Ghost stories from a coastal town, read aloud

I grew up in a coastal town where everyone had a ghost story and nobody told it the same way twice. There was a lamp on a verandah that lit itself, a train that never reached the station and fishermen who stood in the surf long after dark. I wrote them down because I was afraid they would be forgotten, and then I started to read them aloud.

My stories are quiet. Nothing jumps out. A moth, a sound in the next room, a name that nobody remembers saying, and the feeling that the house is listening. I send one every Friday as a letter, and I record some of them to be listened to in the dark with the lamp low.

I am not a professional storyteller. What I sell is what I use myself: story collections to read, an audio pack of stories read aloud, a workbook for writing your own, and two video courses on suspense and on reading your stories to an audience.