‘Underhill’ – Halloween Short Story

Yesterday afternoon I messaged Tony to see if he fancied doing a random short story challenge for Halloween  – as you’ll already have seen, he stepped up to the challenge and has posted his story 🙂 So, here’s mine now, posted on my own blog a few minutes ago, because I’ve only just finished it!

After deciding to do this yesterday, I’ve not done too badly with it, although I massively over-ran the original 2-hour timescale I’d given myself to write this. It ended up being more like 5-hours. But, overall, I’m quite happy with it – I’m never any good at writing short stories…every time I have an idea for something short, I end up fleshing it out so much that it becomes a whole new book idea! 🙂

Anyway, I hope you like it and you’ll have to let me know if I got anywhere close to spooky with it 🙂

Mel x

Underhill

 

I peered down into the dark rock crevice and took a breath. A deep one.

Why did I do this to myself? Why did I ever listen to that silly voice inside my head that told me doing something new would be fun and interesting.

Standing here now, with cool metal clamps in my hands; rope at my feet and an excitable friend bouncing at my side, I realised it was a mistake. And a big mistake, at that. Where was the little voice now, telling me this would be fun and interesting? It was hiding, because my tougher sounding logical voice was now yelling and it was scared.

I hate small spaces, I don’t like being damp, I’m not really the outdoor-adventure-girl-type… That’s what was running through my head right now. Rock climbing was one thing, but rock climbing inside the ground – that just seemed crazy.

“Can you tell me again why we have to go under the mountain, not over it?”

“Because it’s fun,” Emily shrugged, as if fun was some kind of explanation.

“Fun – OK,” I nodded, taking another look at the tall-ish rock face above us. “But, that looks pretty fun too. And we don’t have to mess around with all of this extra equipment, we can just carry on climbing.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Exactly where yours is: standing here, waiting to get started.” I scuffed the toe of my boot against the stone ground. “I’m just more inclined to climb up and over than drop down, crawl, probably swim and possibly find a giant pile of guano poop that will give me bat madness.”

“Wow, you have a vivid imagination.”

“English student, what do you expect?”

Emily grinned. “Well, as a Geography student, I’m hoping for some nice rock formations, interesting post-glacial features and possibly some nice underground waterways.”

I pouted. “I told you there’d be swimming involved.”

“You’re such a freak,” Emily said.

“I know.”

Sigh. This was happening, wasn’t it?

“OK,” I said, resigned to the fate I’d inflicted on myself. “Get me kitted up and we can get going. I don’t want to be coming out the other side of the mountain in the dark.”

“Why? Are you scared because it’s Halloween and everything is s-p-ooooooo-kyafter dark?”

“Nope. I want to get back to the hotel and out to the pub at a decent time to drown out the symptoms of my guano madness.”

“Ha ha, oh yeah? Now you mention that, I think it’s more to do with that gorgeous bar man you noticed last night, than the bats.”

“Maybe,” I agreed. “Either way, I’ll need time to wash bat poop from my hair when we get back – so let’s get going!”

 

*   *   *

 

“How tight was that gap?” I asked Emily as I caught up with her in the next cavern. In the light from my helmet lamp I could see dark dusty-mud marks smeared across my chest – and I assumed I would have the same across my butt – where the widest parts of my body had squashed through the crack in the rock.

“I know.” She patted her stomach. “It made me wish I hadn’t had pie and chips on the way back from the pub last night.”

I laughed a little, waiting with my hands on my hips as I caught my breath. Although it was hard work at some points, the caves hadn’t been as bad as I’d expected really. Most of them had been large, round caverns, with the odd puddle and small pools of water, but nothing that needed wading through. I watched the beam of light from my helmet bounce around the latest space, taking in the dark crevices and dangling rock formations. It was mildly creepy maybe, but not terrifying and no bats – as far as I could see.

“What was that?”

I jumped at Emily’s sudden question, caught up in my own little bat-finding world. “What was what?”

“That noise. Sort of like a snuffling, grunting noise.”

My chest turned to ice. “Are you kidding me?” Please say yes, please say yes….

Emily shook her head and moved her gaze more slowly around the cave, allowing the light from her head lamp to spill across the rocky features. “It must have been me, just hearing things,” she said after a few tense moments of suffocating silence.

“There’s nothing there? It wasn’t bats, was it?”

Emily sighed. “For the fifteenth time, there are no bloody bats!”

I held up my hands. “You were the one that heard snuffling, grunting things – not me.”

Emily looked around again. “Yeah, well – I’d hate to see the size of the bat that would make the noise I heard.”

Apparently satisfied that there were no giant bat-things crawling around the cave we were standing in, Emily pulled the cave map out of her pocket and clicked on a hand-held torch. I watched over her shoulder, as she swung the light over the plastic-wrapped page, following the path we’d taken to get here.

“We’ve only got another three caverns to go through then we’ll be at the passage that leads to the hillside.” Emily said.

“Sounds good to me – I should have plenty of time to clean up AND get to the pub!”

“Come on then,” Emily flicked off the torch and began folding up the map. “The middle cavern looks like it’s got a river running through it. You may still get wet.”

