Reggie Upton examined his collection of writing implements, checking that each was sufficient to the task ahead.

“So which ghost is next to be interviewed for your book?” asked Philomena Bucket. 

“I thought I might talk to our very own Lady Margaret,” replied Reggie. “And I won’t have to traipse half-way across the island to do it, which is an advantage.”

“You’ll be lucky if she tells you anything,” said Philomena. “The Headless Lady is inclined to like her privacy.”

The chair in the corner creaked, which usually signified that Trickster was about to pass an opinion.

“I’m not surprised, given her history,” he said.

“You could at least have the good manners to become visible when you choose to slander one of our resident spirits,” said Reggie. “Although, I must admit she has never been particularly forthcoming about her past.”

“You might find it beneficial to talk to the Mad Parson of Chapel Rock,” said Trickster. “He’s mainly responsible for her being here.”

“Really?” Reggie said, surprised. “Tell me more.”

“He’s the one who detached her head from her neck,” said Trickster. “But you’ll have to talk to him about it. I’m not here to do your job for you.”

“Then why are you here?” snapped Reggie, but the invisible occupant of the chair had lapsed into a sullen silence. 

“I hate to say it, but he’s probably right,” said Philomena. “It’s well known that the parson and Lady Margaret detest each other. Years ago one of the blocks from the privy was prised out, and taken to Chapel Rock. Somehow their paths crossed, and things didn’t go too well.”

“Ah, yes,” said Reggie. “Presumably those blocks came from the manor where Lady Margaret once lived.” He paused. “And, if our invisible friend is to be believed, where she died.”

“If you’re planning to interview Obadiah Hyde, be careful,” said Philomena. “Don’t forget that he killed Father Stamage. I don’t want you ending up as the final chapter in your own book… and take care of what you choose to write.”

…

“You can rage, and throw as many stones as you want,” said Reggie. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The Mad Parson howled and tossed another rock, narrowly missing a passing raven.

“Now where was I?” went on Reggie. “Ah, yes… I was about to tell you about another amusing incident, this time involving one of the several wives of my good friend, Sawai Shri Shri Madho Singh II, the ninth Maharaja of Jaipur…”

“Enough, enough,” screamed Hyde. “There is only so much torment a soul can stand. No more of your tedious anecdotes, I beg you.”

“Tedious?” said Reggie, in hurt tones. “That’s harsh.”

“Just tell me what you want, and leave me in peace.”

“You’ll never be at peace, old chap, if what I hear is correct,” said Reggie. “But confession is good for the soul, they say, so tell me what you did.”

“You sound like that blasted Jesuit, the one I brained with a rock,” said the Mad Parson. 

“Father Stamage? He’s a forgiving sort of cove. I can’t say the same for Lady Margaret, though.”

“That papist whore? I caught her in the act of adultery with some young cavalier upstart. The fool had left his sword by the side of the bed, so I killed ‘em both with it, and am not ashamed of the fact.”

“And now you languish forever on this God-forsaken rock,” said Reggie, his cheeks flushed with anger.

“I came here of my own volition,” said Hyde defiantly. “I resurrected this ancient chapel single-handedly, though heaven knows, my efforts were unappreciated.”

“The story goes that your congregation hated you, and your own demons eventually drove you into the sea,” said Reggie.

“That is a vile calumny,” raged Hyde, and hurled another rock.

Wordlessly Reggie turned and retreated down the hill, where Tenzin was waiting for him. 

“I’ve heard enough,” he said. “If any ghost is beyond redemption, it is Obadiah Hyde.”

“And what about Lady Margaret?” asked Tenzin, who had heard their conversation.

“I can understand now why she is reluctant to talk about the reasons for her death,” said Reggie. “As far as my book is concerned, Obadiah Hyde murdered her because she was a Royalist and a Catholic. Anything else is nobody’s damned business.”

“Are you going to tell Philomena?”

“Oh, she knows lad. She knows,” said Reggie. “Don’t you remember her parting shot? Take care of what you choose to write.”

Tenzin nodded, and wondered how many more dark stories would emerge before Reggie’s book was completed.