So someone sent me a really interesting—if somewhat vague—suggestion for a blog post, which will be next week’s post. However, it takes a certain amount of research, and I haven’t had time to do it this week. (I’m not sure how I’m running out of time even in a lockdown, but here we are. Also, a reminder that at any time you are welcome to submit ideas for future posts via my contact form.)
Anyway, I was thinking about something easy I could post this week, and hit upon the idea of posting something I’d written before. Specifically—and bear with me here—I remembered that, when I was 15, I was really proud of my GCSE English creative writing coursework. We’d had to write ghost stories in the spirit (geddit?) of “The Signal-Man” by Charles Dickens. Mine was called “The Silver Blade”.
The house stood empty and desolate. Nobody lived there, and nobody had for ten years, ever since the previous occupant’s death. Nobody knew who owned the house, nor could anyone explain why windows would occasionally shatter, without apparent cause. Some said that there were strange comings and goings in the middle of stormy nights, while others claimed to hear eerie echoes ringing from the house –
I decided to find it on my (very) old laptop to see if it still held up, well enough to post: what I thought was good when I was 15 is not necessarily the same as what I think is good today. (My torturous descriptions of local urban development in my seventy-page Geography coursework is not something I intend to inflict on anyone.) Turns out it’s… surprisingly not bad. Not Dickens standard, but not bad.
So this week’s post is my adolescent ghost story, which is linked below. I’ve very lightly edited it in two places where it’s clear there were typos, but otherwise left it exactly as I found it. Enjoy, and don’t have nightmares.
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