“Great,” I muttered and set off, following Emily’s silhouette as she began leading the way to the next cave.

We walked and climbed in companionable silence for a long while. I was happy to follow in Emily’s shadow, as she bounded off into the unknown darkness ahead of us. In some ways – being the jumpy character that I was – I didn’t like being at the back of the group, as much as I would have hated being at the front. Although, with just the two of us down here, there wasn’t much choice in the matter, was there?

Emily’s voice broke the silence.

“Don’t you find it weird how quiet it is down here? You could imagine that there was nothing else left in the world except us, right now.”

I pulled myself up the last couple of metres to join Emily at the top of the small outcrop she was standing on. “Yeah. That’s not a comforting thought, you know. Remember my vivid imagination? Saying things like that tends to send me in to a mini-meltdown – especially when we’re alone, in a cave, in the dark….”

“Don’t worry, we’ve not got far to go now.”

She set off again as soon as I reached her.

“Watch your footing as you come down this bit.” Emily said. “It’s a bit – “

Her words cut off, followed by a surprised squeak and then a moment or so later, there was a loud splash.

“Emily!” I stumbled, trying to find a safe pathway forwards in the dim, bouncing light from my lamp. “EMILY?” I saw shiny black ahead of me and knew it must be the river from the map. Stepping carefully, but quickly, I made my way to the nearest edge and scanned the water.

“It’s OK, I’m here.”

Emily was standing on the opposite side to me, drenched from head to toe, but otherwise she looked fine.

“What happened? Are you alright?” I noticed her helmet was missing.

“My feet just went from under me,” Emily waved her arm in the direction we’d come. “I slipped straight down and landed in the water. It wasn’t that deep though.”

I nodded, watching as Emily’s face waved in and out of the shadows made by my light.

“Your helmet’s gone.”

“I know. It came off in the water – I don’t know if the light went out or got broken when I fell, but I can’t see it now. Can you?”

I looked away and tried to see anything other than the empty blackness around us. I couldn’t find anything in the water at all. “It must have sunk or floated away. I can’t see anything down there.”

“Perfect! I’d borrowed it from a girl on my course.”

“Sorry.” I told her, scanning the water again. “It’s probably going to be expensive to replace.”

“Yeah well, at least it wasn’t the map that got washed away.”

Holy shit. My stomach immediately knotted up at the idea of being lost down here. “You still have it?”

I saw Emily patting her pocket as I flashed the light back onto her.

“Don’t worry – it’s here. And I’ve still got my torch.”

With those words, she clicked on the small, bright handheld torch she’d been using to read the map earlier.

Shaking my head around, I found a narrow point in the stream a few meters further on. I headed in that direction, thinking it should be easy enough to jump across where my side was slightly higher than the opposite bank.

I cleared the narrow gap easily enough and began walking back in the opposite direction to where Emily was standing, consulting the map. “Which way now?” I asked as I drew closer.

There was no answer. And I noticed Emily wasn’t actually looking at the map at all.

“Em, are you OK?”

Emily didn’t move and her eyes stayed blank and staring – looking past me to a far corner of the cave.

“Emily?” I tried again. “Did you bang your head or anything when you fell? Do you want me to take a look?”

For a long moment nothing happened. Emily stayed silent, eyes glazed over.

“Emily!” Her sudden behaviour was making me panicky.

When I called out this time she reacted at least. With the slowest and smallest of movements, she gradually turned to look at me. Her eyes still looked weird – a little confused, surprised maybe – but blank at the same time. She looked like I’d just woken her up and she wasn’t sure where she was.

It was a small relief. “We need to get you out of here,” I told her.

need to get out of here. I cast my eyes around the empty darkness, which suddenly felt small and close, like there was something I couldn’t, and wouldn’t want to, see hiding in every shadow. The vague discomfort I’d felt coming down here and been holding in check whilst we were climbing, was now moving full throttle towards terror. There was obviously something wrong with the competent, confident leader of our little party, which left me to sort things out.

I have sarcasm, metaphors and a wild imagination – not orienteering skills and bravery.

Why did I agree to this?

I knew full well that I preferred reading about adventures and living vicariously through feisty, daring characters in books.

Get a grip. It’s not too far from the outside now, just get your friend sorted, work out which way you need to go and then get the hell out of here. And never listen to your fun, exciting side, ever, ever again.

“Em,” I prompted, using my extra calm voice, as she’d still not said anything whilst I had a mini-breakdown. “Do you want to show me the way we need to go to get out? I can take the map.”

When she didn’t answer, I moved around to stand beside her and peeked at the map in her hands. Whilst I was there, I checked the back of her head and other visible parts for any sign of injury, but couldn’t see anything obvious.

Turning my attention to the chart now, I was surprised to find it was easy to follow. It looked just like a normal map really, only with some markings, which I imagined showed depth, rather than relief as they would above ground.

“There’s the river…so, we need to be heading straight across there to where that passage is…” I glanced across the cave in that direction and could just about see the outline of the next tunnel. It was quite large and didn’t look like it would be quite as tight as some of the previous ones. I looked back at the map. “And then, once we’re in the last cavern, we follow the wall around to the left and then come up the main passage that leads to the surface.” That sounded simple enough, although the size of the upward tunnel did not look too large or appealing.

