Ghost Stories...'tis the season

"Buttercup Cottage Halloween" photo by K.L. Wood

 Anyone who has followed my writing is well aware that I often incorporate a ghostly element into my stories. For example, my Middle Grade novel, Zephyr Stone and the Moon Mist Ghost will be published by Blue Ink Press https://www.blueinkpress.com/in 2021. As you may surmise, I also enjoy reading ghost stories and watching television programs and movies that center on otherworldly action and characters. Especially if they are based in true events. I am alone in this within my household of two, in which my husband has no such interest. Although he humors me from time to time, he mostly just finds something else to do while I watch or read my ghost stories. Strangely, enough, between the two of us, he is the one who has had more actual ghostly encounters. Encounters of which he is the first to acknowledge their validity and truly supernatural qualities. I wrote a poem about my proclivity towards ghost stories which was selected to appear in the 2017 edition of the College of the Albemarle's annual visual arts and literary journal, Estuaries, and present it, here, as my October offering. Enjoy! (As you learn a bit more about me and my obsession...I mean my interest.)

"Edinburgh Ghost Tour" re: Pixabay

Ghostwriter

by Kathryn Louise Wood

Why are you always reading about ghosts,

or watching their hunters on reality TV,

or searching for clues on the internet,

or writing them into your stories and books?

These are the questions my husband asked me,

forehead creased in spousal concern.

Well that’s a good question, I’ve given it thought,

and wondered, myself, at this strange fascination.

So, after some probing and inner reflection,

I think I’ve discovered the root of my quest.

Two things have always stirred deep in my psyche:

the spellbinding thought of a magical world,

and life after death where lives never end.

I’ve seen too much, and heard even more,

to dismiss the existence of bodiless souls,

spirits so free of earthly constraints,

they pass through walls and visit the living.

That non-corporeal realm seems magic made real.

When days are numbered—some many, some few—

the promise that all that we are is not lost

lends comfort, but also a thrill of intrigue

to think we are all so much more than we seem.

I salute those who find their Belief is sufficient

in resting assured of eternal existence.

I find that the Faith of My Fathers is bolstered,

renewed, and strengthened, and greatly supported

when the stardust of supra-natural beings

reminds us, all, we are made of the same.

Thanks for stopping by. Y'all come back, now! 

(And Happy Halloween!)

Kate

Ghostwriting...why I do it

"Peace" by Frederick Richard Pickersgill, 1871

As an author, I often find myself writing stories, novels, poems, and essays that involve ghosts, spirits, the souls of those who have left our sides. As a reader, I love to read books in which the supernatural are, well...natural. As a viewer of films and television programs, I am drawn to subject matter, both fiction and documentary, that explores the existence of the spirit world. So, why is that? Why am I continually pulled in this direction? And I might add, judging by the proliferation of literary and cinematic examples of ghostly stories, I am not alone in this fascination.

After giving it some thought, I have drawn the conclusion that my own interest lies in the joining of three worlds into one. The world of Magic. The other-worldly world of the Afterlife. And the world of Everyday Life. So many books, television programs, and films have utilized the land of fantasy, where magicians and wizards and good-hearted witches cast spells and use their magical powers to make their worlds better places. Regarding the Afterlife, it's not

"Dancing Fairies" by August Malmstrom, 1866

only books and film, but entire religions and philosophies that see the death of our physical bodies, not as an end to our existence but as a freeing of spirits from the restrictions and limitations of those earthly bodies. (Kind of like those fantastical magical beings who can fly from place to place and walk through walls.) And so, that leaves us in the here and now, dreaming of magical abilities and hoping our lives, and the lives of those we love, are not limited to the years we have here on this earthly plane.

The Afterlife, then, becomes an existence in which magic is made real and in which we have hope for the ongoing life of ourselves and our loved ones. It follows, therefore, that when we are faced with proof or validation of those beings (our future selves) who have "gone on beyond," we come to realize that the world, our Everyday Life world, is actually a pretty magical place. A world inhabited by future ghosts, spirits, the souls of those who have yet to leave our sides.

