Well, I don't know what's the best thing to do, but I would probably poke it and die a horrible death. Hey, death by curiosity is a noble way to go, and you bet I'm curious to know what ectoplasm feels like. Maybe even take a bite, since I'm a goner anyway. But if I don't die a horrible death right away? Well, Mr. Ghost, if you are at least half as magnanimous as you are delicious, then I'm sure you have it in you to forgive my small transgression.
Here's the thing: afterlife is kind of boring, isn't it? Sure, you get a first-class seat in this tragicomedy we call human existence, but the novelty eventually wears off; the playwright is a hack and keeps relying on the same formulas over and over again. Besides, you've witnessed the birth and death of entire nations, the spectacle of several once-in-a-lifetime events, and lots of really kinky stuff you can't even find on the deep web. But what do you have to show for it? A few blurred pictures here and there. Unreliable accounts of stunts you thought were really clever, but turn out to be indistinguishable from natural phenomena. Hell, it's like you don't even exist at all!
That's where I come in. You've got the spooks, I've got the memes. Yes sir (or ma'am, I don't judge!), I may not look like it, but you're facing a veteran Meme Warfare operator. Fought in three world wars and orchestrated a fourth one. If you want to be truly immortal, living in the collective human consciousness until the end of time, then you'll need a competent memetician. Viral videos, clickbait articles, forced memes, fake drama, you name it. I'm at your service. With my help, the whole world will soon know your name and tremble before it! Incidentally, I don't think I heard your name. We'll probably need to change it for branding purposes, but it's nice to have a starting point.
Upon being prompted, the spectral form starts trembling and twisting itself into increasingly grotesque shapes while a symphony of guttural wails comes from all directions. A thin line opens where its mouth would probably be, spewing a green liquid-like substance. As the line gets wider and the wails rise to a deafening volume, I hear an inhuman voice directly inside my head. It tells me its name. A name composed of unfathomable horrors, embodying all evils, fears, and hatred from humankind. A name which should not exist in this reality, let alone be known by mortals, but nevertheless lingers on the cosmic fabric, bidding its time. One day, it will be fully unleashed onto the universe, destroying all existence on its wake. Until then, we can only pray for this unholy abomination to let us live for another day.
I recover my senses after what feels like an eternity, saying: "You know, I don't think 'Michael' is that bad." I then die a horrible death.