Geran couldn't resist a shudder at Spooky's words.  Between the timbre of her voice and the content of the words themselves, she was a mistress of expressing emotion, fear, a nameless dread creeping up your spine, the feel of someone unfamiliar and menacing standing over your shoulder.  Still, he took a drink from his ale and looked around the table at the gathered group of friends, brow furrowing slightly.  He wondered if everyone else was buying what she was selling.<br/><br/>"So . . . ghosts come out when it rains?" he asked, dubious.  He definitely believed that the spirits (and sometimes bodies) of the dead could rise and pursue some goal - and, as The Reaper commanded, they needed to be ushered back to their proper place when it happened.  But for it to be triggered by the rain?  That was stretching his credulity a bit too far.  If simple bad weather could rouse the dead, what was the point of any of the funerary rites of any culture?  How could there be an afterlife if the dead were so easily deprived of their rest?  No, no, there had to be more to it than that, more complexity.