After another successful trip to my favourite second hand bookstore I arrived home with two books. A crime novel by Alex Kava and a smaller, thinner book titled, The Woman in Black by Susan Hill. The latter looked old and the little book itself had been damaged some on the outside. I had not chosen it because I am familiar with the author or because I am particularly on a hunt for ghost stories (although now I might be), but because the cover intrigued me . A black background framing the black and white picture of the ruins of some house or castle. The title in red. Also, the price made me smile.
It tells of a man who travels to take care of the estate of an elderly lady who had passed away. He encounters things on his travels there that no man should. Dark, thick fog with hungry fingers, a woman not quite human but not quite dead, the sounds of pony and trap in the distance which never arrives, the screams of a young child being swallowed whole by muddy waters, the creak and thump of a rocking chair with no one in it, a malevolence in the air that penetrates anyone who comes across it.
So, if you are in the mood to chill yourself, give this one a go. I will be leaving the bathroom light on for some time to come.
Regarding NaNoWriMo – I have hit 12000 and something words. Needless to say I have quite a way to go, but I am chuffed with my progress so far as this is my first REAL attempt at actually completing a novel. I had one small, irritating rock in my shoe though. My inner editor.
What I have decided to do is kidnap her, gag her and tie her to a chair. I then proceeded to take her down to the basement (yup, I am strong like that) and place her in the middle of the floor. After that I loaded a shotgun and placed it carefully in front of her, making damn sure she stared straight into the barrel that could instantly end her life. There is a leaking tap in my basement which I am now happy I never fixed, because I hope the incessant dripping of unfiltered water will drive her insane. Right behind the shotgun, I propped a clown doll on a chair, staring straight at her. The basement is dark, except for a dim light bulb clinging on for dear life right above the doll’s head.
I know, it seems harsh, but I was left with no choice. She constantly badgers me about my plot, my characters, my punctuation. Someone had to shut her up. I suggest you do the same, and if you don’t have a basement, mine is free.
Now I shall write in peace.