´Buy my stepfather´s ghost´ read the e-mail.
So Jude did.
He bought it, in the shape of the dead man´s suit, delivered in a heart-shaped box, because he wanted it: because his fans ate up that kind of story. It was perfect for his collection: the genuine skulls and the bones, the real honest-to-God snuff movie, the occult books and all the rest of the paraphanalia that goes along with his kind of hard/goth rock.
But the rest of his collection doesn´t make the house feel cold. The bones don´t make the dogs bark; the movie doesn´t make Jude feel as if he´s being watched. And none of the artefacts bring a vengeful old ghost with black scribbles over his eyes out of the shadows to chase Jude out of his home, and make him run for his life . . .