting itself this way and that, looking at its reflection in the mirror. Unfortunately, Billy had forgotten to unplug the clock before he flung it, and it boomeranged back at him, heading right for his face. He ducked just in time to see it land on the floor next to his bed.
"Hey, you better pull up on your hand break, Georgie Boy," the teenage voice said. "Violence is never the answer."
All Billy could think about was that this voice, so confident and so invisible, was coming from an empty, floating shirt.
"Who are you?" he screamed. "Where are you? What are you? Why are you?"
The shirt didn't answer. It spun around and headed toward Billy, who had pushed his body flat against the wall, hoping it would open up and let him escape.
"Do you think these sleeves are too long on me?" the shirt said. "I can't have then interfering with my fastball when I'm on the mound."
"Too long for what?" Billy asked. "You don't have any arms. Or any body, for that matter."
"That's where you're wrong, Georgie Boy."
"Billy."
"Fine, Billy Boy. I have a body. Or at least, I had one before I died. And it was a magnificent sight to behold, if I say so myself. Which I have no trouble doing."
"Are you telling me you're a ghost?" Billy asked. His voice quivered even thought he was trying to be composed.
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