We were there on another moonlit night, a year or so later, out on the Leicester City football pitch the day they won the Premier League. The whole city was going bananas. Every fox all over the land, in towns and villages, in city parks and countryside, was barking at the moon.

But the football stadium in Leicester was quiet, not a soul about. Leicester weren’t even playing that day: it was Chelsea drawing against Tottenham that gave our beloved Foxes the points to win the Championship, and that only made Dad and me happier.

All of us were there on the empty pitch in the empty stadium, the whole family, my sisters too, and the Ghost King, our friend who had made it all happen, just as he had promised it would.

“So are you happy foxes tonight?” the Ghost King asked. He was a bit see-though this ghost, but ghosts are. You get used to it. He wasn’t a bit frightening – weird, but not frightening.

“Tonight every fox all over the country is happy, thanks to you, Your Kingship,” said Dad. “But how on earth did you manage to do it?”

“I told you, a king can do stuff, and a ghost king can do even more, once he’s free.”

“‘Such stuff as dreams are made on’?” said Dad.

“That Shakespeare fellow, he’s inside your head now, isn’t he?”

“Which reminds me,” Dad said. “They’re putting on the play of A Midsummer Night’s Dream again, in the park next Saturday. We’re all going. Do you want to come along?”

So we went, all of us together.

A lovely summer’s evening. Dad was right. That Puck really is a wild spirit of the woods, a bit like him, a bit like me, a bit like all of us foxes – just foxy! And Dad was right too about William Shakespeare – he makes wonderful plays.

Even the Ghost King thought so, reluctantly maybe, but he couldn’t hide it. As we walked away, he whispered just loud enough for all of us to hear: “‘All’s well that ends well.’”

“Right on, Your Kingship,” I said.

And we all did high-fives together, the Ghost King too.