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I am addicted to ghost stories which make me feel as if a stream of lizards fresh from the pond are streaking up my back and hiding in my hair. I cannot read ghost stories though without all of the lights on in the house.
One especially dark night last week (well, really this happened last night) only one dim nightlight glowed in the dining room and it is putting it mildly that I was reluctant to be out in the living room reading "The Turn Of The Screw".
Poppy tiptoed by on his way to the kitchen to quench his thirst. "Why, Mama," said Poppy, "are you sure you want to be in here on such a dark night as this? Aren't you afraid to read that book?"
"Oh of course," I said with bored cadence in my speech, "I am afraid to be in here. I don't dare turn on the lights to read it."
So I got up from my chair and went to bed.