I took the map from Emily’s hand and she made no move to stop me. Folding it and putting it into my pocket now, I pulled out a plastic-wrapped silver thermal blanket from my backpack. Freeing it from the small package, the sheet billowed out, crackling loudly in the echoing space. Taking one edge, I wrapped it around Emily’s shoulders and held her close to my side.

“Let’s get you out of here and into some dry clothes, OK. You’ll feel better soon.”

I thought Emily nodded, but I couldn’t quite be sure. We set off together, me pulling Emily along slightly, as she walked forwards with unsteady, mechanical steps.

 

*   *   *

 

“Are you sure you don’t mind me going downstairs for a bit? I can bring you some food back up, if you don’t feel like sitting downstairs.”

Emily was lying down in bed, her face turned towards the window. She didn’t answer.

“Emily?” I prompted.

This time Emily’s eyes moved to look at me, her head turning slowly to follow the direction of her gaze.

“Yes?” She said, pronouncing the word in a drawn out sigh.

“I asked if you minded me getting some food. I can bring you something back, if you like?”

Emily stared at me for a few seconds, almost as though she’d never seen me before that moment. I was about to say never mind, when she spoke again.

“I want you to go.”

“To the bar?” I asked, not exactly sure what she was trying to say.

“I want you to go.” Emily repeated; still in that slow, drawling voice.

“OK – if you’re sure. Do you need me to get you anything at all? You still seem a bit – ”

Emily swivelled away from me, looking out the dark window again. “I am tired, I want to sleep.”

I was going to say a bit weird, but to be honest, this isn’t just a bit weird…it was a lot weird. Maybe there had been bat-poop in the water and she was getting a strange guano-flu…? Or, maybe Emily was right and I should leave the bats alone.

“I’ll be an hour – tops,” I told her back, as I picked up the room key and headed to the door. “I’ll just grab something warm to eat and come back up to keep you company.”

There was no response.

“Alright, well, see you in a bit then.” I closed the door behind me, hearing it clickand began walking towards the lifts.

The corridor was long and empty. Decorated in a deep maroon and cream colour scheme, the only features in the corridor were the occasional windows I passed by, which gave a view of black nothingness. All the windows faced onto the mountain we’d crawled through that afternoon, and with nothing much between the hotel and the hillside, there were no lights out there at all.

I shivered. Knowing that there was something so big, made invisible by the darkness just a short distance away, was odd somehow. It felt as if anyone who left the lights of the hotel behind them, could be swallowed up by the world outside, never to be seen again.

The lift stopped on my floor, with the usual ping and I stepped inside, pretending that I wasn’t checking my reflection in the mirror as I reached over to press the button for the ground floor. I felt quite drained after our expedition this afternoon and was glad that I didn’t have to put on a show and go on another drinking binge tonight. Emily normally wouldn’t pass up an opportunity for going out, she must be feeling really ill. And it was no wonder she was behaving oddly: she’d done everything I had, but soaked to the skin for the last part after falling in that stupid river.

“Bloody geography students,” I muttered to myself. They always had to get into the middle of everything.

The lift doors opened directly into the main reception. Flicking a polite smile at the older lady standing behind the ornate reception desk, I turned in the direction of the bar, following the muted sounds of people and smell of warm food.

There weren’t many people sitting around in the bar tonight, although, from further along the corridor I could hear the faint pulsing beat of music and the sound of a lot of voices.

I should have brought my book. I didn’t really like sitting on my own in public with nothing else to do.

“Hello there.”

I turned toward the voice – a lovely, warm deep voice, with a hint of a Scottish accent – Mister Barman was back.

“Hi.”

“It’s pretty quiet in here tonight,” he said, needlessly waving his arm towards the empty room.

“Halloween party?” I guessed.

“Yeah – they’ve got their own free bar in there, so there’s no way anyone’s going to come and pay for drinks in here.”

“Probably not. I just wanted to grab something quick to eat, if that’s OK?”

“Sure,” he started fiddling behind the counter, then produced a small, folded cardboard menu. “It’s just the basic bar menu tonight, but there’s a decent choice on there if you’re just looking for something quick.”

“Do I have to sit at the bar?”

“You want to sit and talk to me?” Mister Barman threw me a cheeky smile.

Wow. I was being pretty brain-dead this evening. Of course you didn’t have to sit at the bar to have the bar menu. For someone who was pretty good with words, I didn’t use them well sometimes! I was about to turn away and pick another seat, when I realised there was no point. Why not talk to the cute guy behind the bar while I waited for my dinner? At least I might have something interesting to tell Em when I got back upstairs.

“I’m pretty tired,” I said, pulling out a stool from the end of the bar and lifting myself onto the seat. “So, maybe I can have a drink and you can talk to me about interesting things.”

He laughed. “Deal. What are you drinking?”

