The numbers were prodigious. It was an impressive structure. It had cost millions. And no one used it. The builders were proud of it. The owners thought it was glorious. But no one used it. The magnificent and grand palace was dead in its glory. Until one day, tired of living in an old attic of an old manor house a few miles away up the hill from the palace, a retired four hundred year old ghost decided to move in. The owners thought it was quite strange that the till then empty and silent palace now had a few unusual rustles and bustles, swishes and crackles. There were hisses and even whispers as time moved on. It was really busy in the evening, especially in the ballroom. Now, the owners of the palace didn’t really know what to make of it. Until one of the ghosts, a certain Lord Ashdown of Avebury, tapped them on the shoulder one morning, which caused a big startle and commotion not to mention a momentary feeling of faintness, and offered to buy the palace from them. After recomposing themselves, the owners argued, and rightly so, that they could not sell the palace to a ghost to which Lord Ashdown of Avebury, doing justice to his name, ordered that they should be buried in the palace gardens never to be seen again. The palace owners, hearing of their own eminent death, wisely decided to make a donation to the other world and kindly offer the palace to the party of ghosts. Still today, many years later, till late at night, the village people can hear the loud sounds of music and dancing and laughing coming from the prodigious, impressive, glorious, magnificent, grand and filled palace!