A cold breeze came in through the window blowing under the covers and waking Sten Alfven from his slumber. He rolled over trying to fall back asleep. When he couldn't keep his eyes shut he checked the time. It was three o'clock in the morning but something seemed wrong. A certain feel in the air made him uneasy. Sleeping proved useless so he went to the restroom and washed his face. Checking his reflection in the mirror he saw the harsh eyes of an older man looking back at him. There was no compassion, no passion, only deep set bags under his pale blue eyes. After re-entering the bedroom he could hear a commotion outside his door. He slipped into a pair of old slippers and stumbled towards the antique handle. The outside light flooded his vision and he blinked his eyes several times to adjust. He noticed Paulsen, his headmaid, weeping at the stairwell.
"Oh Mr. Alfven. Something terrible has happened," Paulsen wailed as she made eye contact with him.
He could scarcely process his surroundings but managed to ask her to repeat herself.
"It's him, sir, that damned poltergeist, is back!"
"Not again," Alfven whispered frozen an inch from the door to his room.
"It's terrible! Look!"
Turning his head slightly he couldn't see anything. With much effort he made it to the end of the fourth floor railings and looked over the side. Strung up by his neck dangling and from the third floor balcony was the corps of a middle age man, swinging in the crisp breeze that blew in from the open windows. Alfven's face went white as he began mumbling something over and over again.
"Should we call an exorcist? I don't think the police will do us much good. Even after they arrested that horrid man these things keep happening. I'm telling you Mr. Alfven. It's a ghost you have," Paulsen nodded, pleased with herself.
"Ms. Pauslen, get me Ystad police on the phone," he smoothed his comb-over as he spoke.