My first night at aunt Eliza's wasn't as comfortable as I would have hoped. The whole house was silence, apart from the eerie creak, creak, creaking noice of the floorboards on the landing outside my bedroom door. The nocternal animals scutled around outside in the dead on night, cats growling and hissing like wild beasts. Never in my life had I spent the night in a house so old and creepy. Since my last visit, aunt Eliza had fixed the heating and now several of the spacious rooms contained radiators.

It was past midnight and I was almost fast asleep when suddenly a cold chill entered the room, creeping towards me, making me shiver. The temperature dropped so low became could almost see the mist of my breath. I wrapped the duvet tightly around me as I tried not to freeze to death, but the cold spell only seemed to last for a few minutes and then it was over.

"That was weird," I thought as I climbed out of bed to check to see if the windows were open. The Elizabethan style lead-lined windows were closed, giving me the impression I must have been dreaming or losing my marbles.

Having been up since the early hours of the morning, I felt close to exhausted. Pushing all the strange feelings to one side, I climbed back into bed and finally managed to get some sleep even if it wasn't for as long as I had hoped.

I don't know what woke me from my peaceful slumber, but as I awoke I could see a faint image of a posh dressed gentleman. He stood at the base of my bed, drifting like a cloud of mist, but the cloudy figure stopped at the feet. Beams of moonlight seem to past through him like sunlight through smoke, but he was there, this wasn't a figure of my overactive imagination, there really was a strange guy in my room! His presence, his aura, his soul...was there. Did he know I was there? Did he sense me? My eyes traveled up looking at him unable to take my eyes off him. His long flowing dark hair curled in soft ringlets, jacket bright red in colour with elaborate trimmings and lace collars and cuffs, a plume hat perched on his head. I knew what he was and I wanted to scream, but I was frozen to the bone with fear. In the midst of the smoke I could see his face, almost transparent, but he had two eyes, a nose and a mouth. He looked like an ordinary person, but he was not. He was a ghost, a spirit and an image I would never forget. The image lasted for only a few seconds, before he vanished in a puff of smoke.

The second he vanished I felt able to breath. I tried to calm down and go back to sleep, but at that moment I didn't know how I would ever be able to sleep there again. I reached my arm towards the bedside cabinet to check the time on the alarm click, 4 o'clock in the morning. I didn't use to get up until at least 9 on non school days, but no way could I have gone back to sleep after what I had just seen. Knowing I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep and not wanting to stay there in case Sir Ghost-A-Lot returned to eat my brains, or what ever ghosts did, I climbed out of bed, pulled my lovely warm dressing gown over my pyjamas and left the room.

Down the long winding wooden staircase I crept, my soft slippers cushioning my footsteps, the stairs creaked once as I walked. In the dark, the only light from a small torch on my phone, I admired the dusty portraits hanging on the walls lining the stairs.

I inspected the paintings, searching for the ghostly figure in my bedroom. I passed several people, each dressed in strange historical fashions, from long dresses with puffy sleeves, to gentlemen dressed in armour off to fight for King and country. I passed family portraits of my long dead ancestors, Knights in shining armour, even King Charles 1st, but no Sir Ghost-A-Lot, not that I was particularly disappointed, just curious to put a name to the face. The portraits beautifully painted, with eye catching detail.

One in particular captured my attention. A young woman in a pretty pale blue satin dress, short sleeves slipping slightly off the shoulder. Her dark blonde hair full of flowing curls over her shoulders and down her back, eyes as blue as the dress she wore. The thing I found fascinating, her name, Clementine Burton-Hewitt (22 August 1632 - 8 May 1653), the same name as me.

I continued walking down the stairs, in almost darkness. What I felt like doing was reading a book, so that's what did. I headed to the library to find a book to read.

Aunt Eliza's library, the envy of the village who as the council closed the village library, had to make do with the library on wheels. During the second world war, it doubled up as a meeting room for the local armed forces. I loved the peace and quiet of the library, knowing I could stay there for as long as I wanted without anyone, Will or Seb bothering me.

Quietly, I opened the creaking door and crept inside. With the torch still on my phone, I searched around for a light switch. I switched on the light and started to search for a decent book to read. The room ceiling high with old books on tall bookcases so there was plenty to choose from. With my finger pressed against the spines, I read each title before choosing one I thought looked interesting, titled 'Friendship, Death and Betrayal: The Burton-Hewitt's and the Civil war".

I pulled out a chair and sat by the window looking out at the moonlit sky. Before I started reading, I skimmed through the heavy hard back book, searching for an interesting part and that's when I saw him. His face stared at me from the pages, long dark hair in ringlets and a rather sorrowful expression on his face. He dressed in a frilly shirt and breeches, with long black boots. His name Sir Henry Ainsworth. I had found him. I had found Sir Ghost-A-Lot.

_________________________________
Authors Note

I don't usually like putting notes on stories, but I thought I would just say the picture is not of Henry Ainsworth (Sir Ghost-A-Lot), but King Charles 1st of England. He was the king when Henry was alive and they dressed in a similar way.