The cement wall before me glowed an eiry yellow, due to the illuminating fire light beside it. The vacant car park now abandoned was the only place I ever felt safe and the only place I ever felt free.

Yet, with each step further into the deserted building I felt as though I was being followed. Not by something mortal, or even something really there, but by a spirit.

You see, this spirt was my friend. At least I called it that on the better side of the years I spent living in this haunted parking garage.

The spirit would give me signs on the walls and these signs were often warnings. The spirit would paint a muril on one particular wall on the seventh floor.

At first these warnings were softer and easier to handle. They told me of things that had happened to the spirit of the building and these things were horrible. The spirit warned me of a bunker bellow the city that was filled with spirits like him.

Today I was climbing up the steps of the garage and when I stepped up onto the floor of the seventh level. Once there, I felt it with me. I had gotten used to it. The spirit does remind me of memories I do not wish to remember but it also reminds me of sweet revenge.

I walked up to the wall where the ghost would paint its words and I lost my breath. My heart sank and my body froze. The paint that was usually there was instead the spirit in its deceased body.

I had always wondered what the spirit had died from and who they once were but I had let my mind settle on one thing and one thing only. I thought the spirit was a no body like me. The spirit was my sister. In front of me was the corpse of Joan Ricky.