Sussex is reportedly home to more spooks than almost anywhere else in Britain. As a Hallowe'en challenge, I spent the night in a "haunted" hotel in Crawley.

"Oh yes, we've got a ghost," said the softly spoken barmaid. "It doesn't like nasty people and gets upset when they're around."

As the words left her mouth, from the corner of my right eye I noticed a blue, swaying figure enter the timber-dark room.

I spun round for a closer look, only to be quickly disappointed. The only spirit possessing the navy overall-clad man was of the alcoholic kind.

But as he staggered towards a table, the sound of glass crashing rang out from behind the bar. Was the barmaid right? Did some spectral force topple the pint pot?

This was what I was at The George to discover. The Crawley hotel is one of the oldest buildings in the town, parts dating from about 1615.

Legend has it that it is stalked by a nightwatchman named Mark Hueston. This tall figure gained a reputation for skiving and allowing thieves to ransack rooms while he slept in the broom cupboard.

They took everything, including the guests' supper. In a bid to catch the criminals if they struck again, poison was added to wine the next night. Unfortunately no one told Hueston.

It is not known if he was a thief or just thirsty but his ghost is believed to have haunted the hotel ever since.

Tony Cannon, who has been manager of the George for two years, has heard many tales of noises and knocks from staff and guests.

But he said: "I have never had any personal experiences. Sometimes you feel a little bit concerned as this place has a lot of atmosphere at night. I don't particularly like walking around in the dark. I would never write it off but I like a bit of evidence first."

Feeling slightly pessimistic, I was urged by the friendly bar staff to wait for the night porter to start work at 11pm. David Mallinson, who has been working at the hotel for more than a decade, is a true believer.

"I've seen a lot of different things at a lot of different times," he gravely told me.

"It's always when everyone else has gone. I'd see something out of the corner of my eye and turn round and it disappears. As a I turn towards it, I see more of the image before it goes.

"Last June or July, I saw what looked like a coach footman. He had a bright red coat, black triangle hat and I saw him drift from a window and go through a wall.

"Before that I saw a huge guy - 6ft plus - and he was wearing a long black jacket. There was also the little boy wearing long grey trousers and a sort of beige flannel shirt down to his knees.

"Sometimes you get a feeling someone is walking behind you but it doesn't bother me."

As far as experiencing something spooky myself, the night started with potential as, shortly after checking into my room, the picture on my television suddenly went.

I phoned reception and was moved next door.

The television's fate unsettled me and things got eerier when I was told the new room's key had vanished.

Mental ghost antenna tuned in, I made my way down to the hotel bar.

I wasn't to be disappointed but not for the reasons I was expecting.

From the drunk, who staggered in, sat down, slept and left without another drink passing his lips, to the old regular with a brogue like an Irish Darth Vader, the bar seemed a magnet for the pleasantly eccentric.

An entertaining evening of people watching and chatting ended just after last orders. A podgy man swung through the door asking if the hotel still did food at that time of night. Only for guests, he was told, which would put off most people.

Not a chance. As I headed off for bed, I heard him order a sandwich - and a room.

I wasn't woken by any bumps during the night and saw nothing at The George which could pass for a ghost. But when the living are this peculiar and fun, what's the point in searching for the dead?