One of my poems, "Ghostwriter," was selected for publication in the 2017 edition of Estuaries, the visual arts and literary review of the College of the Albemarle. Follow this link and find my poem on page 20.
 https://issuu.com/collegeofthealbemarle/docs/estuaries-2017

Thanks for stopping by...y'all come back now.  
Kate

Scotland's Kelpie...your final ride

Photo of Kelpie statue in Falkirk by Rosser 1954 via
Wikimedia Commons

It seems many of Scotland's legends center around water-centric supernatural beings. I suppose that makes sense as the land is surrounded on three sides by the sea and is dotted liberally with rivers and lakes (or, I should say, lochs.) One of these creatures that haunts the dreams (or nightmares) of Scottish folk is the Kelpie, sometimes called the Water Horse.

The Kelpie, 1913 by Herbert James Draper

The Kelpie appears as a beautiful black, gray, or white horse, notable for its smooth, cold, almost seal-like hide and always with its long mane dripping with water. It is said to lure folk onto its back and, once in place, the hapless riders find themselves stuck like glue and unable to jump ship when the Water Horse dives into the water. Then woe betide the poor riders because they are then taken to the bottom of the loch where their drowned bodies are eaten by the Kelpie. It's often said that children are the victims of the Water Horse, perhaps because children are drawn to the beauty of the horse-like creature. But...the Kelpie has another way of securing its prey. It is known to do a bit of shape-shifting--taking the form of a beautiful woman who
lures men to her side before transforming back into her true Water Horse self and pulling the men down into the depths of the cold water.

Kelpies are spoken of all over Scotland and are known by different names according to region. In Orkney they are called "Nuggles" (not to be confused with those unmagical "Muggles" of Harry Potter fame) and in the Shetland Islands they go by the wonderful name of "Shoopiltie."

Photo of Chapel House Black Magic by By V8Jess
 via Wikimedia Commons

So, if you're ever walking around a body of water in Scotland and you spy a handsome horse with a dripping mane (or a woman of unearthly beauty...probably nude according to all the illustrations I've seen) resist the temptation to get any closer!






Have a good couple weeks, dear Reader. Thanks for stopping by...y'all come back now! 

Kate

,

An 18th Century Halloween Treat, from our special guest blogger, Mr. Daniel Defoe (1660-1731)

"Daniel Defoe"  Unknown, in the style of Sir Godfrey Kneller 

Thanks to the miracle of the Internet, I am able to read and share with you fascinating though obscure literary treasures. The Project Gutenberg is an excellent source for reading these pieces in their original form and the one I present to you, today, is a ghost story written by Daniel Defoe (of Robinson Crusoe fame) telling of a ghostly encounter recounted to him by a Mrs. Bargrave in Canterbury, England in the year 1705. Defoe presents the tale as a true event though there is some speculation to the contrary. Judge for yourself after reading my following edited version or, better yet, read the original at:
http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36587
(Be sure to read the footnotes following my signature.)

Mr. Defoe tells us Mrs. Bargrave had not seen her friend, Mrs. Veal, for over 2 years and attributed her absence with the forgetfulness of a woman busy with her husband's new-found prosperity. Mrs. Bargrave is sitting alone in her home attending to her sewing-work when...

... she hears a knocking at the door. She went to see who was there, and this proved to be Mrs. Veal, her old friend, who was in a riding-habit. At that moment of time the clock struck twelve at noon...

"Henrietta Cavendish Hollles" by Sir Godfrey Kneller
(digital enhancement by K. Wood)

Madam, says Mrs. Bargrave, I am surprised to see you, you have been so long a stranger; but told her, she was glad to see her, and offered to salute her; which Mrs. Veal complied with, till their lips almost touched; and then Mrs. Veal drew her hand across her own eyes, and said, I am not very well; and so waived it. She told Mrs. Bargrave, she was going a journey, and had a great mind to see her first. But, says Mrs. Bargrave, how came you to take a journey alone? I am amazed at it, because I know you have a fond brother. Oh! says Mrs. Veal, I gave my brother the slip, and came away because I had so great a desire to see you before I took my journey. So Mrs. Bargrave went in with her, into another room within the first, and Mrs. Veal sat her down in an elbow-chair, in which Mrs. Bargrave was sitting when she heard Mrs. Veal knock. Then says Mrs. Veal, My dear friend, I am come to renew our old friendship again...

