Ghosts of Tsavo
Page 2
Dear Reader,
Before we continue, there is one point of clarification I’d like to make. I would never have consented to publishing my memoirs if my dead husband hadn’t insisted on it.
Truth be told, he has become irritatingly persistent since his unfortunate, unnatural, and rather violent demise. Be that as it may, this little volume shall be dedicated to him: Gideon Knight, my ghost husband.
As is common for Englishwomen living under the glorious reign of Queen Victoria, I maintain a diary. That fact is not as surprising as the diary’s contents.
When the words “man,” “eating,” and “lions” appear side by side, the writer can only be in Africa. Before my forced move, I certainly never imagined I’d be shooing possessed zebras and ghost lions out of my vegetable patch.
To those readers who are too tenderhearted to stomach scenes with gore and body parts, please return this volume immediately and find something more suitable to read. Nursery rhymes might be appropriate, or perhaps some romantic poetry, both of which would rapidly put me to sleep.
As for the rest, let us begin…
Chapter 3