Tag: paranormal

Origin Stories continued: 8/15 We Are Gathered

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The next story in Corpse Road Blues, my short fiction collection from Demain Publishing that explores what it means to be haunted, is We Are Gathered. It was originally written for the North Bristol Writers’ story-telling evening held at the Anglican chapel at Arnos Vale Cemetery in Bristol. The story is centred around a wedding, where the narrator guides the reader through the events of that day.

One thing that’s on my wish list – probably on the wish list of every horror writer – is to come up with a story that, not only stays with the reader long after reading, but gives them chills whenever they think about it. This was the inspiration behind We Are Gathered. And for me, ghostly tales have the very real potential to do this, much more so I think than tropes like vampires and werewolves. We’re superstitious as a species, a lot of us wish to believe – or we hope that – there is something else after death, and ghosts deliver that evidence.

The piece was devised during a trip my partner and I took to Arnos Vale – a sort of reconnaissance mission – to check out the vibe of the place. As we sat amongst the headstones and crypts spying on the chapel and the other visitors, We Are Gathered crept from the shadows into life.

Again, if you’d like to read the story, you can buy Corpse Road Blues here.

© B Anne Adriaens

Origin Stories continued: 7/15, Wounds are Lips Waiting to be Kissed

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One of my favourite areas in London that I’ve found so far is Southbank, along the river Thames. This cultural hotspot and tourist thoroughfare bustles with the sounds and sights of buskers and street performers, the area boasts theatres, an open-air book market, and a sheltered skatepark. It’s the setting of Wounds are Lips Waiting to be Kissed, the seventh ghost story in my collection, Corpse Road Blues, out now from Demain Publishing.

The main character, Swann, savours the sights along Southbank on his way to meet up with his girlfriend. He pauses at each street performer, mingling with the crowd, but what holds his attention is the mysterious living statue that appears to be following him.

In his article, Finding Beauty in Horror: Objective Observation and Personal Taste, writer and artist, Chandler Bullock says that “what makes horror able to be beautiful is the genre’s profound ability to make us feel.” In Wounds are Lips Waiting to be Kissed I was looking for contrast, to look at beauty and horror together, like what I feel Poppy Z. Brite explores in Exquisite Corpse, or Stephen King in his exceptional story, Herman Wouk is Still Alive (in the collection, The Bazaar of Bad Dreams. Both certainly ‘make us feel’.

Wounds was about capturing the magic of Southbank, while doing a deep dive into one person’s pain. It is both a love story and a body horror, along with a haunting, and remains a tale that is close to my heart.

If you’d like to read the story, you can buy Corpse Road Blues here.

Corpse Road Blues origin stories continued: The Memory of Hannah Babinski

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Welcome back, and if you’re here for the first time, thanks for joining us. The Memory of Hannah Babinski is the sixth story in my collection, Corpse Road Blues from Demain Publishing, and influenced by the coast, kissing gates, and the 2020/21 Lockdown.

I recently did a workshop about Psychogeography and Flow, led by the wonderful Kerry Hadley-Pryce (author of The Black Country) in which she talked about how walking feeds creativity. I often wander through both urban and rural landscapes giving my brain space to digest current projects or find inspiration for new ones. In rural settings, I often come across kissing gates which I find quite charming. As you probaby know, this type of gate doesn’t require a securing latch, and swings back and forth within a framework, gently knocking or ‘kissing’ both sides of the enclosure. And… the awkward navigation of the gate can also provide lovers with an opportunity to kiss.

Like all gates, these weathered, wooden posts are liminal spaces, crossings from one place to another. When The Memory of Hannah Babinski was beginning to form, I considered the consequences of something getting caught in a kissing gate, not a tangible object like a piece of clothing or a limb, but maybe an echo of a kiss, maybe a memory.

The story takes place on a clifftop. The coast has always had a hold over me. I regularly feel the pull of the sea, and often end up riding my motorcycle to greet the waves, or travelling parallel to them throughout the seasons. Standing on the edge of a country, overlooking the vast body of wild and surging water, the howling wind whipping around you, brings with it a sense of wonder and a humbling of the spirit. I hope I’ve captured a little of that in this story.

And Lockdown? That time that means different things to different people: silence, the beauty of it, or its unsettling quality; Nature’s reclamation of the streets; grief, anger; the fear of being trapped at home with a violent partner—a real horror faced by too many people.

If you’d like to read The Memory of Hannah Babinski, you can buy Corpse Road Blues here.

Corpse Road Blues countdown:1, What the Dead Fear

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It’s PUBLICATION DAY!

and the wraiths are loose.

This piece has had a few reincarnations. First it was known as Leave the Living Alone, a humorous tale that boasted a lean two thousand, six hundred words. After a rewrite a further three thousand words were added. Another rewrite slashed two thousand off the word count, and provided it with a new name: Elsie and the Psychopomp. One more rewrite, and another trim, and I had the fourth story now in Corpse Road Blues from Demain Publishing. Please welcome the newly retitled, What the Dead Fear.

The antagonist’s viewpoint has always intrigued me. What makes the monster or the ghost tick? What drives them? Getting into their heads and knowing their story is vital, even if the writer doesn’t utilise that knowledge. What the Dead Fear is all about the ghost’s story, not necessarily the antogonist.

For a long time, I had no plot, only an image of a character: that of the ghost of a young boy, brushing his teeth, toothpaste spilt on his too-tight Marvel pyjamas. Then I started writing of his escapades in the family home. I then pieced together another character using what I knew about my fortune-telling grandmother.

