A Nervy Night.

For the past few days I’ve had the notion that I should like to write a ghost story for Christmas, but I couldn’t think of a ghost story to write which wouldn’t be entirely predictable and therefore extremely tedious. Tonight I got an idea which appealed on principle because it’s a sort of reverse haunting story.

I ran it around and around in my head. Little Sadie Blackmore and the man she thought was Santa Claus, only he wasn’t (obviously.) The idea was there but the dialogue was troubling me because it would have to be pitched just perfectly so the dénouement would work. It wasn’t quite coming together and I found myself floundering with irritation. And on top of that – and most unusually – I began to feel spooked. My stories never spook me. Most things don’t. I decided to go upstairs to visit the bathroom instead.

That didn’t help because it was cold upstairs. The wind is howling and gusting strongly tonight, and however much I try to draught-proof this house the cold night air still gets in when the wind is howling and gusting strongly. Besides, I have another hospital visit scheduled for tomorrow – cardiology this time because the GP isn’t convinced that my symptoms can be explained away as merely boring old angina. Hospital visits always make me nervous for several reasons, some of which are obvious and some not, but nervous I am.

The ghost story has now gone back on the shelf, at least until the hospital visit is concluded. I might be back with some sort of report tomorrow night, or then again I might not (for several reasons, some of which are obvious and some not.) Time for hot coffee and Shirley Jackson now. Watch this space if you think it’s worth watching.