Many writers have shared their thoughts with the public:

"There is something delicious about writing the first words of a story. You never quite know where they'll take you." - Beatrix Potter

"The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say." - Anaïs Nin

"Sharing your writing, being enlarged by others' writing, is what makes you feel famous." - Gretchen Bernabei

"Writing is not an amusing occupation. It is a combination of ditch-digging, mountain-climbing, treadmill and childbirth." - Edna Ferber

"Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing." - Ben Franklin

"One must be drenched in words, literally soaked in them, to have the right ones to form themselves into the proper pattern at the right moment." - Hart Crane

"There are three rules for writing. Unfortunately, no one can agree what they are." - W. Somerset Maugham

Glumpstead Hall

It is commonly said that to have emotion one must have glands, but Sir Richard ffoulkes was proof – even if not living proof – that this need not be true! Sir Richard had not had glands since he had died some four hundred years ago but now his anger, or at least that of his ghost, was immense.

For four hundred years he had haunted his former home in quite an innocuous way. He appeared when the fancy took him, causing mild fear among his descendants and their servants. With time they had learned that he did not do any physical harm and so their terror was kept in moderation. In fact, a situation to suit all parties had evolved: Sir Richard had the satisfaction of still being able to frighten people and the household had the prestige of an ancient ghost along with the comfort of knowing he would not actually hurt them.

About fifty years ago the last of his line had sold the house to a Mr Carlton-Davies, not a member of the established gentry, but rich and well mannered. Sir Richard had hardly noticed the change and the new family soon got used to the ghost who was more or less part of the furnishings that came with the house, even though he did not appear on the inventories.

At the time of which we speak it was the third generation of Carlton-Davies who ruled the pile, and the family had assimilated so well that they were regarded by their neighbours as ‘long established’.

This genial state of affairs might have continued indefinitely had not Julian Carlton-Davies invited Dr Maurice Brown for an extended stay.

Dr Brown was of course not a medical man but a lecturer in the arts faculty of one of the lesser universities specialising in para-normal and supernatural matters. Unlike many of his ilk he believed in his subject and was certain that some ghosts were real. The trouble, which had ultimately led to Sir Richard’s current fury, was that he took far too clinical an approach to the subject. In fact, although Dr Brown certainly did have glands, it was he who rarely displayed emotions - other than a smug self-satisfaction.

Julian and Maurice had met at a dinner party about a year before and a casual acquaintance had gradually matured into a strong friendship.

"Tell me Julian," Dr Brown had asked one evening, "you live in Glumpstead, are you familiar with the Hall?"

Julian gave one of his ready smiles and brushed his black hair back from his forehead. "Oh, I know it quite well, Maurice. In fact, I’ve been the owner since my father died."

"Oh Julian, why didn’t you ever tell me before! Is it true that the place is haunted? I do study such things, you know!"

"But yes. There’s the ghost of a seventeenth century owner who appears now and then. Harmless sort of spook once you get used to him. It’s more the fact that he appears when you least expect it that causes fright than anything else – once you’re used to him, that is."

"I should really like to take a look at him. From reports, he seems to be a typical apparition of his type and I do like to add to my case studies whenever I can."

"Well, come down for a weekend. No, better come down for a few weeks in August, you can do a bit of fishing and enjoy the country there at its best." So it was arranged.

Maurice Brown drove down on 1st of August. Sir Richard left the new arrival alone for a couple of days before he decided it was time to assert himself. Some extra sense (ghosts have a lot more than six) had made him dislike the visitor. Perhaps it was this that caused him to break his usual routine. Normally he would only appear to one or two people at a time. Suddenly materialising in a dark corridor or at the foot of a bed usually had its desired effect and kept him happy. Job satisfaction is not limited to the living.

Tonight he decided to appear in the middle of dinner while the whole family and their guest were assembled together.

On the whole things went to plan. The family members shivered nervously, the normally terminally placid butler went pale and the maid (new to the house) forgot herself to the point of giving a little shriek and dropping a tray. However, the person Sir Richard had most sought to impress, Dr Brown, displayed no sign except mild professional interest.

