Things that go bump …

 

I wonder if any ghost stories are truly really scary?

What books have you read that really made the skin crawl?

And what is it about these books and these stories that really made that happen?

I, as you know, am a real fan of Stephen King, but for me, it’s not so much the horror but the psychological stories that get to me, the ones that made me see something differently.

That said, one of my all time favourites in ‘Salem’s Lot. My favourite scene, near the beginning sees the most awful creature luring a child into a graveyard. Now you might argue a graveyard is a cliché, but believe me, this worked. What added to the tension was the use of scriptures when he beckoned the child in. The whole scene is set up in a way that’s truly disturbing more than it is frightening and then he uses the most simple device. He uses three little words that for me shows his talent. I think if I saw the blood and heard the screams and had the scene painted in all its glory it wouldn’t have been so effective.

What three little words? you ask — and no it’s not a declaration of love although that might have had other disturbing connotations in another context. No, he says quite simply: It became unspeakable.

What more is there to say? And it’s not a cheat because the build up was crafted so well the imagination was already creating the images.

I remember a book I read as a child that truly disturbed me: The House on The Borderland by William Hope Hodgson. It was one I sneaked off Dad’s shelf and it was fiendish.  I just found it for free on Kindle. What I remember was the language. What today I might deem overwritten, but the images it conjured were gruesome. It will be interesting reading this again, as I now intend having downloaded it, to see if it still has the same effect.

Have a look:  House

I also found another by him that might work for Halloween. I have never read it, but it’s also free here: Ghost Finder

There are so many horror stories. This isn’t my genre per se but it does border on the psychological stuff I like.

My dad was a fan of James Herbert but something about the rat on the front of one of the books put me off. I have to confess to only reading one of his a long time ago.

I did enjoy some Dean Koontz horror at one point too.

And of course Edgar Allan Poe and The Fall of The House of Usher set the old skin prickling many years ago. I found it on Kindle for 79p here: Usher

I loved the way the now late Ray Bradbury had the most wonderful short story in The Illustrated Man that used this story … great.

What about the more contemporary ghost story? Any offers?

The problem with ghost stories is looking for something different; something original. When Bridge House sought ghost stories for Spooked, the danger of branding a book ghost stories, was some that might use some element of surprise (although I think the he was already dead cliché might be a stretch too far these days up there with it was all a dream) … we had to know it was a ghost story. But the collection worked well I think.

We also released Devils, Demons and Werewolves for young adults and I penned something for that, a little tongue in cheek Things That Go Blog in the Night. The emphasis being not so much on the dead as in ghosts, but the undead. Of course this genre, some might argue has been done to death.

I did read Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight to see what all the fuss was about. While I kind of enjoyed it, I have to confess, I didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

And as a final point, in terms of what did work for me and was a take on the classic cliché I mentioned of ‘he was already a ghost’ was a film: The Sixth Sense.  I knew nothing about the film when I saw it so I had no idea what was coming, and I usually am good at guessing. So this worked so well for me I had goose-flesh and I had to go and see it again. It is still up there for that. In a similar, but less dramatic way The Others works for a similar reason. And indeed testament that some old clichés still work.

Oddly the first story I had any real success with in 2008 was one called In Shadow that was shortlisted and published in an eBook LINK

But seeing as it’s Halloween and since I never do this for fear of it being like an ego thing, I will paste the story below. I am a better writer now, but no excuses … here it is: (oh and what I was saying about being set in a graveyard … forget it!)

 

 

 

In Shadow

 Debz Hobbs-Wyatt

My face lost to dust. Faceless.

My voice lost to whisper. Voiceless.

But my shadow. Eternal.

 

Kira had drawn a single teardrop on her cheek and painted her lips rock-chick black. She stared at the line of tea lights, watched the way the wind bent the flames over, then she joined the semi-circle. They had all painted their faces. Jodi’s cheeks streaked white, stretched out like the Scream painting. Becky’s green eyes outlined in black kohl, cat-like.

Behind them, the stones stood, thick and black and faceless. Jodi handed Kira the candle, pressed it between her fingers and stepped back. “Go on,” she said, “Say something.”

She bent, traced the outline of the name, wet against her fingertips, paused midway, watched the way the shadows flickered across the smooth white stone. “Do you really think she can hear us?”

“I thought you said it was something she saw in a film?” Becky said.

“Moonlight and Valentino,” said Kira pressing her hand to the painted teardrop. “It was one of her favourites.”

