In addition to unfinished business, some ghosts haunt so that they will be remembered.

I write for ghosts; the ghosts I can’t see but I know stick around. Some I know are good. Others I know are bad. The first bring me nostalgic comfort while the latter instill unease.

My fear is that he'll forget me," she bemoaned with crystalline sadness. I took her hand, limp with loss and held it. "I'd rather not be remembered by any man as it saves me the embarrassment.

He does love prophesying a misfortune, does the average British ghost. Send him out to prognosticate trouble to somebody, and he is happy. Let him force his way into a peaceful home, and turn the whole house upside down by foretelling a funeral, or predicting a bankruptcy, or hinting at a coming disgrace, or some other terrible disaster, about which nobody in their senses would want to know sooner than they could possible help, and the prior knowledge of which can serve no useful purpose whatsoever, and he feels that he is combining duty with pleasure. He would never forgive himself if anybody in his family had a trouble and he had not been there for a couple of months beforehand, doing silly tricks on the lawn or balancing himself on somebody's bedrail.

("Introduction" to TOLD AFTER SUPPER)

The unfinished business will always come after you. Whatever you fail to kill will hunt your children, or the next generation.

We have a lot of unfinished business. There's so much we still want to do.