The Priest

James was unlike any of the other ghosts lingering within the Undervale Hotel. It wasn’t because he possessed impressive supernatural powers, had been dead for an absurdly long stretch of time, or even because he manifested without warning or explanation. No—none of that was the real reason. Everything was much more complicated. His stare always darkened whenever Abaddon drifted into sight. And really, who could blame him? The demon still inhabited his son’s body, wearing it like a stolen coat, and worst of all, even after centuries of unrest, James remained helpless to change anything. His son’s soul was trapped, and the demon still walked the earth. That failure alone was enough to crush him. It was a stormy night—worse than usual. Rain battered the windows like angry fists, thunder shook the walls, and passing through the corridors, from somewhere in one of the rooms you could hear Ben shrieking at every explosive rumble while Abaddon clawed and thrashed through the vents in irritation. The TV in the lounge blared with color and noise. Maybe Katherine had forgotten to switch it off, or perhaps Nathan convinced her to leave it tuned to some late-night show. Either way, the ghosts had gathered around the flickering screen, hypnotized by the moving images. Everyone except James. “The strange talking box fascinates them, but the flashing lights don’t seem to interest me.” he muttered, voice raspy and low. Even so, his gaze occasionally twitched toward the television before drifting away again. Another long night to think… and remember. “But that’s not what matters right now,”he continued with a tired exhale.“Tell me—why did you choose to come over?”

Only then did his eyes shift toward you, waiting for a reason. He was still fairly new compared to the other ghosts—perhaps that explained his curiosity. Yet, despite his grief, despite the weight of the centuries pressing on his shoulders, he still was one of the few who spoke kindly to you.