“It was?”

“She said the women in the film did it to let go.”

“Well, I think we’re freakin’ crazy,” said Jodi.

“It seemed like a good idea.”

“A lot of things seemed like a good idea in the summer,” said Jodi pulling her coat tighter. “Dope does that.”

For a moment, Kira wished it was still the summer, sat on Jodi’s porch talking endlessly about guys, about colleges, about guys some more. And of course about Samantha Black. It seemed they always talked about Samantha Black. Before it happened, they hardly ever talked about her.

“She was murdered,” people said. “Followed home by Freddy Kruger and never seen again.”  Sure.

“Vampires,” someone else said. “She was one of the undead now.” Yeah, right, this is Clovestown not freakin’ ‘Salem’s Lot.

Then there was the rumour the family were on witness protection. Sam had seen something, the babysitter killer or some crap, had to leave in the middle of the night. Come on? Little Sam Black?  Most of them didn’t even know who she was.

“We were mean,” said Jodi and they both turned to look at her. “Well we were. Always making excuses. Always too busy. God she begged sometimes, don’t you remember. And when we did let her come we’d forget she was there.”

“Don’t say that,” said Becky.

“Why not? It’s true.”

“You remember that day in school when they told us,” said Becky. “When they asked us if we knew she was being bullied. Jeez, they even sent counsellors to the school in case we needed to talk about it.”

“Except no one would,” said Kira and they turned to looked at her.  “A vow of silence.”

“They shouldn’t have got away with it,” said Becky, eyes fixed, distant.  “Okay, I’ll start,” she said, raising her voice above the wind. “I’m sorry for all the times we say we’re too busy to listen.” She looked at the others as she spoke. “For pretending not to see.”

Jodi took a step forwards, let her fingers hover without touching the stone. “I’m sorry too,” she said and they felt the wind drop, an eerie silence envelop them. “I’m sorry for keeping quiet.”

“I heard somewhere,” said Kira, “that it doesn’t matter what you do, how good a person you are, you’ll always be remembered for the one bad thing. It was like that for her. The girl who disappeared on Halloween. The girl who killed herself. The girl who felt invisible.”

They stood in silence, watched the trees move along the edges, heard an owl call somewhere. Then Becky spoke. “She was your friend Kira. You have to say something.”

“I was a lousy friend. I didn’t even know her middle name.”

“Just say something, then we can get the hell out of here.”

But Kira didn’t move. The candle almost died then resurrected between her fingers.

“Go on,” said Jodi. “You’re the one who said we needed to do this. That you had something to say.”

Kira felt the sting of a real tear. She drew in a deep breath, held on to it, let it out slowly. “Shetried to tell me,” she said, her words breaking into fragments.  “She said she was never going to see her sixteenth birthday.”

“You couldn’t have known what she was going to do,” said Becky.

“We all saw the bruises,” said Kira. “She was trying to tell me something that day. I was too busy thinking about what to wear for the freakin’ Halloween party. I told her to talk to me another time.”

Kira felt the others at her side, felt Jodi’s hand brush against hers. “Tell her how you feel.”

“As if sorry’s enough,” Kira said as she reread the name engraved in stone. Then she looked at the others. “But I don’t know what else to say.” She felt Becky push a tissue between her fingers, let it sit there for a moment. “She knows,” said Becky.

“But I wish I could do something,” said Kira.

“Come on,” said Jodi. “Let’s go. It’s freezing.”

“No!” said Kira. “We have to do something.” She looked at the name. “Let’s do something right for once. Let’s break the silence before it happens again. Put something in the school paper; expose them, one year on.”

Kira set the candle down on the grave. “Use her initials — Sisterhood Against Bullies,” she said reaching for their hands. “Let her be remembered for something good.”

Cold hands thrust into hers, Jodi with her hollow screaming cheeks and Becky with her cats eyes melting. “Okay,” they said.

“We’re sorry, Sam,” said Kira as they stood in semi-circle, forming the first part of a chain. “We’re sorry we chose not to see.”

Movement in the trees drew their attention for a moment. Perhaps someone was there. Perhaps it was the wind.

 

My face lost to dust. Faceless.

My voice lost to whisper. Voiceless.

But my shadow. Eternal.

Need more ghosts? Look at this (cover by my highly talented brother Justin Wyatt by the way — he works for Disney)

Available for Amazon here: LINK