There’s A Ghost In My HouseThe ribbed metal sheets on the windows and doorways of the old derelicts banged and rattled as they made their way through archaic streets where spirits yet resided in limbo'd memory. Their presence sensed as a creak on a staircase. A door closing where none was. A whisper on a breeze, or the unstable flicker of a candle flame.
The wind was growing stronger and each tin can that tumbled by increased their anxiety and they ran faster for the rear of the chapel. For the shortcut behind the shops, leading to Gilford, the snobby block, and a staircase rarely used, and as pristine as the first day it had opened.
Never having had the number of pedestrians affiliated with the central vestibules of the flats.
''Faster Barry,'' urges Seamy, increasing the pace to the t
