âCanât promise there wonât be a ghost but I know a pub with the quietest ghost ever,â Cliff chuckled. He was referring to a pub in Croydon with the ghost of a kind old friar who sometimes stole patrons drinks when they werenât looking. âIts no problem,â George put his hand on Cliffâs shoulder. âI should probably go. Ambra hates it when Iâm out too late.â Cliff nodded, âsee you around, mate.â He gave a cursory salute.
âMy motherâs the same about me goinâ out, but good thing she kicked my arse outta the house. Now I canât disappoint her further anymore,â Paul commented as he rubbed his neck, his mind wandering back to his band. He wondered if the rehearsal rooms were haunted too. By Cliffâs words, it was pretty likely and it explained why his drumsticks kept on bloody disappearing ever time he left them somewhere. Shit, what if tomorrowâs gig has a spook? Malcom said itâs gonna be held at that abandoned house down at Hammersmith because he canât afford a real place at the moment. âSo tell, Cliff, whatâs the most haunted place in dear old London?â I just pray I wonât have to play there.
















