Getting the Ghosts in Early -- Susan Price
No Artificial Intelligence Was Used In the Creating of These Books.
Just Saying...
In a week's time, it's Hallowe'en. The night before All Saints' Day, when all the bogles, ghouls, boggarts, ghosts, night-walkers, bargeists, phantom ladies of many colours, not to mention the long-leggety beasties, come out for a big celebration before the Christmas season begins. Because, famously, at Christmas the bird of dawning kicks up a tiresome racket all night long and no spirit dares stir abroad, no fairy takes and no witch hath power to charm.
So the Supernatural Community has to get all its jollies before then. Hallowe'en, seemingly, is the office Christmas party for the undead.
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| M. R. James (wikimedia) |
But remember: Ghosts aren't just for Christmas.
I've always been ready for a ghost story at any time of the year. The great M. R. James wrote a particuarly chilling one, The Wailing Well, set on Midsummer Day, in bright sunshine and heat.
Over the years, I've tried to write a ghost story that would come even within sight of the best of his. I don't think I've succeeded, but trying has proved a scary sort of fun. And I think I've written one or two good 'uns.
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| Hauntings |
Another story, Coming Home Late, tells of an elderly couple whose young neighbour is murdered. But they still hear her, well, coming home late. I think the story grew out of that oddity of the English language, that 'late' can mean both 'tardy' and 'dead.'
Another, The Landing Window, was inspired by an old farmhouse near where I live. It dates back to the 1500s, but finds itself lost among railways, canals, motorways and council estates. If you lived in that old house and looked out of its windows-- would you see the concrete roads and lorries and electric lights? Or would you see 'elsewhen'?
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| Nightcomers |
In reply, he picked up the computer-mouse and deftly scribbled in the rather scary character silhouetted against the moon (who seems to be playing a pipe.) I liked it, so it stayed.
One story in the book, Caisho Burroughs, is based on a piece of Restoration gossip. I just loved that name. Caisho existed, was a bit of a ne'er-do-well and made the mistake of seducing, and then leaving, the mistress of an Italian duke. Il duca doesn't take it well...
Padfoot starts, 'I'll tell you a true story-- how my dad met the ghost dog.' And it is true. The ghost dog haunts most of Britain's lanes, by one name or another, and he's known as 'Padfoot' in our neck of the woods, Squire. And my dad did often tell the story of how, in the middle of one cold, dark night, as he trudged home from working late, he found himself going walkies with Padfoot.
The Baby stemmed from one of the many family ghost stories which my family told, while refusing to believe in ghosts. When the story says, 'Emily was my great-aunt, one of my grandfather's younger sisters,' I'm not making it up. The rest of the story happened too. Allegedly.
My younger brother used to work in a huge shopping mall that stayed open from 8am to 8pm. He once described to me what it was like when the mall was closed. After he'd locked up his shop, he had to walk through its vast, now empty and echoing spaces to catch his bus. Almost all the lights would be off and his footsteps would echo back from the ends of distant corridors, while the moon shone down through the high glass roof. Adam's account was what inspired my story, 'Beautiful.'
Cold Silver was prompted by a folk-story about King Arthur. Every mid-summer's eve, he and his knights leave the burial mound where they lie waiting for the summons to save Britain -- (Come on, King Artie, what are you waiting for?!) -- and they ride down through the fields to the river to give their horses a drink. Their horses are all shod in silver.
Now, silver horseshoes are very magical but couldn't be less impractical. Silver is so soft, it can be worked cold-- hence the story's title. By the time the horses had gone down to the river and back, their horseshoes would be worn thinner than silver wrapping paper. So I started thinking: Wouldn't they have need of a farrier?
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| Overheard in a Graveyard |
'Missing the Bus' was inspired by my brother's account of his time working in a call centre, where people phoned to ask which bus should they catch, or where was the bus they'd intended to catch. Many people, my brother said, obviously just wanted to talk to someone, and would start telling him what they were going to cook that evening. Some of his more memorable conversations found their way into the story.
Inanna's Descent into the Underworld isn't a ghost story, though it has lots of supernatural creatures in it. As this version is 4000 years old, and the tale would have been old before it was written down, it's almost certainly the oldest story I've ever retold. It's one of the oldest stories we have where a Goddess-- not a God-- is shown conquering death; and which also accounts for the existence of winter, as does the Greek Myth of Demeter and Persphone. But in the Inanna story, it's Her husband who has to spend six months of every year in the Underworld, while Inanna's mourning for him causes winter. Going by the account of him in the story, he really doesn't seem worth it. Forget him, Girl, and give us twelve months of summer.
The last tale in the book, Overheard in a Museum, was inspired by the Gokstad ship, one of the Viking ships found in burial mounds near Oslo. The ship tells its own story, from its creation to its resurrection.
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| The Gokstad ship -- follow link for license on Wikimedia commons |
The other stories:-- The Familiar, Cruel Mother, Across the Fields, Mow Top and The Footsteps on the Stairs, are all stories of the supernatural, if not ghosts, many based on folklore.
All perfect reading for Hallowe'en, I tell you!
(Or for Christmas, come to that.)
If you're interested in other ghost stories--
Not by me, but also untouched by machine--
Then follow this link to the wonderful Book Shepherd site...
Book Shepherd's one wish is to gently gather all good books together in one place,
where readers can find them-- and then to shepherd their readers to them.
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