The Ghost Who Loves To Read

I was in a car riding with a man a long distance. We came upon a large house in an out of the way place, it was nearly dark. We stopped at the house to see if we could use the bathroom. The house had books all over the place. I was in awe of all the books. We came across a body, a man and he'd been brutally murdered. A man appeared, like a security guard. He looked at the man on the floor and said "yea that happened because he doesn't like to read." About that time a woman's ghost materialized in the room. She was an old woman, slim, with her hair in a bun. She was dressed in attire from about the mid to late 1800s. I had taken a book down and was glancing through it and wondering if I could take it along with me. The ghost flittered around us talking about the books and the wonder of reading. We started to leave and we both had books. She floated up to me, smiling a bloody, wicked smile, and told me I was a wonderful writer. She had read the partial story on the backseat of my car that I started a few days ago.