维多利亚时代的古堡，阴森恐怖本该是它的BGM.

坎特维尔庄园里，三百多年前杀妻的西蒙爵士化作幽灵，世代恫吓庄园的主人。斑驳的血渍、哐当作响的镣铐，是他沿用百年的吓人手段。

可这一次，庄园新来的住户，是务实的美国公使一家。

古堡幽灵摩拳擦掌，准备重演经典的恐怖戏码。没想到，血渍被去污剂擦得干干净净；故意设计的深夜锁链响动，换来的不是尖叫，而是一瓶润滑油 —— 好心的男主人劝他给生锈镣铐上油，减少噪音。

精心设计的恐吓轮番落空。

这位擅长制造恐怖的古老幽灵，一次次被美国人的实用主义击溃，颜面尽失。

这是王尔德唯一的鬼故事。没有惊悚，却满满反差爆笑。

哥特恐怖外壳之下，是英国旧贵族传统与美式现在理性的有趣对峙。

这只一心想吓人，反倒处处碰壁的 “窝囊鬼”，到底有着怎样的结局？

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When Mr Hiram B. Otis decided to buy Canterville Chase, its owner gave him a warning.

“The house is haunted.”

Mr Otis, a wealthy American who had recently moved to England, was looking for a home in the countryside outside London. Canterville Chase seemed ideal: a grand old house surrounded by trees, far from the noise of the city.

A ghost was not going to change his mind.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” he told Lord Canterville. “Have you actually seen it?”

“Not personally,” Lord Canterville admitted. “But I have heard it at night. Several members of my family have seen it. My aunt was so frightened that she never fully recovered.”

“And the servants?”

“Most refuse to stay after dark. Only Mrs Umney, the housekeeper, still lives there.”

Mr Otis considered this.

“Well, I’ll take the house—and the ghost, if it comes with it.”

Lord Canterville agreed to sell.

But he made one thing perfectly clear: Mr Otis had been warned.

The Otis family arrived on a summer afternoon. There was Mrs Otis, whose name was Lucretia; their eldest son, Washington; their fifteen-year-old daughter, Virginia; and two twelve-year-old boys who were twins.

They travelled from London by train, then continued to the house in a horse-drawn carriage.

As Canterville Chase came into view, dark clouds gathered above its roof. The family had barely stepped out of the carriage when the rain began.

An elderly woman in a black dress and white apron stood at the entrance.

“Welcome to Canterville Chase,” she said. “I am Mrs Umney. Would you like some tea?”

Soon, the family was sitting in the library while rain beat against the windows. Books filled the shelves, and old portraits hung on the walls.

Mrs Otis was looking around when she noticed something beside the fireplace.

A dark red stain marked the floor.

“What is that?” she asked.

“Blood,” Mrs Umney replied quietly.

Mrs Otis put her cup down.

“How unpleasant. Please have it removed.”

The housekeeper shook her head.

“That is the blood of Lady Eleanore de Canterville. Her husband, Sir Simon, murdered her here in 1572. The stain has remained for more than three hundred years. It cannot be removed.”

“Nonsense,” said Washington. “I have just the thing.”

He took a small stick of Pinkerton’s Stain Remover from his bag, knelt beside the fireplace, and rubbed it across the floor.

Within a minute, the stain had disappeared.

“There,” he said. “Pinkerton’s can remove anything.”

Mrs Umney stared at the clean floor.

At that moment, lightning flashed through the windows. A tremendous crash of thunder shook the house.

The housekeeper fainted.

Mr and Mrs Otis hurried to help her. When she opened her eyes, her face was pale.

“Trouble will come,” she whispered. “You should not have removed the stain. The ghost will be angry.”

They helped her to her feet, and she went upstairs to recover.

The Otis boys were delighted.

“Let’s find him!”

The family searched the house, but there was no sign of a ghost.

The following morning, however, the bloodstain was back.

Washington cleaned it away.

The next morning, it returned.

Mr Otis locked the library that night. It made no difference.

“I don’t think the problem is the stain remover,” Washington said at last. “I think there really is a ghost.”

“Then we must speak to him,” his father replied. “Your mother does not want blood on the library floor.”

A few nights later, Mr Otis woke to a strange noise outside his bedroom.

Something metallic was scraping and rattling along the corridor.

