How do I plead? I plead "Guilty" your honour.
Though I did spend six weeks in Ireland in the summer of 1974, visiting amongst many other places the youth hostel at Killary Harbour, I did not have a ghostly encounter there. That was all a fignent of my literary imagination. Ludwig Wittgenstein was buried at the Parish of the Ascension Burial Ground in Cambridge in 1951 and that is where his mortal remains have remained ever since.
When it comes to ghost stories, there is one fundamental problem. There's no such thing as ghosts. It's all utter balderdash, a legacy of dark medieval nights and the troubled dreams of our ancestors. No genuinely haunted houses, no poltergeists. If you are attracted by such things then I am sorry to disappoint you. It is all utter nonsense. Pure make-believe.
I have a theory that those who claim to "believe" in ghosts find the idea stimulating. Ghosts get the heart racing. They add a delicious frisson of mystery and uncertainty to the ordinariness of everyday life. In other words, many people actively "want" to believe in ghosts. This fanciful desire blinds them to the overwhelming evidence that it's all poppycock but I guess it's a welcome distraction for many.
Writers of ghost stories and makers of ghost films are very fortunate because they are tapping in to a massive audience of would-be believers. This is something I find very disconcerting. To think that I live amongst people who readily lap up this drivel. They are probably the kind of people who might also turn a lecherous reality TV show host into a national leader or blindly allow themselves to be led into a dangerous fantasy world called Brexitland.
Yes your honour, I am guilty as charged.