A Haunting Of Ghosts

The cover cost is £10 with Euros equivalent E12 and US Dollars equivalent $15. Postage to you will be complimentary. The authors can sign your limited edition copy upon request.

http://www.thirteenoclock.com.au/category/book-reviews/
"the whole book is a little treasure of pleasurable shivers and intriguing darkness...
a real delight for the readers fond of elegant, subtly unsettling dark fiction." Mario Guslandi

A Haunting Of Ghosts by Maynard Sims is a brand new collection of ghost stories in the Jamesian mould (although our influences are more Wakefield and Munby, Rolt and Cowles).

The book is a well produced limited edition (150 copies) hardcover of 144 pages with black and white photographs, no dustcover, paper is bookwove Cream 80gsm, book size: 198x129mm, blocking to front and spine one colour, matt lamination, black cover with silver lettering, and claret end papers.

All six stories are original to this collection and in fact all were written in one spell of writing during May and June 2012. These are very much traditional English ghost stories evoking stormy winter nights where
the wind howls at the window shutters and the shadows creep in the dark corners of the room.
They will make an excellent Christmas present.

The cover cost is £10 with Euros equivalent E12 and US Dollars equivalent $15. Postage to you will be complimentary. The authors can sign your limited edition copy upon request.

Dedicated to our love of traditional English ghost stories
which has been a passion for over forty years and which
continues to constantly delight and inspire us.

THE MAN WHO WORE THE WRONG COAT

Sunshine poured in through the mullioned windows as though it was a liquid eraser trying to blank out the conversation within the room. The two men talking were aware of the warmth but it did little to alleviate the shivers they experienced or to eradicate the shadows that shifted in the unlit corners.

Pulford’s house was large and rather grand. Built of the local honey coloured stone it glowed when shining in the sun and appeared mellow and restful when the weather was inclement. Pulford had lived there with his wife of many years but since her early death from pernicious cancer it was really too large and he rattled around with only his memories and the shadows to bump into. It was the memories that kept him rooted there, and despite its size it was an agreeable house in which to live and it suited him.

It suited his friend Priestley to visit on a regular basis and since the suicide of his own wife some time ago they found they had more in common than they wished to admit.

The two P’s in the pod as their wives had called them in happier times had settled into a rhythmic pattern of behaviour that was more comfortable than exciting, but it was sufficient to leave them satisfied enough and able, just, to confine their personal sadness to a constant nagging instead of the debilitating grief that threatened to overwhelm them.

“Has sufficient time passed for you to tell me about Noble’s adventure in Suffolk?” Pulford asked, and blew a thick cloud of cigar smoke into the air where it vied for supremacy with shafts of sunlight.

Priestley looked at his friend with a degree of discomfort. “Check I think.”

Pulford turned his attention to the partially populated chessboard on the oak refectory table they were using.

“In truth,” Priestley said. “It is Noble’s story to tell but I don’t think he will object to me enlightening you. It will need a refill of Taylor’s before I can start though.”

Pulford took the stopper from the port decanter and poured a generous measure into his friend’s crystal glass. Then he reached across the chess board, moved a knight and said, “Perhaps we should suspend the game for a while and get ourselves sat and comfortable.”

“We could even sit outside and admire the setting of the sun.”

“It’s certainly warm enough.”

“And we can each take with us a fresh Ramon Allones.”

It is said there is a philosophy behind the ability to select the right cigar for a given moment, and of course, like any philosophy, it is subject to interpretation and even debate. Some have their belief in certain strengths and shapes of cigars depending on the time of day the cigar is smoked. Others, bizarrely, feel that only particular shapes go with certain body or facial types. Others even suggest a cigar should be smoked only when one has the time to savour it to the fullest. It can certainly be suggested that smaller, milder cigars be smoked in the morning, cigars of medium strength and size go well in the afternoon, and the more full-bodied larger sized cigars should be savoured after dinner.

The two P’s had dined well on locally sourced venison cooked to perfection by Pulford’s house keeper of longstanding, Mrs Wilson, and were content and ready for a cigar of full flavour.

They seated themselves on the flag stoned patio on the south side of the house. An ornate metal table was set at the correct angle to maximise the last couple of hours of sunlight. They placed their glasses on the table and each pulled back a cushion covered chair to sit on.

Pulford brought two ashtrays from the house and both men went through their own ritual to prepare their cigars. When each cigar was drawing satisfactorily and the bright air above their heads was clouding with aromatic smoke Priestley looked at Pulford and the latter nodded.