My name is Barnabas.
I did not believe in ghosts.
Until one midnight in August.
I was in my study, working on my new book when the phone rang.
“Who the hell could be calling so late?” I swore to myself. I picked up the phone before the second ring, not wanting my wife or my four-year-old son to wake up.
“Hello?” I said softly but still let whoever was calling know that I was irritated.
It was a very old friend of mine. Someone whom I had not met for years. We were classmates in secondary school.
He rattled on excitedly, giving me no chance to show my displeasure.
My anger and irritation soon dissipated as I scribbled on my notepad while he talked.
About five minutes later, I hung up and stared at the computer screen in front of me. My eyes darted occasionally to my notepad and my mind was churning like an overloaded washing machine.
I replayed what my former classmate had told me.
It sounded incredible.
But he sounded so convincing. So sincere.
I did not know why, even till this day, but I was compelled to check out what he had told me.
(Excerpt from ‘Haunted‘ by Douglas Lee, first published in 2001)