In Cold Iron we find much that is traditional, familiar, perhaps even hackneyed. This is inevitable with a ghost story anthology, even if you recruit the best talent. The term 'ghost story' is bound to be interpreted narrowly (as 'a dead person turning up and acting a lot like a living person') by some. But so far Cold Iron has avoided this trap more often than not.
Thus in Andrew Jones' story of a half-glimpsed form in a country house, we know it's a ghost. That's a given. But who is it a ghost of and what does it want, signify, or portend? It's a very short tale, almost a prose-poem on loss, and the endurance of memory. The ghost is 'real' in the way that the narrator's memories of their father are real. The old man is dead and the house where they lived is now in the hands of strangers. But the lady still stands there, just visible, looking on.
Another good one, this. Another author worth seeking out. I am learning a lot about contemporary writers from this book. More of this running/stumbling review soon!