Some truly fabulous tales, one of which I penned -- er, typed -- about Lu.
All profits for the book go to Jamie Eyberg's memorial fund (for his children).
Tales of Harold and his friends and acquaintances in and around the town of Laverstone, England.
Dill pointed to Sam "Him, I think you're looking for."
"Well hello." Sam did his best Leslie Phillips impersonation. "Who might you be?"
"Amanda Brinkley." She held out her hand. "I couldn't help noticing your scent..."
"Distinctive, isn't it?" Sam tossed his head to one side. "I call it chair pourrissant. Do you like it?"
"Very much." Amanda took a step forward. "It reminds me of home."
The ghost glided forward. "Amanda Brinkley. This is my body?" She drew away.
"Not just your body." Jasfoup stepped forward and snapped away the sheet. "Ta-da!"
"I remember the face." The ghost drew forward. "Why are you showing me this?"
"Look inside," said the demon, raising his eyebrows toward the corpse. "You won't regret it. I got rid of the current occupier and redecorated."
"What do you mean?" The ghost hovered over the body and settled slowly into it. The corpse's lips fluttered, hesitantly at first. "What have you done?"
"Salt and varnish and one or two secret ingredients." The demon clapped his hands. "Mummification!"
"Think yourself lucky." Jasfoup bit into a scone and was dismayed to find the cream squeezing out the other side. He caught it with his other hand. "At least you're articulate. Imagine how bad you'd feel if you were stuck in your decomposing corpse and couldn't move or speak."
"Has that happened?"
"Once or twice. They scream for a silent eternity. The very strong ones manage to get free from their bodies and become wraiths."
"Oh my God. What do you do with them?"
"Dispose of them, naturally. Can't have wraiths flying about scaring the natives."
"How do you do that?" Amanda leaned forward, fascinated.
Jasfoup shrugged. "Spirit level."