Good evening. At a very many Christmas to you all. It was Christmas Eve.

Of course, it's a mere matter of information. I'm sure I have no need to tell you that.

It is always Christmas Eve and a ghost story. Why all this haunting should take place on Christmas Eve?

Of all nights in the year, I never could myself understand. At Christmas time,

everybody has quite enough to put up with in the way of a house full of living relatives

without wanting the ghosts of any dead ones moaning about the place.

So, nothing satisfies us but to hear each other tell authentic anecdotes about specters.

It is a genial festive season and we therefore love to muse upon graves, dead bodies, murder and

blood. For ghost stories to be told on any other evening would be impossible in British society

as it is presently regulated. This was the case on the evening of December 24, 1891

at 47 Le Burnham Grove, Duting, when I was spending Christmas with my aunt Mariah and Uncle John.

To set the scene, we had had a very good supper, a very good supper indeed. Unpleasantness has occurred

since. Rumors have been put about and remarks have been passed which have pained me very much.

But although injustice, gross injustice has been done to myself that shall not deter me from doing

justice to others, even to those who have made unfeeling insinuations. I will do justice to

Aunt Mariah's hot-vealed pasties and toasted lobsters, followed by her own special make-up cheesecake,

washed out with Uncle John's own particular old ale. I did justice to them all. Aunt Mariah herself

could not but have bit that. After supper, Uncle Brood, some whiskey punch. Oh, I did justice to that

also. Uncle John himself said so. He said he was glad to notice that I liked it. We gathered

around the piano in the parlour and after a fortifying draft of a said punch, we were soon in full sorrow.

My day and all that smell lay off this was already my dogly. 12 peasants rose up. 11 muffins toasted.

10 apples, dogly. 9 ducklings worldly. 8 boiled gabbles. 7 by 7. 8 of ham.

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