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At twilight, Marlena rode her motorcycle up the winding road to the deserted, nearly ruined castle. Everyone in the village below had warned her about the ghost that haunted the ancient battlements. She hoped to get a picture of the spectral being. After all, she reasoned, a picture of a real ghost would bring both fame and fortune.
She parked her motorcycle in the castle courtyard and began the long climb up the crumbling stairway. With every step, the darkness grew. She began to hear the wailing about half-way up the stairs.
Sure enough, when Marlena reached the battlement, there was the ghost. But it didn’t run at her or even say, “Boo!”
Marlena was relieved and, being a polite young woman, asked, “May I take your picture?”
“I’d be delighted,” responded the ghost. “I get very little attention these days, what with the villagers being so afraid of me.”
The ghost posed for picture after picture in the deep darkness of the night.
Marlena was delighted. Back at the inn, she downloaded her photos to her laptop and began to look at them. One after another, the photos were blank—just blackness.
Shrugging her shoulders Marlena said, I guess the spirit was willing, but the flash was weak.