I tried not to notice how handsome he looked, when his eyes crinkled up with his smile. Instead, I turned my attention to the drinks and began scanning the shelves and fridges behind the bar. “A large glass of rose would be good.”

He turned around, reached into the furthest fridge and pulled out a half empty bottle of a pale-coloured rose wine. As he stood up, I noticed the name badge on his waistcoat. Tom.

“So,” Tom said as he began pouring my drink. “What kind of interesting thingscan I talk to you about this evening?”

“Anything you like really,” I shrugged. “Although, maybe not anything too spooky, even though it is Halloween. I’ve been creeped out enough for one day.”

He placed a white paper coaster in front of me and slid the glass of wine onto it. “Creeped out – with what?”

“Oh – it’s just me being a big girl I suppose. My friend and I went pot-holing this afternoon, up on Pendle Ridge – it’s not really my thing and those caves just got a little bit… eurrrgh…after a while.”

The barman whistled through his teeth. “You’re not being girly – that place creeps me out: above ground, during the day.”

I snorted quietly and took a long sip of the wine. “I don’t believe that. You look like you spend plenty of time outdoors doing adventurous things.”

“Yeah, well, not there I don’t. I know it’s stupid, but I think it’s the history of the witches that used to use the caves on that hillside that bothers me.” He shrugged his shoulders in a miniature shiver. “Half the time I don’t really like working here, just in the shadow of those hills.”

“Witches?”

Tom nodded, leaning forwards on his arms and lowering his voice, as if he was going to tell me a secret. “There have been a number of covens over the centuries that have used the caves on that hillside – there’s a whole section about it in the village museum. If you go down there tomorrow, you can read about them.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“No, it doesn’t. But, there are other stories I’ve heard, from people who’ve lived around here for a long time. They say that there’s been a history of people – women – disappearing on Pendle Ridge, ever since the last coven of witches were driven out and burned at the stake, by the old crossroads.”

I pulled back and picked up my wine glass again. Women disappearing…. Mister Barman was beginning to sound slightly creepy himself now. Maybe he was trying to spook me after all?

“Surely, the police would investigate if people were disappearing.” I pointed out.

“They have and they still do. They just don’t ever find anything much.”

I picked up on his words. “Still do? How recently has this happened?”

“There was a girl last year, on a field trip from college: Jessica Farley. During the day, she’d fallen into one of the rivers that runs through the hillside – it goes into the caves and comes out over land on the other side. At first she seemed fine, but by the time the group got her back to the hotel, she was barely talking, not moving properly. It was like she wasn’t working right or something.” He looked away, across the room as if he was picturing her. “I hadn’t been here that long – seeing the way she was, so…strange and blank…I’ve never forgotten her.”

“How did she go missing, if her group brought her back here?”

“In the morning, the girl she was sharing with found the door to their bedroom wide open and Jessica was gone.”

“And no one saw her leave?”

“She was seen,” Tom pointed over his shoulder towards the reception area. “In the middle of the night, she walked out of the hotel on her own, in her pyjamas – they found it on the CCTV.”

That sounded so bizarre. “Where was she going?”

He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “She walked off into the darkness beyond the hotel grounds, in the direction of Pendle Ridge.”

I shook my head. It was such a weird story, but in fairness, the bar man seemed genuinely bothered by the story he’d repeated to me.

“In the museum, it tells you about some of the rituals the covens had. They used some of the rivers on the hill to baptise new members of the coven when they joined. It was a ritual that bonded the new witch with the rest of the coven – washing away their old life, joining them with their new family, which like the river, would flow forever.”

I shivered. This was getting a bit intense. “You seem to know a lot about this stuff.” I tried to diffuse the tension.

“I just have a good memory for things I’ve read,” he said. “Nothing major. Anyway,” he clapped his hands together, making me jump. “Enough of this morbid stuff – you said nothing spooky, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“Well, I’ve already kind of messed that up, haven’t I? Let’s get you a menu and some food sorted.”

I smiled. “That sounds good.”

He smiled back at me, placing the menu on the bar near my drink. “Are you going to wait for your friend to come down to order, or do you know what to get for her?”

“It’s just me,” I tapped the menu. “She didn’t feel like coming down for anything.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she was a bit tired and flat when we got back. In one of the last caves we came through, she managed to fall into a small river and got soaked through.”

Tom’s eyes widened. “She fell into one of the rivers in the caves?”

“Yes. She was OK: I had one of those thermal sheet thingys, so we got her warm and back here pretty quick. I think she was just tired.”

I heard my own words come back as me. She was just tired…

   Suddenly, everything felt…wrong. A sliver of ice cut through my chest, sending freezing currents up my spine. I shouldn’t have left Emily alone; I should have made her come with me.

“I – just – give me a minute.”

“Are you OK?” I heard Tom call out, as I bolted from the room.

I didn’t wait for the lift. Half of me felt stupid – crazy, even – as I ran up the stairs two at a time. But, there was another part of me that felt scared, as if there really was something to the stories I’d heard tonight…something that could affect us.

Reaching the fourth floor, I was fumbling for the room key in my pocket as I opened the door from the stairwell to the main corridor. Pulling it free, I looked ahead to our room – number 418 – and realised that I didn’t need the key: the door was standing wide open.

