The ghost of Richard III visits William Shakespeare I was sitting at my desk in my candle-lit room, a light breeze made the candle flicker and a shiver ran through me the back. I remember having a strange feeling, like another spirit was present, it's hard to explain, but it was nothing like I'd ever felt before. The breeze made me shiver and it was getting colder and colder as time went by, I took my lantern, went to the window and closed it, but still left it slightly ajar, I liked the feel of the air, but today he didn't feel the same. I returned to my desk and replaced the lantern. My room became more and more boring with each passing second. It was eight in the evening, I thought I would have already written something by now. I took the pen and sat down and thought and thought and thought. Nothing! My mind was elsewhere, but I didn't know where. I crossed the room to look out the window at the stars. Distant in the darkening sky. I sat and watched, but my attention was distracted by a slight banging sound, although silent it surprised me. I looked over and my little pot of ink had been knocked over, spilled onto the paper. I walked over to the desk and picked up the jar with what was left of the ink. The little work I had done was ruined, ruined and unreadable! I screwed the paper into a ball and threw it into a pile with several others. I figured I wouldn't get much work done anytime soon, so I put away the pen and what was left of the ink, grabbed the lantern, and headed for the door. I noticed that my door was slightly ajar. I closed it and went back. I was surprised, were my eyes playing tricks on me? I doubt it. There, standing next to my desk, he was