Ghost stories, they have the power to throw us into another world, leading us to
not only fear for the characters within the novel but for ourselves as the ghosts seem
to follow the reader around weeks afterwards. It is the mastery of description that
enslaves our minds as readers. Ghost stories paint vivid pictures inside the mind as they
force us to come face to face with our deepest fears. Imagining ourselves as the main
characters we become a part of the story, seeing, hearing, and feeling everything that the
author is courageous enough to delve into the darker side of his or her subconscious. The
stories give a sense of escape, by allowing the reader to partake on the journey along side
the characters, they are given the chance to become larger then life, doing things they
would never be able to accomplish in their everyday life. They defeat the monster and
come out the conquering hero, never forgetting the memory of their battle. Even after the
book is done the scenes replay themselves over and over within the readerís mind. They
have such an impact over their readerís, and that is a true accomplishment, not all genres
of novels can succeed in such a feat. Now, I want you to sit back in your most
comfortable chair, pull a blanket up around you, and grab a nice, warm cup of cocoa while

I tell you one of my favourite ghost stories.

Vivian plunked the last of the dusty, cardboard boxes down on the wooden floor.

She breathed heavily as she finally allowed herself to collapse into the burgundy softness
of the cushioned chair seated in the far corner of the master bedroom. Thunder tore its
way through the silence of the room. Vivian jumped, she didnít like being alone in
the dark, musty house, especially during a thunder storm. She remembered when she and
her husband, Jake, had first visited the house. It had been the middle of summer and after
reading an article in the paper about the house, they had made the drive out to Osgood to
see it. They fell in love with the house from the moment they laid their eyes on it. A large
bay window looked out over the front lawn, and next to it were french doors leading out
to a wrought iron balcony. A white washed porch encompassed the body of the house, itís
rails intertwined with red roses that blessed the thick summer air with their sweet aroma.

It had seemed so welcoming then, Vivian thought to
herself as she rose from the chair, wearily getting ready for bed. She pulled one of
her husbands sweat shirts from one of the many boxes that were spread across the room
and put it on. Vivian laughed to herself as she passed by her reflection in the antique
vanity mirror, the shirt hung off of her small frame almost reaching all the way down to
her knees, and her long auburn hair was piled messily upon her head. Another crash of
thunder sent her diving childishly to the safety of the king size, four post bed where she
pulled the lavish wine coloured duvet up over her head. Jake will be here tomorrow she
repeated after she had turned off the light. Heíll be here tomorrow she kept reassuring
herself as she fell into an uneasy sleep. Vivian hadnít spent a night away from her husband
since they had been married eighteen months ago, the mere thought of him not being
beside her haunted her subconscious as she slept.

It was dark outside when Vivian awoke, a wash of pale blue light cast itself over
the bedroom. Slowly Vivian eased herself out of the warmth of the immense bed and made
her way towards the hallway. The hall was dimly lit with candles and it seemed to go on
forever, the glow of amber from the candles fading as you followed them down into a dark
cave. The sound of the enormous, oak door opening followed by a strong gust of crisp,
early winter wind sharpened Vivianís senses as she began to run down the dark hall
towards the top of the staircase.

"Jake?" she called, reaching the top of the stairs. "Oh Jake, honey, is that
you?" she said running down the stairs. When she reached the bottom she let a small sigh
escape as her spirit sank, he wasnít there. I couldnít have just imagined the whole thing,