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    Told After Supper: "It is always the best policy to tell the truth, unless of course you are an exceptionally good liar."
    Told After Supper: "It is always the best policy to tell the truth, unless of course you are an exceptionally good liar."
    Told After Supper: "It is always the best policy to tell the truth, unless of course you are an exceptionally good liar."
    Ebook48 pages38 minutes

    Told After Supper: "It is always the best policy to tell the truth, unless of course you are an exceptionally good liar."

    By Jerome K Jerome

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    About this ebook

    Told After Supper (1891) is a collection of short ghost stories written by the English writer Jerome K Jerome. The collection’s “introductory” starts as follows: “It was Christmas Eve. I begin this way because it is the proper, orthodox, respectable way to begin […] The experienced reader knows it was Christmas Eve, without my telling him. It always is Christmas Eve, in a ghost story.” Hence, all the short stories included here happen on Christmas Eve and their events are marked with the presence of supernatural elements. Being all told by a first-person narrator, the stories are entitled “How the Stories Came to be Told,” Teddy Biffles’ story,” “The Doctor’s story,” “Mr. Coombe’s Story,” “My Uncle’s Story,” “A Personal Explanation,” and “My Own Story.” Jerome mingles the fantastic with humor and even tells jokes about ghosts to mix the feeling of fear with laughter. He classifies these nightly visitors into “middle-class ghosts,” “young ghosts,” “conscientious ghosts,” “average British ghosts,” and “lady specters” who are “contradictory and snappish, and liable to burst into tears.” They all hold their annual feast on Christmas Eve, their “great gala night.”

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherA Word To The Wise
    Release dateAug 20, 2013
    ISBN9781780008127
    Told After Supper: "It is always the best policy to tell the truth, unless of course you are an exceptionally good liar."

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      Book preview

      Told After Supper - Jerome K Jerome

      TOLD AFTER SUPPER

      by Jerome K. Jerome

      Contents:

      Introductory

      How the Stories Came to be Told

      Teddy Biffles’ Story Johnson and Emily; or, the Faithful Ghost

      Interlude The Doctor’s Story

      Mr. Coombe’s Story The Haunted Mill; or, the Ruined Home

      Interlude

      My Uncle’s Story The Ghost of the Blue Chamber

      A Personal Explanation

      My Own Story

      INTRODUCTORY

      It was Christmas Eve.

      I begin this way because it is the proper, orthodox, respectable way to begin, and I have been brought up in a proper, orthodox, respectable way, and taught to always do the proper, orthodox, respectable thing; and the habit clings to me.

      Of course, as a mere matter of information it is quite unnecessary to mention the date at all.  The experienced reader knows it was Christmas Eve, without my telling him.  It always is Christmas Eve, in a ghost story, Christmas Eve is the ghosts’ great gala night.  On Christmas Eve they hold their annual fete.  On Christmas Eve everybody in Ghostland who IS anybody or rather, speaking of ghosts, one should say, I suppose, every nobody who IS any nobody comes out to show himself or herself, to see and to be seen, to promenade about and display their winding-sheets and grave-clothes to each other, to criticise one another’s style, and sneer at one another’s complexion.

      Christmas Eve parade, as I expect they themselves term it, is a function, doubtless, eagerly prepared for and looked forward to throughout Ghostland, especially the swagger set, such as the murdered Barons, the crime-stained Countesses, and the Earls who came over with the Conqueror, and assassinated their relatives, and died raving mad.

      Hollow moans and fiendish grins are, one may be sure, energetically practised up.  Blood-curdling shrieks and marrow-freezing gestures are probably rehearsed for weeks beforehand.  Rusty chains and gory daggers are over-hauled, and put into good working order; and sheets and shrouds, laid carefully by from the previous year’s show, are taken down and shaken out, and mended, and aired.

      Oh, it is a stirring night in Ghostland, the night of December the twenty-fourth!

      Ghosts never come out on Christmas night itself, you may have noticed.  Christmas Eve, we suspect, has been too much for them; they are not used to excitement.  For about a week after Christmas Eve, the gentlemen ghosts, no doubt, feel as if they were all head, and go about making solemn resolutions to themselves that they will stop in next Christmas Eve; while lady spectres are contradictory and snappish, and liable to burst into tears and leave the room hurriedly on being spoken to, for no perceptible cause whatever.

      Ghosts with no position to maintain mere middle-class ghosts  occasionally, I believe, do a little haunting on off-nights:  on All-hallows Eve, and at Midsummer; and some will even run up for a mere local event to celebrate, for instance, the anniversary of the hanging of somebody’s grandfather, or to prophesy a misfortune.

      He does love prophesying a misfortune, does the average British ghost.  Send him out to prognosticate trouble to somebody, and he is happy.  Let him force his way into a peaceful home, and turn the whole house upside down by foretelling a funeral, or predicting a bankruptcy, or hinting at a

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