Even in my current house there were what I liked to call Unexplained Happenings. It was a grand old Victorian place, gone shabby over the decades, and the whole ground floor was blocked up. I got in through an outer stairway at the back, where they’d knocked in a door at the second floor. The creepiest place was the inner stairs that went up to the highest level. That’s where you could normally have gone down to the first floor too, if they weren’t all blocked up with panels. I heard things all the time on that hidden stairway. Mostly these noises were just below the range of real hearing. But often it was the almost imperceptible, quick melodic sound (boomp-boomp-boomp) of an animal’s feet ascending the hollow wood. I guess we had a feral cat living down there. But it made the back of my neck creep every time I heard it. Let’s just say I’m no specialist on hauntings and I never want to be. That’s Dylan’s thing and he’s welcome to it. My area was a little different. More practical, you might say.
My little novel Indigo is set in this house, where I used to live. Pretty sure it was haunted. Or perhaps it was just like every other two-storey Victorian terrace in the area. Something about the architecture makes you feel really nervous on the first landing of the stairs. Too many doorways. Waaay too many points of attack. Architects take note.
Maybe I’ve already mentioned that I made a new page for Indigo at pinterest? I like having another dimension with the written word.
I also like the idea of sharing other people’s photos if they’ve read the novel and have an image they’d like to add. If you haven’t read Indigo yet, she’s here at Smashwords and she also has a prettier pdf download here at my blog. And she’s free! What a floozy! You’d better be quick because the sequel will be out soon. Actually, you needn’t be that quick, because she’s more of a perky novella than a novel.
So, pinterest … where copyright goes to die. What an alarming and intriguing new world is it for artists. I sometimes think it’s a little like the seventies and wonder when the party’s going to be catastrophically over. Until then: