They come at night: the roving spirits of the restless dead in places where the air is thick and trees hang low.
They instinctively rebel against confinement. To put a barrier between yourself and a Haint only provokes a more ardent attempt to gain entry.
They want to be among the living and will pursue this beyond all reasonable means; through windows, down chimneys, between hitherto unnoticed cracks.
Naturally, their style of seeking company has left them stigmatised as creeping, cadaverous horrors - of this they are unaware. Most are sweet-natured things devoid of malice.
Haints are a broad group with many types. Whether they’re launching furniture across the parlour or hovering bedside to observe “sleep” they all have the capacity to shock.
It seems that the certifiably dead have all but forgotten the art of delicacy.