“Emily?” I called out as I ran towards our room.

There was no answer.

Banging into the doorframe as I entered, I scanned the small space quickly, seeing no sign of my friend. “EMILY?” I shouted, moving forward to knock on the bathroom door. “Emily – are you in there?” The door opened onto a dark, empty room.

“Hey.”

I screamed, jumping out of my skin in surprise at the voice behind me. It was the bar man – Tom – from downstairs.

“Are you alright?”

My hands were shaking as I looked at the empty bed, where Emily had been, ten minutes before when I went downstairs. “It’s my friend,” I told him. “I think she’s gone.”

 

Happy Halloween from TonyT: The Long Walk

The campfire was down to its last embers before Jonas turned to me and asked me to tell my tale. I smiled, but it didn’t reach my eyes.

“It’s not really a ghost story, Jonas,” I replied. Circled around me, the kids of class nine yawned and rubbed their eyes. Billy McAllister was the only one really still awake; the rest struggled and stared vacantly at the fire, eyelids drooping.

They were a little old for campfire ghost stories anyway. What would I tell them? The story of the hitchhikers and hook hand? They’d laugh that one out of the ballpark.

For an answer to my complaint, Jonas only shifted and tossed some more sticks on the fire, shrugging away my denial. “Give it a shot anyway,” he said.

I started at the fire, not seeing it.

“I was about the same age as you kids when it happened. But before we get to that, you need to know what happened before…if that makes sense.”

Billy nodded and the rest turned sleepy eyes towards me. I couldn’t have been much more than a shadow to them against the light of the fire, and that was fine by me. “Before…

 

…then. My brother had been killed in a car crash a few summers before, and my family was still picking up the pieces and wondering where we all went from here. We all had our ways of dealing with it.

Me? I went for long walks. Twenty five mile, six hour long walks. I was out from nine in the morning to three in the afternoon. Once a week I’d find a day and walk. Solitude was my silent partner, and a welcome one at that.

Through sleeping fields of corn and wheat, I looked for some answers, and tried to come to terms with what happened. It was good to get out of the house and away from it all for a while. On a long walk, I’d slip into a quiet Zen state, my feet moving automatically over what become well-known footpaths and fields. Long walks and silence. It was beautiful.

Except the countryside is rarely silent; there would always be a tractor or a car moving somewhere in earshot. Radios playing, or people moving in the dozing villages and hamlets I passed through without stopping. Always moving, always walking, that was me.

Something you should know about the car crash – there was another car involved. Yes, my brother was racing – new car, hot pair of wheels and a feeling of invulnerability. All it needed was a wet road and the laws of physics took over. Seatbelts don’t help when you roll a car that fast. The other driver – Andy, I think his name was – survived. Death by dangerous driving. Five years in jail.

Anyway, I walked and I walked, and I dropped into a Zen sleep. You walk a footpath often enough, even a twenty mile one, and you don’t even need to look at your feet anymore. Or think anymore.

Except this day was different.

 

I paused in my story, and the kids shifted and fidgeted. They were all listening now, more awake. Some of them had brothers, after all. I looked away from the fire and up at the night, endless and infinite before I told them…

 

…I was on my way home that day. A route I’d taken a dozen times before. A narrow road with high hedges, a gate, a farmer’s field. Five miles from home. Nothing I hadn’t seen or experienced before; nothing out of the ordinary in any way. A little quieter than usual, that was all.

I stopped to take a drink of water from my backpack when it started: That feeling on the back of your neck, the one that stretches its way up your spine and down your back. You turn, and there is no one there; but the feeling remains. The footpath and the field you stand beside are empty, the sky a deserted blue apart from the islands of floating clouds. Not a soul in sight.

You tell yourself it’s nothing, but the feeling stays there.

The feeling of being watched. The feeling of being followed.

And it’s a feeling that gets stronger the more you stay and the more times you look back. Whatever it is comes closer, and whatever it is, you don’t want to meet it. Even in broad daylight on a hot summer day, you do not. Want. To. Meet. It.

The silence behind me was thicker than usual, the bird song muted and the trees silent and watching.

So I picked up my pace a little…and the feeling faded again. Until I stopped, and there it was again. Still nothing behind me but emptiness and solitude. Only that solitude felt like a threat now, a danger I never recognised.

I turned my back on that feeling and walked on and on.

Then at about three miles from home, something odd happened. From nowhere the thought popped, complete and relating to nothing:

Maybe I’m needed at home.

But that’s not the extraordinary thing. The instant the thought about being at home came into my head, the feeling of being watched vanished instantly as though it had never existed.

I still didn’t look back though, or pause to rest. I must have made those three miles in record time.

It would be simple now to check something like that…a text message or a phone call, and you’d have such a random thought cleared up in a few minutes. But this was twenty years ago, kids. Nothing so advanced back then. I was alone and no one knew where I was. I was three miles out and an hour away from knowing.

 

I made it home, of course, with no one following me. There wasn’t anything out there but my imagination. Nothing at all.

