On the farm where I grew up, we had a haunted barn. It looked sort of like this one. My mom didn’t like to talk about it, and she never told the stories when she knew we kids were around, but I heard them. It wasn’t “and then I saw a pale figure dragging chains” or “Get out!” or anything. It was the night she was milking the cows, and a hand reached in through the gap of the door to lift the hook from the eye-bolt, but it couldn’t reach far enough. The arm was clad in plaid flannel like my dad always wore, so my mom said “Hold on, honey, I’ll get it,” but when she opened the door no one was there. Later she learned my dad hadn’t been in the barn at all.
It was putting a horse in a straight stall with the tie clipped to his halter, and finding him the next morning reversed in the stall (butt to the manger) with the tie wrapped around his leg.
It was hearing footsteps walking down the aisle between the hay mows upstairs, and knowing the wagon was parked there and no one could be walking across that floor. And then getting the dog for company because she was spooked but she had to finish the chores—and the dog wouldn’t go into the barn.
It was trying to bring the horses in from pasture on a wet and windy fall night, and they wouldn’t come near the barn—then as she approached them, all huddled in a far corner of the pasture, something spooked them and they stampeded right over her. She was lucky she wasn’t killed, though she walked with a cane for a while.
We kids, of course, thought the haunted barn was just the coolest thing. We used to challenge each other to stay in the barn overnight, and any kid who scoffed at mom’s ghost stories (faithfully relayed by us) was invited to come see for themselves. Once there were six of us, in the hay mow with sleeping bags. We told each other ghost stories and ate rice krispie treats and then my little brother and his friend went to the house to use the bathroom and didn’t come back, and my older brother went looking for him and didn’t come back, older brother’s friend went to check in, and didn’t come back, then me and my cousin went back and forth a bit on who would chicken out first and then we left the barn together.
None of us ever did stay the night in the barn, but we never saw anything either. Perhaps the ghost had an affinity for my mom? I’ve read that can be a thing.
For obvious reasons, I’ve always been interested in ghosts, but not too scary ghosts. A friend once propounded that you could tell all you needed to know about a person by their favorite cartoon character as a child, and attempted to prove it by asking me mine. “Scooby Doo,” I answered, no need to think. “That figures,” he said with a look of amused disgust before turning away to ask other friends.
Honestly, one could do a lot worse for a role model than Scooby Doo. Cheerful and friendly and inquisitive, but with a great sense of self-preservation, an appreciation for good solid basics (sandwiches) and also the finer things (Scooby snacks,) great loyalty to his friends…the world could use more like Scooby Doo, let me tell you.
Scooby is also, when I was a kid anyway, laugh out loud funny. The corridor chases. The disguise escapes. The wild stampedes away from the scary. I loved the haunted houses, the terrifying creatures, the scientific(ish) explanations… (and if you too love Scooby, but you didn’t check out the live action movie–DO IT. Matthew Lillard is an amazing Shaggy, and it’s just great fun all around.)
Anton and Lammie, the main characters of my new book (title to be decided heaven help me) first came about when I challenged an online friend to write “a thing.” I don’t remember much–oh, I think the parameters were that certain things had to be included. I think her thing had to include tentacles. Mine had to include pancakes. I feel like there were more, but I don’t recall.
Anyway, I wrote a quick little short of two best friends driving through the desert at night, and having a run-in with a spider-summoning demon. It was, contrary to that description, a lot of fun. And I really liked it. I’d always sort of meant to go back and do something more with it. So last year, when I found myself with a lot of unexpected free time (hello, pandemic layoff) I went for it.
While searching for a plot, one of the methods I tried was recommended years ago by Chris Baty, founder of NaNoWriMo. Oh, and come to think of it, by Ray Bradbury as well, in his great book Zen in the Art of Writing.
Yup, I made a list. I wrote down a bunch of things I love or that fascinate me, and I thought about how to write them into the book. I knew I wanted a haunted house. I wanted spooky old faded glory. I wanted bridges, a wild windy night, moonlight, bare branches, a stampede as everyone runs screaming. People lost, people found. Solid and unquestioned loyalty. Found family (because I love found family. And if you don’t, you’re wrong.) (Sorry, just stating the truth.) (I still love you.)
I also made a Pinterest board. This was one of the first images on it.
On October 1st (Friday, heaven help me) I’ll be posting a sneak peek of my new novel. I might even have a title! Either way, I can’t wait to share it.