I believe ghost story writing is a dying art.
The lamps were lit, and a good fire crackled in the great stone fireplace. There was a discreet chink of china, the brightness of silver teapot and muffin cover, the comforting smell mingled of steami...
The lake's deep...and dark...and dangerous.
I often stood and stared into those tunnels and thought about what happened there; how I was separated from it only by time." - The Procession