The next project is just that – a Gothic ghost story. The novella concerns a young woman living in Ireland in the dark days following the Great War. I’ve made a start and here is the opening paragraph. It unnerved me so much I had to stop writing.
When I close my eyes I can still see it; dark and brooding in the twilight, the windows empty and wide like the eyes of a lost child, a house ordinary enough for the late eighteenth century yet heavy with a palpable melancholy, as if its very fabric had been soured by some dreadful, catastrophic tragedy. And even though the events which I am about to describe are almost thirty years in the past, in my mind’s eye I can still see the grey stone blocks, the jutting angles of the asymmetrical roof, the porch with its fine, marbled, pillars, and the five foot-worn steps to the front door. And there I must halt because nothing on this earth – nothing – would induce me even to approach, let alone cross, that threshold again.
If I can hold my unnerved nerves it will be ready in time for the Christmas season so you can cuddle up with all doors securely fastened and a stiff brandy at your elbow …
But be warned – this will scare the pants off you.
credits: thanks to Lafa-Art for the evocative image