What is it about the Autumn that always bends my thoughts to things that go bump in the night? Is it the pumpkin-suit wearing tots that pound on the door demanding ‘trick or treat’? Is it the proliferation of black felt bats or witches costumes? Or maybe the prospect of fireworks and an effigy burnt on a pyre?
Whatever it is, when the evenings crowd in and I huddle indoors with books and comfort food, this is the way my thoughts turn. I gaze into space and hear the long-ago-and-far-away sound of a creaking stair or see a candle gutter and revive, and my mind is away, fashioning old gloomy houses with uneven floors and unreliable electricity.
Last November’s NaNoWriMo saw me writing not quite 60, 000 words under the title of The Silent Woman, a ghost story set in haunted converted buildings. I fully intended to revise and publish that story this year, but everything else got in the way, so maybe next year. It’ll do it good to ‘lie fallow’ for a year.
This year it looks as though I might do something similar. I have the germ of an idea floating just out of reach, just beyond my field of vision, i can almost glimpse it sometimes, but it is not yet ready to come into view. It began in the middle of my two-week temping job in mid-September. It was a job which required me to perform vast numbers of scans of old documents and maps. This was a job of the hands and the eyes. My brain was busy elsewhere …
I pictured a hospital room, an old man lay dying, a young woman sat with him, holding his hand in those last moments, his daughter/niece/granddaughter, I don’t know yet. He thinks she is his wife, when young, he forgets where he is. He says, “Whatever happened to the boy? I never told anyone, like you asked.” He sleeps for a few minutes then stirs again, still holding her hand and says, “remember when we were young? There was a photo – all of us – that spring. I still have it somewhere.” He points in the direction of the chest of drawers in his bedroom, he forgets he is in hospital. Later he dies, and she is left wondering.
And now, so am I.