"Ah," he said. "Quite a conventional ghost of his type. Capable of exciting surprise by his sudden manifestation but otherwise totally harmless – rather a pointless existence really."

Sir Richard had occasionally come across people who were not scared in the past, but never one who was so dismissive. He was driven to give voice, something he rarely bothered to do, and emitted a ghastly groan.

The company trembled at this rare occurrence. The maid fainted. Only Dr Brown was unmoved.

"Hmm, a rather typical groan. I suppose an unsuccessful attempt to scare. Probably all he can do is groan and make rattling and thumping noises. Doubt he can speak."

In fact, although he rarely bothered to, Sir Richard certainly could speak, but at the moment he was speechless with anger. For the first time in anyone’s memory he unsheathed his phantom sword and rushed at the obnoxious doctor.

The family stared in horror. Julian started to rise from his seat, though he had no idea what he could do. The doctor did flinch just a little as the sword slashed at him. However, the stroke was harmless and its only effect was for the intended victim to nonchalantly observe, "Yes, quite interesting. He can be seen and even heard but is incapable of any sort of physical interaction."

With an impotent shake of his fist, Sir Richard blinked out of existence. The dinner party resumed with the visitor at least apparently calm and the butler serving alone. Sir Richard retreated to the little secret chamber where he rested. He was still furious, but now it was with himself for having confirmed his weakness to his foe. He sat and plotted. Although he had been born in an impetuous age, centuries as a ghost had taught him something of patience. The loss of one battle did not mean the end of the war.

Sir Richard kept away from Dr Brown for more than a day, restricting his haunting to brief appearances in the servants’ quarters. Then on the night following that of the dining room appearance he prepared to give the troublesome visitor a major fright.

He started at 1am by lowering the temperature in Dr Brown’s bedroom – although Sir Richard could not touch things, he could produce chilly breezes. He didn’t cool the room too much because he didn’t want his victim to awaken too soon.

Then he employed his best sepulchral voice. "Maurice Brown! Maurice Brown! Prepare to meet your fate!"

Brown stirred and Sir Richard brought on a much colder breeze and repeated his threat, "Maurice Brown! Maurice Brown! Prepare to meet your fate!"

Maurice awoke and shivered slightly. He stared around the room. Sir Richard took his cue and appeared in his ghastliest form as a glowing phantasm of his death, with a dagger in his side and blood spurting from the wound in an endless stream.

Unfortunately, this did not evoke the hoped for response.

"Ah, you’re back, are you?"

"Hmm. I was wrong when I assumed you cannot speak. I hope you will forgive me?"

"I can speak," roared Sir Richard. "Behold my fate and prepare to meet your own!"

"Oh, come now. We both know that you can’t hurt me, so why pretend? I admit that was a nasty wound that killed you. Perhaps we can have a chat about it sometime – for my notes, you know."

"Be afeared and cower, despicable mortal," Sir Richard roared again, but with less assurance in his voice.

"Now what is there for me to be afraid of?" reasoned Dr Brown. "Why don’t you buzz along now and let’s both get some rest, and you can tell me all about yourself at some more reasonable time. I know from dinner the other night that you can appear at more sociable hours."

Sir Richard growled and spluttered as he dematerialised. "I shall be back, and you won’t be so smug then!"

Sir Richard made two more attempts to frighten this infuriating man, but with no more success.

Disheartened by his failures, but not defeated (certainly not dispirited!), Sir Richard realised that to succeed he would need some assistance.

He was not the only ghostly inhabitant of the hall, but as he mused he could not see much prospect of help from these companions. Most of them had been ghosts longer than he had; none of them was in the habit of appearing before the living and rarely even at other times. A few were ghosts of servants, and Sir Richard’s pride would not permit him to enlist them. The most important point though was that none of them was capable of any more physical action than he was, and for that matter none of them was SCARY. Hundreds of years of ffoulkes’s had failed to produce one headless ghost or animated skeleton or anything else of the sort. For the first time in four hundred years he felt ashamed of his family.

He would have to seek further.

As he mused he remembered talk by members of the household of disturbances of a very different ghostly kind in the village. Gradually a plan formed in his mind.

