The Ghost Tower

Imagine a towering luxury condominium—a soaring spiral structure with wide carpeted hallways and hundreds of luxurious suites. You have it all to yourself with state of the art technology so you do not even have to clean up any messes or even change the pool water or tend the lush topiary gardens. You do not even have to scavenge for food and freshwater when the automated system provides it for you.
A nice place for a vacation, you think. Living amid Calpurnia—the once great capital and cultural heart of the Simak Islands. It must have been a very remarkable place at the height of its time although you will find that hard to believe now; just one functional building out of hundreds of abandoned, weed-choked shells.
Watching the old programs stored on the crystal memory tapes, you laugh at the various warnings made by various Nye tribal groups and Saffrasian jungle guides. You snicker at even the hushed, cautious words of the various demonic and witch-born traders.
Ridiculous, that something human would still survive after the horrendous Red Death outbreak sixty years ago. You have seen other living things genetically recreated animals like the moas and the massive Haast's Eagles, kestrels nesting in the shattered high rises or hovering between them, hunting for small marsupials. Then there are the invasive faerie animals, of course, green-tailed sky mice and bottle ants and licorne and so on. That is all, no mutated monsters or undead horde.
A couple of weeks go by, and you begin to feel a little uneasy. There is something eerie about this only functioning tower hotel in the middle of a dead ruin.
You are the only person at the swimming pool, the only one at the miniature golf course and the underground mall arcade. And everywhere you go, you can feel the weight of countless eyes watching you, but no one else is in sight.
Now imagine this, you’re up late at night, trying to calm your frazzled nerves by reading, howling winds were rattling the storm shutters on the Ghost Tower; suddenly you hear a sharp rapping at your apartment door. Nervously, you tiptoe up and peer through the peephole, and peering back at you are gaunt faces the color of bleached bone with sickly orange-yellow eyes.
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thumb|center|335px|Haunted Tales (vol 3) 3 Scary Stories
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