I was around 13 years old and had just gone to bed, and settling down for the night. I opened my eyes and to my horror could see a hand with long fingernails protruding from a fluted sleeve that was made of some rough material. I quickly turned over and shut my eyes. When I looked round again there was nothing there.
Twenty years later, I was talking to my sister about ghosts, and mentioned this experience to her by way of conversation. She turned pale and told me that she too had seen a ghost in our old home. It was the figure of a monk that came out of my bedroom and walked down the stairs.
We had never mentioned our experience to each other before this. It is interesting to note that the district we lived in is called Friar Park.