Hi, this story was created through time filling conversations with my Dad whilst walking my wonderful dog Kiera. I would alsolike to thank the reviews I got, I appreaciate them and am glad that you enjoyed my story. I'm afraid that the reviews were deleted when I renewed all the chapters. Anyway hope you enjoy.

Prologue.

Turn to an Encyclopedia, look up lazy, failure and tight and there you will find G. C. Growling. G. C. Growling had never really accomplished anything. When he was six on 'everybody wins a trophy day,' he was told to sit in the corner, was awarded a biscuit and told by his teacher that "It's not the winning that counts, or the taking part." Ever since that day he has never fully achieved anything, it's just that he couldn't be bothered.

Any jobs that he did attempt (which weren't many) were never completed. Growling loved money, he was a great fan of it in fact, it was just that he had a strong inability to work for it! Very often, he owed money to various people. Actually, he owed money to everyone. So regularly, that they called him 'General Credit Growling' behind his back, but mostly GC to his face.

At only 21 GC had already attempted multiple career choices, and at the moment he had decided to become a writer, but as with everything else, it was not going very well. He couldn't even steal ideas properly, in fact he had just been sued for his 'Harry Jones and the wise guy's Rock.' So with no ideas coming to him, he decided to get some inspiration...down the local pub, 'The Den of Foxes'.

"You know a writer always starts off poor," he explained whilst sitting at the bar trying to scrounge a drink off the Spirit of Last Orders (spirit as in ghoul, ghost, the damned, the dead that decided to stay, not as in the drink as in gin, whisky, vodka, falling down water). "but as soon as they sell their first publication...bam!.. there famous," he continued slamming his fist on the table for effect and brushing his long, curly, dark brown hair back out of his face. The Spirit Of Last Orders nodded. GC may have a been tight, lazy, failure but he could be very sneaky and clever when he needed to be. "So while I am here at the beginning, if you get me a beer, I will surly repay you with a great act of kindness, if you know what I mean." he finished with a wink.

"I don't know." whispered the ghost uneasily, in a voice that could send shivers down your spine, if you were not used to it.

"Ah...go on," begged GC twinkling his deep brown eyes that could mystify most people into doing his will (which at present does not work in the small village in the Shadylands, the people had worked out what it was that he did) to which the ghoul gave in. The spirit began to pour the liquid into a glass when the owner, Mr. Fox, walked in.

"And I suppose you are going to pay for that, aren't you Mr. Growling?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. Mr. Foxes bushy, orange tail swung wildly, and his black beady eyes glittered menacingly as he watch GC squirm. GC looked down at his nine shaking fingers, remembering the last time that he failed to pay. Then whilst his brain worked madly trying to find a solution, a stranger walked in and saved him the trouble...