The Woman in Black

My  name  is  Arthur  Kipps.  When  I  was  a  young  man,  I  worked  in  London.  I  was  a  solicitor.  I  worked  for  the  same  company  all  my  life.  14  years  ago  I  bought  this  house  called  Monks  Peace.

I  live  here  with  my  dear  wife  Esme.  Esme's  first  husband  had  died.  She  was  a  widow.  When  I  married  her  came  the  father  of  her  four  young  children.  Our  years  at  Monk's  Piece  have  been  happy  ones.

It  was  Christmas  Eve.  All  the  family  was  at  Monk's  Piece  for  the  holiday.  We  were  all  sitting  by  the  big  fire.  At  the  end  of  the  day  I  was  in  my  armchair,  listening  to  the  laughter  and  the  talking.  Wake  up,  father,  someone  called.

We're  going  to  tell  ghost  stories.  The  lights  were  turned  off.  Suddenly  the  room  was  dark  and  shadowy.  I  smiled  as  I  listened  to  the  young  people's  stories.  The  stories  were  full  of  horror,  but  they  did  not  frighten  me.

They  were  not  true.  Then  I  remembered.  I  remembered  terrible  things.  These  memories  were  terrible  things.  These  memories  were  terrible  because  they  were  true.

Tell  us  a  ghost  story,  father,  someone  cried.  You  must  know  one  story.  I  stood  up,  cold  and  shaking.  No.  No.

I  shouted.  I  have  no  story  to  tell.  I  hurried  from  the  room,  away  from  them  all.  I  went  out  into  the  garden.  I  stood  there  in  the  coal  and  in  the  darkness.

My  heart  was  beating  fast.  I  was  shaking  with  fear.  Will  I  never  Ferger?  Will  I  never  find  peace?  How  can  I  find  peace?

How  can  I  find  peace?  There  is  only  one  way.  I  must  write  clown.  My  terrible  story.  All  the  horror,  everything.

Then  I  will  find  peace.  I  turned  and  walked  back  into  the  house.