With the coming of night Sir Richard left the Hall for the first time in two hundred years and headed for the village and to the Glumpstead Inn, which was nearly as old as the Hall.

Arriving at about two o’clock in the morning, he settled in the kitchen and waited. After about half an hour a saucepan, for no obvious reason, lifted off the shelf and fell to the floor with a clatter. Sir Richard smiled. With a little persuasion he would have a helper.

Later that night he returned to the Hall, but not alone.

It took some planning before Sir Richard was ready to attempt another confrontation with Dr Brown. Before he could act he needed to have him in the right place and also to have someone witness his discomfiture. Three days passed before the circumstances were right.

Maurice Brown was in the Long Hall together with his host and his family. It was shortly after dinner and the rain had driven them to pass the time. Julian had suggested they inspect the weaponry and portraits. Maurice had agreed amiably, although he had little real interest in such things.

They had not been long in the room when Sir Richard materialised. This time he wore ghostly chains on his wrists and clanked them as he crossed the room.

"Ah! He’s back again," said Maurice cheerfully. "I wonder what he’s up to this time."

Sir Richard groaned soulfully and clanked his chains louder.

"He keeps trying to scare me. You’d think he would realise by now that I know he can’t touch physical things, wouldn’t you? I mean what’s scary about rattling phantom chains? Not like he can move real ones, is it?"

Julian frowned. He was proud of having a ghost and was growing tired of his friend’s dismissive comments. He was beginning to feel quite sorry for the ancestor – even if it wasn’t exactly his own ancestor.

They watched as Sir Richard dropped his phantom chains, traversed the room and positioned himself with his hand over some shackles that hung on the wall.

Sir Richard waved his hand and they saw the oh-so-real traitor chains shake and make a less theatrical but very real rattle.

The Carlton-Davies family displayed some surprise at this new ability, but Dr Brown was clearly shaken. "He shouldn’t be able to do that!" he cried.

"Pshaw!" sneered Sir Richard – not a common comment from a ghost. "Y’think that’s all I can do?"

He moved along the wall and pulled down a dagger and flung it towards Maurice Brown. It seemed certain it would hit him in the head, but instead it passed very close and embedded itself in the panelling behind him with a thud and a quiver. Dr Brown was grey-faced and trembling. The Carlton-Davies were fixed in place with shock.

Sir Richard grinned, walked to a suit of armour and placed his hand on the spear it held. The spectre’s arm swung forward and the spear headed straight at the centre of Maurice’s breast. This time there could be no doubt of its target, but when the point was a handbreadth from his chest it stopped in mid-air, then clattered to the floor.

Dr Maurice Brown fainted.

Julian Carlton-Davies unfroze and accosted the ghost. "After all these centuries why are you now trying to hurt people? Will my family have to leave this house to be safe?"

Sir Richard grinned at him. "I didn’t harm anyone, though I showed I could have if I had wished.

"It was never necessary before because all those I had encountered had shown me respect. I think your visitor will be respectful in the future." He paused and then continued. "Your family need have no fears."

He then abruptly vanished.

With just a little attention Maurice was restored to consciousness.

"My God!" he kept repeating. "How could I have been so wrong? He shouldn’t have been able to do that. Oh, what a shock – I shake still."

"Never mind," soothed Julian. "He said that he only wished to show he could harm you because you didn’t afford him the respect he thought his due.

"Off to bed now. You’ll feel better after a sleep."

"Aye, but I’ll not sleep here; I cannot stay in the house any longer."

All attempts to dissuade him from leaving failed. Within twenty minutes, had made his apologies and was driving away.

The relationship between Sir Richard and the occupants of the Hall quickly returned to normal.

For Dr Brown matters were not so simple. He had decided to spend the night at a hostelry on the way home. Unfortunately, he stopped at the first place he found – the Glumpstead Inn.

After a couple of large whiskeys, he settled in bed and tried to sleep. However, his rest was disturbed by the tendency of the fire irons to keep flying across the room. The invisible poltergeist that had moved things while Sir Richard had mimed the actions had returned to its usual haunt and decided to do some scaring on its own account.

Last we heard, Dr Brown had abandoned the study of the supernatural and was now in the English Department lecturing on the works of Enid Blyton.