-----------------------------------------------Author's Note-----------------------------------------------

So, to understand this one, you need some backstory.

Originally, on thedarktower.net, which has moved to thedarktower.com, there was a thread called Palaver. Palaver evolved into this amazing place, like a castle, with all these areas, and its own Library.

Jean, who runs the Library, came up with this idea for it. In order to get a library card, you must do three things. You must offer up something to his evil cat, Captain Morgan, then choose an avatar from fiction to represent you, but it cannot represent you anywhere else, and then you must write up a short story telling what Ghost you confronted in order to get your card number, which is known only to you and the Ghost.

This is the story I came up with to get my number. Jean loved it. He is a teacher, you see, in Russia. He speaks Russian, English, and French. We are great friends, and he helps me learn Russian.

Did I mention that this is a Stephen King message board, and that The Dark Tower is a set of seven novels King wrote over the course of a few decades? If you've never read them, you should. They are fantasy fiction, and touch on the subject of alternate universes. Amazing work.

-----------------------------------------------Story-----------------------------------------------

After much searching, and a lot of research, I finally knew which ghost would have my card number. The sheer amount of time it took to figure it out should have been trial enough, but when I found Mulrooney O’Carroll of the Bloody Chapel of Leap Castle, the priest gave me a hard time about every little thing.
Getting to him was no problem once I’d found his name. You see, I don’t think I could have got to him if I hadn’t spent countless hours trying to find his first name alone. I’d know where he originated from, and his surname... But without his given name I couldn’t have called him out.
Upon entering his supposed ‘domain’ I promptly called to him.
“Father Mulrooney O’Carroll, priest of the now Bloody Chapel of Leap Castle,” I said, loud and clear so he could hear me, “come to me now. I seek the number of my library card, and you will be the one to divulge on me this secret.”
Mulrooney was killed by his brother, you see, Teige O’Carroll - also known as ‘One Eye’. The Irish priest, hence, haunted the chapel at the top of his fathers castle for so long I suppose he may have forgotten he had been murdered. He came to me presently, looking me up and down.
“Who are ye?” He demanded. A little harsh for a man of God.
“I come to you today as Fafnir, ravager of Scandinavia, Dragon of legend.” I told him, politely as possible. “But I merely wish of you the number I need to complete my library card.”
“Why?” I don’t think ghosts can drink, but maybe this one died in an inebriated state. If so, it would account for this rude behavior I was now receiving from him. “What difference does it make if ye’ve got it or not?”
“Father O’Carroll, please. I merely wish the number so that I may enter the library mostly safely.” I told him. “I beseech thee, divulge to me the number.”
“Dragon of Scandinavia, eh?” He said, ignoring my plea. “A lot of good it does’ee, if ye have to be beggin’ one like me fer a simple number.”
“Father O’Carroll, please... I’ve not come for treatment like this. I’ve done nothing to you. I merely ask a number.”
On and on we went like this for time unmeasured. Time, in fact, seemed irrelevant, as if it had stopped. The dead priest continued to ignore my plea’s, and to ask me harshly or rudely why I needed the number, or what good my number would do me, or if I really needed it, or I was just caught up in want.
Finally, after so long that I felt I might explode in anger, Father O’Carroll seemed to smile at me.
“Child.” He said. “The number you need is irrelevant. But if you want it this badly then perhaps it is not too much to ask.”
He vanished from my sight, and I felt as if he had somehow betrayed me, but as I turned to leave he grabbed my arm.
“Leaving without it?” The Priest said, and shook my hand, leaving a piece of paper in it.
I gaped at him, unsure of how to respond.
“Thank you, Father.” I said, finally, and bowed to him. “You’ve been a great help.”
Finally I had the number, and I could memorize it. I set out to do so at once, leaving - hopefully forever - the odd ghost of Father Mulrooney O’Carroll of the Bloody Chapel of Leap Castle.