Except:

When I got home, my mother told me that the other driver in the car crash – Andy – had received an early prison release that day.

 

Billy was the first to ask, the others turning to him as though they’d forgotten he was there.

“You think it was your brother, sir? Haunting you or something?”

I could have lied to them, I suppose. I could have told them something. “I don’t know, Billy. I really don’t. I only know it scared the life out of me.” I stretched. “I’d been walking twenty miles a week until then…but I didn’t go for a walk the week after.”

Billy nodded, seemingly satisfied. “What was your brother’s name, sir?”

I coughed and cut my eyes to the empty log to my left. “Jonas.”

 

(Excluding the framing story of the campfire, this did happen to me – all of it. What was following me that silent summer day? I really don’t have a clue…but it was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life.)

Happy Halloween!

Cute Ghost  To those of you that love all things spooky and dark, Happy Halloween! 🙂 And if you don’t like things scary, then have a light party instead and make yourself brighter and happier than ever.

Last year we did an October-fest spooktacular (I know – I’m sad, but I love puns, even the cheesy ones) on Aside from Writing, with lots of short stories, features and posts from people about all things spooky.

I’ve not had time to do that again this year – but yesterday, I decided to set myself the challenge of writing a quick, short and (hopefully) spooky story to post today. Think of it as a warm up for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), which starts tomorrow… Come back later today, if you want to see what I managed to write in the hour time limit I set myself…and hopefully I can get some other surprise posts for you today as well. Flash-fiction? This is flash-blogging, surely 🙂

Tony’s Review: Monsters of Men, Patrick Ness

7540092

 

3/5

Todd and Viola – and a growing cast of others – have to fight for peace with the native ‘Spackle’, as well as keeping their own warring camps apart.

Phew. I’m exhausted. This is the third of the “Chaos Walking” trilogy, and I’m as war-weary as Todd and Viola. The pace is frantic, the writing dense and the characters actions thick and fast.

New this time is a “Spackle” character – they call themselves The Land, with obvious references to Native Americans (Or for a more modern audience, Avatar), complete with complex culture, nobility and a deep connection to the planet. They even ride their mounts standing.
Patrick Ness isn’t afraid to use the page to show you what’s going on. Explosion?

BOOM.

– with a size 40 font. Different character voices? Use a different font for each for extra emphasis.

After three books, some of his writing style was starting to grate though –

Like –

He will write something –

And then –

And do this –

And then do that –

…all the way down a page or two. His stream-of-consciousness style I can get behind most of the time though, tumbling together his sentences and images into a single paragraph. I certainly can’t complain, since I use it in my own writing style.

And as usual, his characters are full and three-dimensional and his world building is flawless, even the bit players like Ivan (who goes where the power is, something Ness uses to good effect).

The characters inaction frustrated me. Todd is over there, Viola is over here, and they spend a fair part of the book apart, worrying about each other, fighting to keep the warring factions apart. I wanted to shout at them: PICK YOURSELVES UP AND MOVE TO ANOTHER PART OF THE PLANET.

I was as frustrated as they were at the endless point-scoring of the Mayor and Mistress Coyle. What does it matter who wins the peace? All that matters is the end result. Not one person had the wisdom to tell them that.

Ness creates such a realistic world that I wanted to shout at the people who lived there to grow up. Now I know how it feels to be a politician, trying to bring peace to a war-torn country. No one can see past the hate and stupidity to see what bloody idiots they are. No one can see the futility.

I need to talk about The Mayor, the most developed character in the book. I never trusted him…well, maybe for chapter or two, but he never seemed anything less than sociopathic. Like most dictators, he was charming with it, able to (literally) bend minds to his will. He claimed that the best parts of Todd rubbed off on him. I didn’t believe him…until his actions at the climax of the book.

It’s a long haul from the start of book one right the way to the end of book three – it’s about 1500 pages, actually. I’ve been on that world with Todd and Viola, fought as they fought, felt their frustrations and their exhaustion.

Ness is one hell of a writer, and I’ll be back for more.

Review of Part One…Here

Part Two…Here

Tony’s Review: The Ask and The Answer, Patrick Ness

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3/5

The sequel to “The Knife of Letting Go” picks up straight where it left off – Todd and Viola have arrived at Haven…but they’ve been beaten there by the mayor of Prentisstown, who now calls himself President Prentiss of New Prentisstown.

Todd and Viola become separated, and spend the rest of the book in different camps – Viola in “The Answer” a group of terrorists / freedom fighters who want to overthrow Prentiss, and Todd, who is left with the mayor.

There are no easy answers or black and white mentality for either of them. Todd is faced with hard choices, and the President brainwashes him effectively into watching and performing acts of cruelty and torture against the indigenous population – a case study of Milgram’s experiments (http://tinyurl.com/5tjxs) on dehumanising, and a chilling echo of genocide. Dehumanise a section of your population, see them as subhuman, and you can do anything to them. Stick yellow stars on them or brand them with an iron. Lock them in a prison camp and watch over them with rifles.

Similarly for Viola, whose opposing group of women are just as ruthless as the President. They have no qualms about blowing up barracks where soldiers sleep, or using bombs that only become live when you pick them up.