Then Mrs. Veal reminded Mrs. Bargrave of the many friendly offices she did her in former days, and much of the conversation they had with each other in the times of their adversity; what books they read, and what comfort, in particular, they received from Drelincourt's Book of Death, which was the best, she said, on that subject ever written... 

Says Mrs. Veal, Dear Mrs. Bargrave, if the eyes of our faith were as open as the eyes of our body, we should see numbers of angels about us for our guard. The notions we have of heaven now, are nothing like what it is, as Drelincourt says; therefore be comforted under your afflictions...

She would often draw her hand across her own eyes, and say, Mrs. Bargrave, do not you think I am mightily impaired by my fits? No, says Mrs. Bargrave, I think you look as well as ever I knew you... 

And to divert Mrs. Veal, as she thought, took hold of her gown-sleeve several times, and commended it. Mrs. Veal told her, it was a scowered silk (see my note below*), and newly made up...

She said to Mrs. Bargrave, she would have her write a letter to her brother, and tell him, she would have him give rings to such and such; and that there was a purse of gold in her cabinet, and that she would have two broad pieces given to her cousin Watson...

Photo by K. Wood

Then Mrs. Veal asked for Mrs. Bargrave's daughter; she said, she was not at home: But if you have a mind to see her, says Mrs. Bargrave, I'll send for her. Do, says Mrs. Veal. On which she left her, and went to a neighbour's to see for her; and by the time Mrs. Bargrave was returning, Mrs. Veal was got without the door in the street, in the face of the beast-market, on a Saturday, which is market-day, and stood ready to part, as soon as Mrs. Bargrave came to her. She asked her, why she was in such haste. She said she must be going, though perhaps she might not go her journey till Monday; and told Mrs. Bargrave, she hoped she should see her again at her cousin Watson's, before she went whither she was going. Then she said, she would take her leave of her, and walked from Mrs. Bargrave in her view, till a turning interrupted the sight of her, which was three quarters after one in the afternoon...

On Monday morning she sent a person to captain Watson's, to know if Mrs. Veal was there. They wondered at Mrs. Bargrave's inquiry; and sent her word, that she was not there, nor was expected. At this answer Mrs. Bargrave told the maid she had certainly mistook the name, or made some blunder. And though she was ill, she put on her hood, and went herself to captain Watson's though she knew none of the family, to see if Mrs. Veal was there or not. They said, they wondered at her asking, for that she had not been in town; they were sure, if she had, she would have been there. Says Mrs. Bargrave, I am sure she was with me on Saturday almost two hours. They said, it was impossible; for they must have seen her if she had. In comes Capt. Watson, while they were in dispute, and said, that Mrs. Veal was certainly dead, and her escutcheons (see my note below*) were making. This strangely surprised Mrs. Bargrave, when she sent to the person immediately who had the care of them, and found it true. Then she related the whole story to captain Watson's family, and what gown she had on, and how striped; and that Mrs. Veal told her, it was scowered. Then Mrs. Watson cried out, You have seen her indeed, for none knew, but Mrs. Veal and myself, that the gown was scowered. And Mrs. Watson owned, that she described the gown exactly: For, said she, I helped her to make it up. This Mrs. Watson blazed all about the town, and avouched the demonstration of the truth of Mrs. Bargrave's seeing Mrs. Veal's apparition.

Vintage Halloween Postcard

And so, dear Reader, I am sure you join me in saying, "Thank you, Mr. Defoe, for reaching to us beyond the grave to share this story with us!"

Happy Halloween to All!

Have a good week, dear Reader. Thanks for stopping by...Y'all come back now!

Kate

*Footnotes:

*Scowered silk is raw silk that has been put through a special washing to render it smooth and silky.

*Escutcheons are engravings such as family crests which I gather, in this case, were for Mrs. Veal's gravestone.

