The ghost in the park is five foot two and even lighter than he should be at that height. He only hasn't been sleeping rough because he doesn't sleep, because sometimes people see an old thin man with no eyes and offer him enough cash to pay for coffee and he doesn't exactly have food or rent to worry about. He doesn't think of himself as all that poor, actually. He has sturdy cotton clothes. He has shoes. He has a backpack full of stuff. ...Half full of stuff. Well, it has some stuff in it. Shelter is optional.

Something is happening. He hears Pete shout "run!" and something break and grass bend under something slithery and retreating footsteps and "what the fuck" and "oh my god" and a camera shutter sound. He runs, trips on something, and when he hits the ground he isn't in the park.

He wasn't really expecting to be taken anywhere by magic but there's a specific place he wasn't expecting to be taken to by magic and it's not someplace he wants to be and it's not full of people he wants to cooperate with. He curls up as tight as he can. His hands are shaking.