There are no heroes in this book. There are no winners. Todd and Viola do the best they can with the situation they find themselves in; like a real war, their hands come out covered in blood. How they deal with what they’ve gone through is what makes them the people they are.

Only three stars though, because once again Ness leaves the book on a complete cliff-hanger – it’s becoming a habit for him. Luckily, I don’t have to wait for the sequel. And Ness’s genocide and not-black-and-white war sometimes gets lost on the way through the 500+ pages, meandering a little until it seems to find what sort of ending he’s going for.

I’m reviewing the final part of the trilogy “Monsters of Men” next month.

Finding your voice…

During a random indie author (internet) cruise, I came across this post on David Estes’ author site. It’s a great piece on character voices, how hard it can be to get them right and also – for people to sound different. A little ‘Writing 101’ gift for any of you authors out there working on this lovely Tuesday lunchtime 🙂

http://davidestesbooks.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/indie-author-advice-series-7-do-all.html

Tony’s Review: The Knife of Never Letting Go

File:Knife of Never letting Go cover.jpg

4/5 – Spoilers throughout

Todd Hewitt lives in a strange village on a distant colony world…a village where there are no women, and all the men (and all the animals) can hear thoughts…that is, every thought. This Noise – as Todd calls it – is constant, a mash of every waking and sleeping thought; enough to drive men away from each other into isolation or lose their sanity. It’s covered in the book with changes in font and size, a really nice idea – (if you look at the first example, you can see Aaron thinking Todd Hewitt? by the way)

Todd has been told that the village where he lives is the only one left on the planet; and since there are no women, one day that will die out as well…

When Todd stumbles across something in the local swamp – a silence, a hole in the noise of the world, he has to investigate. And everything he’s been told is a lie…

It took me three or four chapters to settle into this, but once I did, it rocketed away and I couldn’t finish it fast enough. Other reviewers have complained about the constant danger-escape-danger-escape format, and the bad language, but I didn’t notice any of it. I was swept into Todd’s world, his stream-of-consciousness narrative, and I was eager to finish it.

As for the bad language, did they read the same book? Todd uses ‘effing’ – and then says, ‘…except I didn’t say effing.’ His language is never worse than that. Puzzled over that.

Todd has a great narrative voice, a real treat. He uses words like direcshuns and creechers, and when Viola shows him his crashed spaceship, it takes him a minute to work it out. I like that; no telling here, just all show.

There were plot twists I saw coming thirty pages back from where they appeared – Todd is told there are no women on the planet, so it was inevitable that the silence, when he finds it, is going to be a girl; he’s told that the village where he lives is the only one left on the planet – so it’s inevitable that the rest of the world exists and is populated. I also worked out about half-way through that Prentisstown was a ‘penal colony’ (I didn’t know why though, that was a startle.)

The world Todd travels through is rich and verdant, vividly described and created. When Todd comes across creatures he doesn’t know the names of, all he can do is marvel at them; he has no names for them, so neither do we. The people he meets all have different viewpoints on life – and different accents. I read the dialogue of the first people he meets in a Scottish accent; it was simply how they sounded to me, along with another family that sounded Dutch. This is a world full of everyone, not just a homogenised colony.

Also refreshing is his attitude to Viola. He’s never seen a girl before, so he doesn’t act any differently around her, or think she’s incapable of action because of her gender; nor does he fall instantly in love, or even romantically attached to her – she’s a friend like any other to him. There’s a wonderful moment towards the end where he realises he can use Viola’s body language to tell her moods. It’s a real insight for him, and a wonderful piece of writing.

The book is rich in symbolism. Todd and Viola travel through an unspoilt world to Haven – only a letter short of heaven – always being told that hope is lying there…salvation awaits them if they can only make it.

The knife Todd is given takes on a character of its own as well. He’s given the choice again and again to kill, and he can feel the power of life or death this inanimate object gives him. How he uses it shapes and defines Todd, and he begins to realise a man who kills isn’t who he wants to be. He will not kill, even in self-defence, even under extreme provocation.

Except that’s where part of the story breaks. Todd kills a local intelligent alien – a Spackle – attacking him viciously without provocation; two pages later, the incident is all but forgotten. Yet he refuses to kill Aaron (who is virtually a Terminator – that boy does not stay down!) and the price he pays for letting Mr Prentiss Jr live is high.

Frontier life is brutal, and the violence in the book is brutal as well, not shying away from describing gory details, especially in Todd’s battles with Aaron near the climax.

Some of Todd and Viola’s actions aren’t logical – why are they walking? Why don’t they steal a horse? They could travel most of the way by boat, for instance, and it never occurs to them.

The most wonderful part of the book is one quite a few people seemed to have picked up on – Manchee the dog. Originally, it seems, he’s just there for comic relief, but he turns on the dog loyalty as the story develops, a shining example of dog-dom, unswerving in his devotion to Todd and Viola. No Disney animal here though – his life is poo and squirrels. He’s the star of the show, without doubt.

And it was inevitable that he would die. Unnecessary, but inevitable. Heart-breaking as well, but I saw it coming ten pages before it happened.

