The Ghost in the Red Shirt

Synopsis

The proper way to begin this story would be to assure the reader, first of all, that I have never believed in ghosts; that is the way ghost-stories usually begin, I think. Also, I should say that what I am about to relate is perfectly true—but I won’t begin it like that. As a matter of fact, I don’t care much whether you believe me or not, and I always did believe in ghosts—at least, I always hoped they were truer than Santa Claus, and that some day I should see one.

Aunt Jane—but I don’t want to begin with Aunt Jane either: she always did begin everything in my life, ever since I can remember, and she sha’n’t begin this story. I don’t mean her even to know I wrote it—she’d only say I’m crazy, and I’m not.

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