**Special (appropriately strange) Footnote regarding the 2 portraits I found to illustrate this post**
I found these portraits with separate Internet searches. Defoe's portrait I found in Wikipedia.org while searching for "Daniel Defoe" and the portrait of the woman wearing a riding habit (which looks a lot like striped, scowered silk to me) at http://jeannedepompadour.blogspot.com/ while searching for "Painting, 1705 Riding Habit." The odd thing is that both paintings are attributed to the same artist, Sir Godfrey Kneller (although the artist of this Defoe portrait hanging in the National Maritime Museum in London is officially unknown, it is listed as being in the style of Kneller.) Anyway...I thought it was a lovely, strange coincidence to share with you.

(Per the Project Gutenberg terms of use: "This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org" )

http://seasnowhauntedlighthouse.com/
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15890071-sea-snow?from_search=true

Ghosts of New Orleans, a personal experience

Both my first novel, Sea Snow- the gentle haunting of a 19th century lighthouse, and the novel on which I am currently working for my series, Time Shadow, involve ghosts of one kind or another. Actually the first one is about a ghost and the one I am writing now is about a spirit. You may think of these as one in the same but I think of a ghost as a spirit that is bound to a person or a place beyond their control and have no choice but to haunt said person or place until they have come to some kind of resolution of unfinished business. A spirit, on the other hand, is that part of ourselves that lives on beyond our physical lives and exists in a different plane of existence but who may, if they so choose, visit or interact with the physical realm. (Just my thoughts as they are at the moment. I am always open to evolving ideas.) 

I have had only one interaction with a spirit but my dear, down-to-earth husband has had several, one of which occurred when we were traveling around the country on a 33,000 mile journey pulling a 13 ft camper trailer from Virginia to Alaska and all parts in between. With his kind permission I will tell you what happened to us on November 1 (All Saints' Day,) 2011 as we camped just outside New Orleans in St Bernard State Park Campground.

 

We had just pulled into this lovely park and were setting up camp around 5:30 pm. All the campground staff members were gone by then so we picked our spot and placed our payment into the self-pay box provided for latecomers. The park only had a few of its many campsites filled so we were able to find a good spot, far enough away from other campers for privacy but not too far from the bathhouse. (Our usual criteria.) We had a nice, level campsite, one side facing the camp road and one facing a stand of young trees. Our two dogs and I were inside the camper, which we affectionately called "Lucy," as I undertook the usual reorganization of supplies necessary when we set up camp and performing that most important of tasks, making two cups of hot tea, while Bill did his usual outdoor chores of securing the trailer. One of the things he had to do each time there was a water supply available, was to hook up the water hose from the water source to the camper. This is a job he had performed hundreds of times before with ease. This time, however, he could not get the hose end to thread properly and he struggled to securely connect it to the fresh water connector on the camper.

 As he crouched by the trailer, his frustration mounting by the second, he felt someone approaching and looked back over his shoulder. There, standing about eight to ten feet away between two narrow tree trunks at the edge of the campsite, was a slender black man about 70 years of age, curly grey hair, gold-framed glasses enlarging his kindly eyes, dressed neatly in a long-sleeved blue cotton shirt buttoned up to the neck, khaki trousers and sneakers. (As a photographer, my husband is extremely observant with a great memory for detail.) The man was carrying a bright yellow water hose that trailed behind him and was smiling reassuringly at Bill, looking as though he were about to speak and offer assistance. At that moment, Bill felt the hose slip securely into its connection and turned his eyes back to the trailer. He immediately turned back to face the man and speak to him but there was no one there. He stood up and walked to the spot where the man had been standing and looked around through the trees, no trace of his existence. He walked quickly around the trailer and looked up and down the road, no one there at all. When he looked through the trailer's screen door to ask me if I'd just seen a man outside, his face was as white as a proverbial sheet. Later, he was talking to an older man who spent a lot of time camping at the park and broached the subject of apparitions in the area. The man replied, "Oh yeah, you know this whole parish was flooded after Katrina. There're hundreds of ghosts swimming around here." Bill asked a park ranger if anyone else had ever reported seeing anything like he had witnessed. The ranger said he wasn't at liberty to say but, in his words, "It wouldn't surprise me one bit."

