This was not the story that I originally started, it was meant to be a traditional chilling ghost tale for Christmas. But the problem with ghost stories for Christmas is you don’t really think to write one till the Christmas spirit is upon you, and you think how nice it would be to write a ghost story in time for Christmas Eve, only to have no time because you left it so late. So this carried on into the new year, and hints at ghostly things as you expect for Christmas, but it ended somewhere very different as the decorations came down and we got on with our daily lives.
When writing, it is all too easy to stray into already trod paths when your own is not very clear. When I began this tale, I knew it was already following one of these existing paths, and as I typed I could hear its tone, all too familiar as these existing short stories bounced around my imagination, not wanting to leave. So I let it follow the same path, but letting go to an end I did not see where it was going till it got there. I have left what you could call an ‘Easter Egg’ in this age of DVD menus to point you in the direction of this particular influence. I am sure Google will point you in the right direction as you search in the nocturnal hours and recommend them heartily if you like this sort of thing.
So now read on and enjoy, but not too much.
…
The statue had stood in the woods for more than seven centuries, if you believed the stories that are closely twisted around the cold worn stone by the locals as they enjoyed more than a few glasses of local ale of an evening. A year or more ago I myself enjoyed the tales told by the rough voices as the wood fire burned away, keeping the pub warm in atmosphere as much as heat. I relished the revival of childhood interests in the supernatural, hauntings and curses. Now, it is different; now I cannot dismiss the tales round the fire as just entertainment. Now I fear that all legends and folklore tend to be tethered by some truth, these tales told over the years bend and turn to the storytellers whim. But often the oldest roots are solid, whether we choose to believe in them or not.
…
I had bought the house and surrounding grounds the previous year, soon after my role as a member of a prestigious law firm in London had taken a positive step up the so-called ladder, as did my income. I had always dreamed of a retreat in the forest, and when an estate of a recently deceased client of the firm was offered for sale at a very reasonable price, I was finally able to afford the mortgage for a home outside the city, while being able to rent a modest room in London for the working week. All was perfect for a time: I worked hard in my new position in the law firm, willing to spend the extra hours in the evening to prove that their decision had been the right one. At the weekend I would return to my new home with the tools and supplies to decorate and repair, enjoying the physical labour after spending days behind a desk, dredging through legal documentation.
I had decided to take a week off as holiday to finish the decorating, put away the tools for a while, and finally invite friends to stay over the weekend. Many of them were hinting at how they longed to escape the overbearing nature of the city and all it entailed. So with a certain amount of zeal, I got on with the work and finished it with a day to spare. It was late evening when I had put away the last of my tools. But as it was summer, dusk was only just manifesting and I decided to take a walk. The renovations had taken up all my time and attention, and I had still not fully explored the grounds. As I stood and looked out of the French windows, it occurred to me how odd it was that I had never stepped beyond the open lawn. A strange sense of foreboding came across me, causing me to shiver. Was it really the renovations that had kept me from leaving the grass area for the dark passages through wild ornamental plants or had it been something else? As my mind began to wonder towards the fantastical horrors spoken of by the old men in the village, I gave myself a mental shake and with some bravado told myself that I would go see what lay in my gardens, at least until the light no longer allowed.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Great piece. I hope the second part comes soon.
Thank you, second part coming this wekeend