He got out of bed and opened the door.

An old man stood in the passage. His eyes burned red beneath his long grey hair. His clothes belonged to another century, and heavy chains hung from his wrists and ankles.

He shook them with a dreadful rattle.

Mr Otis looked at him.

“My dear sir, those chains are making a terrible noise. You really must put some oil on them.”

He placed a small bottle on a table.

“Tammany Rising Sun Oil. An excellent American product. Please help yourself.”

Then he closed the door and went back to bed.

The ghost stood perfectly still.

For three hundred years, people had screamed at the sight of him. They had fainted, fled, or hidden beneath their blankets.

Nobody had ever offered him oil.

He shook his chains harder. An eerie green light spread through the corridor.

Another door opened.

The twins appeared in their nightclothes, each carrying a pillow.

Before the ghost could speak, both pillows flew towards him.

The boys burst out laughing.

Sir Simon vanished through the wall.

Back in his secret room, he sank into a chair and tried to understand what had happened.

He had spent centuries building his reputation. He had frightened servants by appearing at windows, blown out candles, and woken sleeping guests with terrible noises.

And now?

An American had complained about his chains, and two small boys had thrown pillows at him.

It was deeply insulting（Sir Simon越想越委屈，真是太侮辱👻鬼了）.

Meanwhile, the bloodstain began to change colour.

One morning it was brown. The next, it was purple.

Then it turned bright green.

The family started visiting the library before breakfast to inspect it.

“What colour today?” Washington would ask.

“Green!” shouted the twins. “Green blood!”

Everyone found this extremely funny.

Everyone except Virginia.

She watched Washington remove the stain each morning and imagined the ghost returning every night to replace it.

“He’s been here for three hundred years,” she said. “We’ve been here for three weeks. Can’t you leave it alone?”

Nobody paid much attention.

The ghost, meanwhile, was preparing another appearance.

On Sunday night, a tremendous crash woke the household.

Mr Otis and Washington seized candles, and the family hurried downstairs.

In the entrance hall lay a fallen suit of armour.

Beside it sat the Canterville Ghost, rubbing his knee.

His plan had been excellent. He would put on the armour and march through the house, filling the corridors with the terrifying sound of metal footsteps.

Unfortunately, the armour was much heavier than he remembered.

He had barely managed to get into it before everything collapsed.

Mr Otis pointed a gun at him. Washington raised his candle. The twins began laughing.

Virginia stayed close to her mother.

Humiliated, Sir Simon struggled to his feet. He gave an angry shout, blew out Washington’s candle, and hurried up the stairs.

At the top, he turned and delivered his most dreadful laugh.

In the past, that laugh had made grown men tremble.

Mrs Otis looked concerned.

“Are you in pain?” she called. “I have some of Dr Dobell’s medicine. It’s very good for stomach pain.”

The ghost glared at her.

Then he disappeared in a green cloud.

After that, Sir Simon stayed in his room during the day and came out only when the house was quiet.

He still replaced the bloodstain, but his supplies were running low.

First, he had used up the red paint. Then the brown and purple.

That explained the green.

But a shortage of paint was the least of his problems. The twins had become impossible to live with.

He decided to give them a fright they would never forget.

One night, he would slip into their bedrooms, turn a horrible shade of green, and touch their faces with his icy hands.

That should stop the laughter.

At midnight, he left his secret room and crept upstairs.

The house was dark. Not a sound came from the bedrooms.

He reached the corner near the twins’ room.

Then he stopped.

Something was waiting in the corridor.

It had a huge, round face, a terrible mouth, and blazing eyes. Fire seemed to shine from inside its head.

Another ghost.

Sir Simon let out a cry and fled.

He did not stop until he reached his own room.

For all his experience of haunting people, he had never actually met another ghost.

It was a most unpleasant experience.

Towards dawn, he began to feel braver. Perhaps he should speak to this stranger. They might even work together.

He returned to the corridor.

The figure was still there, but its eyes had gone dark.

Sir Simon moved closer and reached out a trembling hand.

The head fell to the floor.

It was a pumpkin.

The twins had cut a face into it and placed a candle inside.

Beside it lay a card:

THE OTIS GHOST
THE ONLY TRUE CANTERVILLE GHOST

Sir Simon stared at the message.

He had been frightened by a vegetable.