—Sad you, poor clown, wandering the lands of the living after death —said Zechariah, while picking up things he had dropped in surprise—. Why should I fear a dumb dressed idiot?
—Maybe I can't touch you nor hurt you —replied the ghost, as he melted on the floor—, but I could haunt you and bother you, disturb your concentration and torment you, day and night, week after week, year after year, until you lose your mind —he added, before releasing an evil laugh.
—Torment me? —asked Zechariah, while getting up. He hung the bag on his right shoulder and smiled wryly— Oh, please, little clown! You don't know what it is to live in torment. You'd do me a favor if you showed up every second to make me laugh at your stupid makeup —he added. He took three steps toward the silhouette and stopped—. After your attempt of being my torment, you'd end up being my distraction —he said, crossing his arms and smiling.
—A thing you should fear, Zechariah —said the clown. His translucent figure was melting; his knees were no longer visible, and his thighs held the rest of his body—. To death, perhaps? —
he continued.
—Pfff! —Muttered the man, mocking the clown while cleaning his glasses—. Are you trying to frighten me and your great threat is death? —he added, putting his glasses back on— I find the fear to death is absurd. I wait for it, patiently; at that time the questions, problems, debts are finished. Do you really want to end my difficulties?
—Well I'll make them all reject you, stare badly, point and laugh at you while whispering in your face —replied the clown, angry, while the rest of his torso was turning red and opaque.
—Let them talk, point and criticize! —Zechariah exclaimed, opening his arms and looking up— I'm amused that they are interested in me; makes me feel important, fascinating. C'mon, clown, do not waste my time.
—I hate you, Mr. Know-it-all! —the creature yelled, dragging his watery body across the floor, as his head discomposed and his eyes popped out of their sockets— AHH, AHH!
—Scream, transform yourself, threaten me —replied Zechariah, while walking quietly towards the room door—, finish your cheap circus show and vanish away. Poor, poor dead clown, seeking to feed from the fear of a living who's lost it all —he added as he walked out the door—. Make sure you dry after your melting is ended, you wouldn't like to face my fearsome vacuum cleaner —he added, still mocking. He closed the door and left laughing out loud.