What the Dead Fear did not come easily. Like its characters, it’s a story with a troubled past, a fiction that was sweated and toiled over, hammered and bullied in a wordsmith’s furnace. For that, it remains a dear friend.

If you’d like to read the story, you can buy Corpse Road Blues here.

Corpse Road Blues countdown: 2, King of the Hill

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King of the Hill, the next story in my collection, Corpse Road Blues, is a tale of past lives and things lost and found.

One Spring a few years back, I rode over to West Kennet Long Barrow, which is a ceremonial construction dating back to the Early Neolithic era that had often been used as a tomb. For me, this place has an ancient vibe of magic and reverence that almost hums through the earth, the stones, and the air around the site, providing a deeply calming effect. As it’s not far from where I live, I managed an early morning trip in the hope of avoiding other visitors. It paid off. And I was treated to a good hour sitting on top of the burial chamber overlooking a low-level mist shrouding Wiltshire’s rolling landscape, letting the atmosphere seep into my bones, before taking a peek inside the barrow.

When my internal mystic fuel tank was topped up, I followed the long track back to the road. It was here that I passed a group of around ten to fifteen people, some of whom were dressed in robes, with two black dogs padding along beside them. I raced to the assumption that they were a local coven. Who knows? Did they make it into the story? You’ll have to read King of the Hill to find out.

If you’d like to read the story, please pre-order Corpse Road Blues here.

Corpse Road Blues countdown: 3, Her Saving Grace

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Welcome back! And if you’re new to my origin story posts, thank you for joining us.

Her Saving Grace is for anyone who has a little voice whispering doubts inside their head. You know the one. You’re trying to convince yourself that you have a handle on things, sure, but the quiet mutterings are tiny sharp teeth gnawing at your nerves. They coat that frayed network with acidic spit, and dissolve your self-esteem, your fragile confidence, what little self-worth you have left. The terrible voice is there 24/7, taking everything and giving nothing, not even the briefest respite from its unhurried consumption of you.

Probably like yourself, that voice stays with me. So this story is a little bit of a ‘fuck you’ to anxiety.

For those still out there in the dark, Corpse Road Blues is my short fiction collection, due for release on 28th February from Demain Publishing. The fifteen stories in the book look at what it means to be haunted; what drives an apparition to cling to this earth, to those still living; is there a way to be rid of a tortured soul, and is that what we really wish for?

If you’d like to read Her Saving Grace, you can pre-order Corpse Road Blues here.

Corpse Road Blues countdown: 4, Addressing the Heart

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Thanks for coming back. And if you’ve just joined us, welcome. Okay, day 14, and it’s the turn of Addressing the Heart, the second story in my collection, Corpse Road Blues, due for publication on the 28th February from Demain Publishing.

The spark that gave Addressing the Heart life was a conversation with a friend. We got to talking about mobile phones over at their place one evening. At the time, I was one of the few who hadn’t caught up with the technology, sticking with an old Nokia that was only good for texting and calling—just what I needed it for. My friend and his partner were trying to convince me otherwise by raving about the latest model from a popular brand. With some excitement, they mentioned that they were able to track each other on their new phones. The idea that both wanted to track their partners, and were indeed happy to be tracked, disturbed me enough to scratch black ink onto paper.

Of course, Addressing the Heart became much larger than a story about phone tracking. Over the years, I’ve flirted with the idea of possession, demonic or otherwise, in my work, and I saw that this story – through the process of drafting – lent itself to that topic. Here, I’ve hopefully approached spirit possession from a less used angle.

Addressing the Heart is a tale about letting go, love, and humanity, and a definite favourite with my beta readers.

If you’d like to read the story, you can pre-order Corpse Road Blues here.

Corpse Road Blues countdown: 5, When the Sun Shines

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Corpse Road Blues is my short fiction collection that’s due for publication on the 28th of February from Demain Publishing. The fifteen stories in the book look at what it means to be haunted; what drives an apparition to cling to this earth, to those still living; is there a way to be rid of a tortured soul, and is that what we really wish for?

Leading up to the release of Corpse Road Blues and beyond, I’ll be posting a series of blog posts revealing the inspiration behind each story. Welcome to the countdown, it’s a pleasure to have your company.

When the Sun Shines is the first story in the collection, and remains one of my personal favorites.

The first story I ever published was an epistolary piece about a disappearance. The magazine that published it was the product of one woman working all the hours to put together a bunch of weird stories, every month (I think), for readers of speculative fiction. I was nineteen at the time, and I don’t have my contributor’s copy anymore, nor do I remember the title of that magazine or the story, but I do know that the work was about a portal in a pond. I always wanted to explore this idea further. I just didn’t realise it would take another thirty years.

There’s something about finding the peculiar and the horror in the ordinary that appeals to me, and a lot of my fiction deals with this. The portal I imagined for When the Sun Shines took the shape of that transient body of water: the puddle. I love how puddles appear in liminal places like pavements and roads and abandoned sites, the middle of fields after a heavy storm. They are often gloomy, but can be uplifting, too. They invite the child in everyone to splish and splash in their shallow bodies. I’m also delighted by the word itself, pud-dle. Puddle. It sounds like a resigned, self-effacing state of mind, or a humorous mess. Certainly not murderous.

That had me thinking. Soon I picked a particular puddle, then added a chunk of reality that has hopefully transformed the story into a gut-wrenching tale of grief, sibling rivalry, and ultimately, acceptance.

If you’d like to read When the Sun Shines, you can pre-order Corpse Road Blues here.