He couldn't help but miss squishy moss and soil beneath his feet. No matter where he haunted, from cracked linoleum tiles to splintered attic floorboards to abandoned houses with carpets of dust and broken glass, he always longed for the very forest floor that was once splattered with his blood. Perhaps he found some comfort in knowing a forest had been the only one kind enough to bury his remains when society didn't bat an eyelid at a nobody's fortunate end. Or he simply hated change.

    Yet, if anything, at least he could tolerate the drastic changes that he had witnessed throughout the eras. The most recent being the island he trapped himself on, too terrified of its natural moat and too desperate to be alone again. Grits of sand were still stuck in his teeth on the mutilated side of his mouth from his unorthodox joining, as predicted, but even while he occasionally spat out a speck of irritating sand like a fresh watermelon seed, Beck did what he did best and tried to make the best out of it. He was adaptable, as he told himself. Eventually, the foreign lifestyle of the natives would become normal routine to the observing spirit, and so would the beach's powdery shores. Coincidentally enough, Beck always wondered what it would be like to vacation in the tropics, watching the happy families starring in television commercials relaxing and smiling with a smidge of envy flickering in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, he could try to mimic them -- then maybe he would be just as happy, right?

    Slowed by the ache in his leg from where it had been jerked into place, the little feline took his time locating a secluded clearing on the shore: a desolate slope far from the reaching waters. Not eager to be separated from his lone companion, Audrey III had been dragged along for the attempted vacation, its bucket slung around the poltergeist's neck by its wire handle. What was it the t.v. people did again? Just sit on the beach and... wait for something, right? Beck slipped the bucket handle back over his head and plopped Audrey down next to him before reaching into his chest for the proper supplies; soon enough, he was pulling out a tattered towel from his apparition, as if a magician yanking out an endless rope of handkerchiefs. Once the towel was wrung out and clean from any stagnant antifreeze-slash-ectoplasm, the poltergeist draped it across the sand, flopping onto it with a slight wheeze. Three more artifacts were produced from his pocket gut: a dented radio from the early days of technology with a matching single disc, and expired sunscreen. After squeezing out the remnants of the sunscreen and promptly rubbing it onto Audrey's trap, he was content to return the empty bottle to in his apparition and topple onto his back, expecting instant tranquility. But nothing miraculous happened -- he still hurting. Clicking his shattered jaw back and forth in impatience, he gave the old radio an electrified kick, starting up a crooning song that was instantly distorted by fizzling static and skips in the track. Not that it bothered him too much; he just didn't want silence. Fishing around in his apparition for the last time, Beck finally pulled out a pair of sunglasses, its tinted lenses scratched by time. After flicking them open only to clumsily jab himself in his bruised eye, he shoved the tacky accessory onto his face with a hiss. He slouched back onto his towel, folding his bandaged paws over his chest and letting his eyes wander to the cloudless sky, the world growing more and more distant the longer he remained still. Hours passed as he tried to sunbathe, his apparition never faltering in its freezing temperature despite the sun's suffocating heat and his focus never leaving the sky. Even when a curious crab scuttled past, investigating the bizarre sight before being promptly snatched up by a gluttonous fly trap, eaten shell and all. Beck could stay paralyzed in his trance forever, letting time abandon him once more. If only he was truly alone like prior occasions.