Prologue: England. The castle of the Canterville's has been haunted by a ghost for three hundred years. The Canterville ghost has a long history of scaring people to death—literally. The Canterville family has not lived in the castle for many years. Therefore, Lord Canterville sold the castle to an American Family, the Otis family. -------

It was the dead of night. All was quiet. Mr. Otis lay in silence upon his bed. But then, he thought he heard a faint sound like footsteps coming from the hall outside his bedroom. The sound grew louder and louder. And then came the sound of clanking and squeaking. It was terrible, and grew even louder.

Mr. Otis knew that sound; it was the sound of metal rubbing against metal... rusty metal. Mr. Otis lit a candle and looked at the clock—1 o’clock. Mr. Otis got up and took a small bottle out of his case and walked slowly towards the bedroom door. He opened the bedroom door and was suddenly face to face with a terrible ghost—an old man standing in the moonlight, surrounded by a green glow. His hair splayed out in every direction, and heavy, rusty chains hung from his arms and legs.

The ghost opened his mouth wide as if he were about to make a horrible scream. But he was interrupted by Mr. Otis. “My dear sir!” Said Mr. Otis. “You really must put some oil on those rusty chains, for that purpose I’m giving you a small bottle of Rising Sun oil.” Mr. Otis put the bottle down on a small table. “I’ll leave it here for you” he said, “I’ll be happy to give you more if you need it.” Then he went back to his bed.

For a moment the Canterville ghost did not move, he stood there with his mouth still open. Then he suddenly knocked the bottle of oil violently onto the floor, screamed loudly, and hurried away.

When he reached his secret room, the ghost sat down. He could not believe it. He had never been so insulted in all his 300 years of haunting. He thought back to some of his finest performances like the time he put his skeleton hands on the shoulders of Lord Canterville's aunt and almost frightened her to death. That was wonderful. And there was the butler who ran away and never came back after he saw a green hand knocking on the window. Then there was the beautiful Lady Stutfield whom he scared terribly so many times that she finally drowned herself in the backyard pond. The Canterville ghost smiled to himself, but his smile quickly disappeared. “And now, ...now some idiot American comes and offers me a bottle of Rising Sun oil for my rusty chains!”