Is this a fake story competition now?
Once, I heard a weird rattling noise coming from my bedroom window, like chains or something. I couldn't see anything, so I opened the window to get a better look outside, when this phantasmal dude covered in shackles and metal cashboxes and junk literally flew into my room. He started mumbling something about money and redemption and spirits and he kind of looked like a guy I knew, but that guy was dead so I figured he was just trying to jack my shit. Man's home is his castle and that has consequences, and I've learned a lot of exotic improvised weaponry techniques from my own self-training, so I tore one of my decorative Haruhi paper fans off the wall near my bed (like hell I'm gonna ruin one of my authentic replica daisho on some stupid specter) and threw it across the room like a boomerang. It severed all of his ghost arteries or whatever and he started leaking ectoplasm everywhere and wailing and collapsed in a heap of goo, so I scraped him up and put him in one of the genuine Egyptian canopic jars on my Yu-Gi-Oh shelf. He's still in there screaming but I can't hear him worth a damn because the jar is pretty well sealed, but mostly I talk to him about my fanfic and ask him for shipping advice. Fuck cops, I can handle this shit myself.