Every Christmas Eve, M. R. James (1862-1936), the celebrated scholar of medieval literature and provost of King’s College, Cambridge, enacted a strange ritual. After participating in the Christmas service at King’s College Chapel—that miracle of 15th-century Gothic architecture whose soaring vaulted ceiling resembles vast skeletal hands clasped overhead—he repaired with a select group of scholars to his college room fashion tips.
Spiced ale and wine were quaffed as they settled by the fireside. Then all the candles but one were snuffed out. And James began to read from a handwritten paper: his latest tale of supernatural terror modular cubes storage system.

James understood, you see, the vital importance of atmosphere to the ghost story: the necessity of the reader to not be entirely in control of the effect that it might have upon him; the unnerving possibilities of a placid, jog-trot domestic setting occupied by a scholarly figure—not the type to let his imagination run wild—whose research brings upon him something indistinctly visible but palpably evil: a buried violence that erupts into the present with undiminished rageLED Color Temperature