Ian McMmillan: I loved ghost stories as a kid, but I'm not ready for the real thing - yet

As a boy I was fascinated and terrified in more or less equal measure by ghost stories. I would borrow collections of scary tales from Darfield Library and have a really visceral reaction to them, with my skin crawling and my heart beating more quickly and a kind of miasma of nervousness settling over my entire body so that when it came to time to go to bed, I simply didn’t want to go and I made excuse after excuse until I finally trudged up the (scarily creaking) stairs and lay in bed gazing at the shadows around the wardrobe and listening to the wind climbing down the chimney with my eyes as wide as sideplates until sleep, full of terrifying nightmares, finally came.

I eventually grew out of my obsession with ghost stories although there are still certain films I don’t want to watch and certain books I don’t want to pick up because of the memories they provoke but as I’ve got older I’ve started to cogitate on my future haunting possibilities. Not that I believe in ghosts, of course. Unless it’s me. Of course.

The main question for me is: What kind of ghost should I be? I could be a benign and friendly spirit who put a cold hand on someone’s shoulder to stop them crossing the road in front of a speeding car, or I could be a malevolent returner from the after life who gave people a start that made them fall down the cellar steps and bump their head.

I could be an out-and-out comedy ghost who picked up custard pies (Yes, I know that nobody makes custard pies anymore, but this is mere speculation about being a slapstick ghost) and chucked them in peoples’ faces thus causing all kinds of laughter-filled mayhem, or I could be a silent spirit who just stood at the bottom of the bed looking sorrowful, perhaps wiping away a solitary tear every now and then.

To make things simpler I could just look like me, but transparent. That would probably be the most enjoyable kind of ghost to be. I could haunt the bus stop or a station platform and people would be surprised to see me.

They’d look at me with disbelief because they thought I’d passed over to the other side, that I’d metaphorically crossed to the other platform. Then they’d notice that I was less corporeal than usual, and they’d rush home and have the kinds of nightmares I described earlier.

I think I’d enjoy being a ghost but I wouldn’t fancy the clog-popping stage that went before it, so perhaps I could start a new business called Ghost For A Day where people could rent authentic costumes (none of the aforementioned white sheets) and go and hang around somewhere giving people the shivers.

Now there’s a business idea! Ideal for business away days and stag or hen parties, or for scaring that auntie you never liked when she came for tea.

Whooo! Whooo! That’s not me being a ghost; Barnsley have just scored.