There are parts of the book that didn’t work for me. The climax is a cliff-hanger, and I should have felt manipulated by it, but I don’t (Then again, I don’t have to wait for the sequel!). Todd is told things and doesn’t relate them to the reader until a hundred pages further on, a bit of a cheat there, especially for a first-person present tense.

Worst of all is exposition that’s about to begin when –
Oh sorry, I got called away there.

Annoying isn’t it? Imagine a conversation being interrupted by a random horse-rider and then the characters moving on, even though they could have continued their conversation as before.

Luckily, I spotted when it was and wasn’t going to happen, and it produced more of a rueful smile than annoyance. But it was starting to get old.

In some ways, this book is manipulative. It knows what buttons to push, when to hold a finger over those buttons and not push them. Sometimes it holds the finger over those buttons for two hundred pages before pressing them. Todd and Viola are constantly in danger and escaping it, but it doesn’t feel repetitive.

But I didn’t feel manipulated. Like good magic tricks, no one cares if the tricks are good and the reveals are worth it. And they are worth it.

The best trick in the book loops right back to the start of the journey – Todd wonders which fork in the path to take, and when the Mayor arrives at Haven before him, we find out what would have happened if he’d taken the other one. Nice touch. Very nice touch.

I already have the library looking for the sequel. Count me in.

(Review of the sequel “The Ask and The Answer” next month)

Argghhh!

So I’ve just written and lost the same post, twice. Pretty irritating and now I cannot face writing it a third time – so apologies, that stuff is going to remain in my head now (not that it is a major loss to world literature or anything). 

I just wanted to let you know that I wasn’t being completely rubbish and not posting stuff, just that the internet is conspiring against me today and so I’m off to do some more work (offline) on my latest book. 

Happy Sunday everyone! 

Argghhh!

So I’ve just written and lost the same post, twice. Pretty irritating and now I cannot face writing it a third time – so apologies, that stuff is going to remain in my head now (not that it is a major loss to world literature or anything). 

I just wanted to let you know that I wasn’t being completely rubbish and not posting stuff, just that the internet is conspiring against me today and so I’m off to do some more work (offline) on my latest book. 

Happy Sunday everyone! 

Tony’s Review: Wuthering Heights

Wuthering Heights

 

3/5 – Spoilers

There are a few books, which – though I’ve never read – I have an idea of what they are about. Wuthering Heights was one of those.

I thought, from what I’d picked up through cultural osmosis, that it was a love story between moody Heathcliff and wild Cathy, set on an English moor. I thought there would be windswept vistas and empty moors, lovers kept apart by fate or society.

But no…no…that’s pretty much not what happens.

For a start, Cathy dies halfway through and the story only touches on her violent relationship with Heathcliff…and she ends up marrying another man. So much for loving him then.

Their relationship can by no means be called “love” and is more like passive-aggressive hostility. It doesn’t seem as much as though they care for each other as drive each other to insane anger.

Heathcliff is less moody and more downright psychotic; he’s mean, spiteful and bitter, perhaps for the sake of it. But he justifies this by saying he ‘loved’ Cathy and resents anyone else taking her. Stalker, anyone?

So the story is less about Heathcliff and Cathy, and more about Heathcliff’s desire for revenge and retribution. He treats everyone around him as a kicking stool, and doesn’t hold back from assaulting them whenever the mood takes him. He abuses his nephew, he abuses Cathy’s daughter (also confusingly called Cathy – she marries Linton, which is the last name the other main family in this story. I had to keep a family tree to keep them straight for a while). The man is an absolute raving lunatic, and he should have been locked up.

The fact no one seems to have the nerve to stand up to him is startling. Not one member of his family reported him for cruelty or malice – perhaps it was a sign of the times that families kept themselves to themselves, but most of the characters seem almost as unbalanced. At one point, someone threatens to cut out someone’s tongue; they bite down on the knife and dare them to.

This isn’t a love story. Heathcliff isn’t a man you’d want marrying your daughter, any more than Cathy is a woman you’d want marrying your son.

The setting of the book was a surprise as well. I was, as I said, expecting windswept moors, but most of the action takes place indoors. In places this made it seem like a play, with simple, interchangeable sets as backdrops.

The structure of the story is interesting as well. Mostly, a servant relates the tale through her third-person lens, recalled from twenty years before (with perfect recall, apparently).
Another reviewer said the third-person narrative hadn’t been developed when this was written, and sometimes the servant’s story is further filtered through a conversation she had with someone else; there are hints that she might be an unreliable narrator, in her descriptions of the two Cathy’s.

The hardest part of the book to read was Joseph – wow, his accent is thick. I asked a friend from Yorkshire (where the book is set) to read a bit of his dialogue out, and he couldn’t figure it out either. There were a few plot holes – at the end, a shepherd boy says he’s seen the ghost of Heathcliff and Cathy (One) on the moor. At that point, Cathy One has been dead twenty years; but that’s a minor point.

Did I enjoy this book, even though it wasn’t what I expected? I did, although the main characters weren’t nice people and nobody I would want to spend any time with again.