NEEDY.

Needy! That's what I'd call these ghosts.
Each and every last one of them, needy little fuckers. Why're they all here, asking me to finish their failed tasks and lives. Isn't there someone else they could go to with their problems?
I mean, I've got the time since I got kicked to the curb by my last job, and then when my girlfriend left me, but seriously, their demands are getting ridiculous.
Oh, go dig up this time capsule and bring it to my brother.
Tell her I love her for me, just one last time. Tell her I'm sorry.
They come to me, all bloody and old and withered, and ask me to help them out. I need some fuckin' Ghostbusters shit on this. I should get an exorcist. I even asked my landlord if this was a common problem. He threatened to evict me, he told me he doesn't rent out to crazies. I almost brought up Ms. Kazenski upstairs. Lady has, like, 12 cats, and I hear her talking to them all through the night. I don't think she sleeps. I wonder if she has her own ghosts.
One of the ghosts asked me to avenge his death. I said no, but he persisted, would follow me into bed, into the shower, I finally snapped one night, killed the man who killed him.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that ghost when it shows up?

Better? Besides the fact that it took me a week to write, and it's significantly shorter. Ehn, I'll get better at this.
The word was provided by my lovely sister, Ms. Sheila Molnar.