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Ember Days

The ghost story, as we know it, was originally associated more with Christmas than Halloween.  That makes sense, since the solstice is darker than the equinox.  Both days stand as transitions—Halloween is the beginning of the darkness, and Christmas is midnight.

If you’re like me you may have comfy memories of childhood holidays.  That snug and warm feeling of being at home, well-stocked with food against the cold outside.  The hope of presents and a day of not worrying about the realities outside.

Nightmares, however, know no holidays.  I awake in the dark and the light is but a mere sliver of the day.  Long before dinnertime the sun has set again.  Breakfast and supper are in the dark.  Is it any wonder the ghosts linger around the Christmas tree?

My first published story, now on a defunct website, was the 2009 winner of the prix d’écriture de Noël in Fiction in Danse Macabre.  A scary Christmas story?  This was what gave me the courage to continue to try publication.  Note that I didn’t say to continue writing.  I’ve been doing that non-stop since I was a kid.



Few editors get what I’m trying to do.  I don’t care for blood and gore.  I prefer that feeling of someone else in the room that you can’t see.  That soft hand rapping on the door in the middle  of the night.  The feeling of trying to go to sleep when you’re all alone.  Quotidian horrors.

Violence need not be part of the picture.  I’m afraid our culture may have lost its taste for subtlety.  Implied frights can be more effective than severed limbs.  What you don’t see is scarier than that which you do.  That’s been the human condition from the beginning.  There is a darkness on the edge of town.


The holidays are candles in the dark.  Don’t get me wrong—I’m thankful for the light.  It’s just that I remember there’s still a whole lot of darkness out there.
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