The Christmas Spirits.

I lived with a woman once who sat up in bed one night staring at the curtained window through frightened eyes. She was clearly distressed and insisted that she’d seen the silhouette of a nun walk past it.

That was spooky, but spookier still was the time my wife sat up in bed and stared at me with abject terror in her eyes. It was when I learned that somebody else’s fear can be the most contagious of conditions.

It seems to be the season for it. ‘A Ghost Story for Christmas’ was the generic title of a collection of supernatural offerings put out by the BBC over several years. It’s the time when living alone has questionable charms. And the wind is rising again.