Story first published in The Toynbee Convector (1988).

Priest: Are you the... may I?
The Ghastly Passenger: The last rites?
Priest: Yes.
The Ghastly Passenger: Oh, I... oh I had my last rites years ago.

Minerva Halliday: Who exactly are you?
The Ghastly Passenger: Oh. I lived near Vienna for 200 years. I have hid from atheists and non-believers in libraries and dust-filled stack. Where I made breakfasts of spirit myths and graveyard tales. I have survived phantom horses, baying hounds, dreadful cuts. Crumbs shaken from tombs. But one by one all around me, my friends of the unseen world vanished. My phantom compatriots were thrown out of great homes and dark castles when they were rented out, rented out to bed and breakfast tourists whose only belief was a drunken tongue and a full belly. So with the, the population of unbelievers doubling by the day, all of my spectral friends fled. I, I am the last.

The Ghastly Passenger: I shall tell you a terrible, a frightful, a rain-filled fog-bound thunder-and-lightning story about a real ghost. The last ghost. This is my story.

Changes from the short story:

* The Ghost levitates into the air, proving what he is to the children. In the story, no such event occurs.