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Phillip

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Kristin won’t ever admit it, but she likes working the night-shift at the station, when nearly everyone else has gone home. Most of the lights are off except for the one nearest her desk to give her enough light to work and with only one other member of staff about, there was no chatter to distract her from her task. She has a cup of coffee next to her – not too bad since Mrs Marlowe taught her the art of ‘wibbling’, steadily growing cold as she only sips it occasionally.

 

Across from her on Breen’s desk, something slips off. A small stack of papers sliding to the floor, and in the empty space sounds louder than normal. Used to this sort of occurrence, Kristin doesn’t even blink, but there’s a startled gasp behind her, and she remembers that her only human-company for the evening is a newbie. She can’t remember his name, but decides it’s time to alert him to the presence of the Station Ghost.

 

“Have you not met Phillip, yet?” She asks with a grin turning around. “He used to work here in the forties…”