I told myself to not give them any subtext

I told myself to not give them any subtext indicators or anything that could be construed as subtext indicators. I dragged their noses in how meta it was. I even wrote this sentenc

fully aware that people knew I was was aware that I was conscious of their existence.

But if people knew that I was aware of them... well, what does that mean for anyone anyway? Doesn't any sane person know that other people exist? My thoughts were interrupted by

the sun. It really is blinding me. I look away and walk to my dad's house, and into my room. I heard a knock from my closet door, but nobody was here except for me. The closet had

been haunted for as long as I could remember, but the vengeful ghoul who inhabited it was pretty chill with me. "Steve," I said, "I'm having a moment. Can you haunt me alter?"

"Sure I kin haunt yer altar," said Steve: "Hell, I kin haunt yer whole flamin' temple! But can ye spare a ghoul a pint of ale first?" "Gee," I dawdled "is it ok for ye to drink & h

aunt? I mean, someone's got to be the designated haunter after all." "Oh quit yer yappin' &draw me an ale." I did as Steve demanded, but saw that the ale went right through him.

"Steve, I'm 99% certain you're a ghost." I said. Steve looked at me like I was a dog who just learned how to talk. "Yeah, that's why I used the word 'haunt'". "Ooooooh," I replied.

"Join me in the afterlife, darling," said Steve, his ghost hand falling through mine instead of clasping it, "we can marry and spend eternity together." "But Steve," I gasped, "I

can’t spend eternity as a phantom; I won’t! Some see-through troll twirling about, flinging spine chills down the backs of young people for a lark. Or could I? Yes… I think I will.