Suppose the ghost isn't a ghost for any particular reason. Suppose, instead, that the ghost is a ghost because he doesn't have anywhere else to go. And if you think, amongst all this supposing, that I did any of it when I was writing St.Martin's Moon, you'd be very wrong. I discovered the ghosts on the Moon the way I discovered everything else, completely by accident. (Oh, yes, the Moon is haunted. Didn't you know that? It's no surprise, really, the werewolves didn't know it either.) Anyway, one of the threads that wove its way into the tapestry that is St.Martin's Moon had its origins in Kfir's book, specifically in the meadow that he used as the borderlands of death. I liked the image, especially when contrasted with the bleakness of a normal lunar landscape.
By the way, there's 10 points to anyone who names the TV shows I described up there. No prizes, but the points are pretty shiny.
The whole point about monsters is that they illustrate in fairly graphic fashion what can happen when men allow themselves to become less than they ought to be. A monster story is a morality play, every time. Except when it becomes fashionable to make them sexy, French-speaking vampires in silk ruffled shirts. or alpha males (and females) who come by it unnaturally. Making them into men with lots of cool nifty powers defeats the purpose. One has to wonder why anyone would bother being a mere mortal anymore. But somehow the whole 'sleeps in a coffin' thing gets downplayed, and the man-into-beast thing rarely makes it on camera anymore, although I did see it happen once. It drove the heroine into the arms of her vampire paramour. Ah well... I suppose the best that can be said about the new trend in zombie fiction is that it's hard to make them sexy, but I suppose some one's out there trying anyway.