I sat in the old chair in the loft and picked up the book I ‘just had to read.’ Time passed and I realised why: it had a lot of romance and I knew that, whilst I wasn’t going to obsess, I was going to finish it, if only for that novelty value.

Suddenly halfway through Chapter 14, the scene changes. The heroine squirms as the stranger follows her into the ladies’, cornering her and pushing his lips into hers. Her hands are tied now, and I’m barely able to read through my old silent tears as he unzips his trousers. A lump rises in my throat and I remember. Gagged, she tries to scream, and as he finally pushes into her I scream for her, flinging the book across the room. I keep screaming, over and over, releasing something long bottled with no relief. I scream and cry and clutch at the padding of my chair as I hide from him, advancing again, his eyes with that same lustful gleam and his fingers unzipping his flies.

The tears are hot as the ghost pushes in, and as my voice breaks, the screams echo eternally.