THE STENCH of death

Simon Ludgate, 62, from London

My friend Sarah’s face was lit up from the underside by her torch so she looked like a character from The Blair Witch Project. We were tiptoeing through her 16th century alms house, The Rectory, in Kent, with all the lights off, on the lookout for ghosts.

A phantom arm had risen fromthefloor

‘Did you hear that noise?’ she whispered, her eyes wide and scared.

I certainly had heard it. The place was alive with spirits.

‘I can hear breathing behind me,’ I shivered, glancing quickly over my shoulder.

‘Oh, no,’ Sarah moaned. ‘I’m so frightened.’ I smiled at her reassuringly