As time goes on, I will relate other true ghostly encounters and I would love for you to share any experiences you have had.

Have a good week, dear Reader. Thanks for stopping by...Y'all come back now!

Kate

http://seasnowhauntedlighthouse.com/
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15890071-sea-snow?from_search=true

Photographs on today's blog are copyrighted by my husband, William Ahearn.

Welcome Readers, Curiosity Seekers and Pirates!

A cup of tea, a shaggy dog at my feet, and an old laptop warming my lap-- ready for the next adventure, sharing tantalizing tidbits I run across as a writer of supernatural/science/historical fiction. So glad you could join me on this journey! My plan is to write one post a week, The Wednesday Weekly you might call it. (Or the Wednesday Weirdness, or the Wednesday Wonderment, or...whatever you might decide to call it behind my virtual back or, even better, right out front by way of a comment. I would love to hear from you and welcome your thoughts. Sometimes I will put out a question for you to answer and look forward to reading your responses. So, here we go!

Currently, I am researching for my next novel which will be the first book in my Young Adult series, Time Shadow. No title for the book yet, so it goes by the working title of Shadow 1. It concerns a 16 year old girl living in the lovely old town of Edenton, North Carolina (my hometown) who is launched back to the year 1718 where she must solve a murder mystery that has a direct impact not only on her own personal happiness but on the future of the entire planet. Now, seeing as this begins in Edenton which is part of the Inner Banks (directly connected by the Albemarle Sound to the more well known Outer Banks) and seeing as Blackbeard the infamous pirate was known to inhabit the Inner Banks and seeing as he met his demise in November of 1718 on Ocracoke Island just 100 miles as the gull flies, it might be reasonable, dear Reader, to assume that Edward Teach AKA Blackbeard would play a part in the story. And, he does! I have uncovered many stories regarding Captain Teach, some more reliable than others, of course. One of the most fascinating resources is an account written in 1724 by a Captain Charles Johnson (although there is speculation that this was a pen name for Daniel DeFoe of Robinson Crusoe fame) entitled, A General History of the Pyrates . Don't you love old spellings? Be forewarned if you read his book yourself,  that "f's" were not only used as we use present-day "f''s" but sometimes also in place of "s's" we use today as in the following passage:

"Before he failed upon his Adventures, he marry'd a young Creature of about fixteen Years of Age, the Governor performing the Ceremony. As it is a Cuftom to marry here by a Prieft, fo it is there by a Magiftrate; and this, I have been informed, made Teach's fourteenth Wife, whereof, about a dozen might be ftill living."

(Spell-check was not at all amused by these 18th century spellings and persisted in slashing angry red lines under the offending "f" words.)

That "young creature of about sixteen years of age" was a plantation owner's daughter by the name of Mary Ormond and the governor performing the marriage ceremony in Bath, NC was none other than the governor of North Carolina, one Charles Eden. Hmmm...the governor, for which the town of Edenton was later named, consorting with pyrates? The plot thickens!

Photo from WITN.com

Blackbeard's sunken ship,  Queen Anne's Revenge, was discovered in November, 1996 just off Beaufort, North Carolina by a private research team. Since then, researchers from the North Carolina Department of Resources Underwater Archaeology Branch have recovered 17 cannons from the ship, 2 of which were brought up in the past month. Several more remain in the ship. Many other artifacts found in the wreck are on display at the NC Maritime Museum in Beaufort ( http://www.qaronline.org/exhibit ) and can be seen in a traveling exhibition at Edenton's 1767 Chowan Courthouse Sept 6 to Oct 19. I've heard that Blackbeard, himself, may pay a visit to Edenton during a special celebration Oct 11-12! ( http://www.visitedenton.com ) Now, that sounds like a hoot.

Have a good week dear Reader. Thanks for stopping by...Y'all come back now!

Kate
http://seasnowhauntedlighthouse.com/
http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15890071-sea-snow?from_search=true