Monk’s haunt
The man in the black cape and tricorn hat glared at me as he banged his long wooden stave menacingly on the ground.
‘Do you dare,’ he hissed, ‘Join us on the ghost tour?’ ‘Um, yes,’ I said bravely. ‘My wife and I have tickets!’ It was March and my wife had booked a weekend away for us to Bury St Edmunds in Suffolk.
‘It’ll be great,’ she said enthusiastically. ‘The kids are going to the in-laws so it’ll be just you and me. So romantic. Oh – although I’ve booked us on a ghost tour. And I really want to go to Moyse’s Museum in the town centre – they’ve got a book bound in human skin, you know.’ I didn’t know,
