On writing honestly about the animosity I felt toward Afrikaners as a young man, and the fear of being judged for a truth I have long since grown out of.

That is the thing about ghosts. We do not really want them to be real. We want the delicious few seconds of thinking they might be, the safe little scare we can laugh about over breakfast. A creaking old hotel is the most harmless fright there is, which may be exactly why we go looking for it.

What happened to others at the Lord Milner is a story about a story in my book, Barking at Dogs. But if you have ever lain rigid in the dark, certain you were being visited and equally certain you did not believe in visitors, you already know how it felt.

I expect a parade every time I hit publish, then feel wounded when it is quiet. Funny thing is, I scroll past everyone else without a second thought. An honest look at that double standard.