A Step in the Book

I managed to crack on with my book this week. Got the word count upto over 61,000. I can almost see an end, a little light at the end of the tunnel, the twist and the mysterious ghosts at last revealing themselves. I'm actually quite excited about it now, having gone through a stale few weeks of wondering if I shall ever finish it, and now realising that it is, after all, within my reach. I did aim to have it finished by the end of this year, before the Christmas holidays begin, taking January to read through it several times until I am sure it's ready to present to a hungry agent. But I am in no way ignorant to the fact that publication is hard to find and I realise the difficult part will begin once this process takes hold. It would have been wonderful to have a publisher lined up, a company all ready to accept my work and have it available for all to read. But, unlike my ghosts, I live in this life. It could take years, and I know I have to be prepared for that possibility. Which is why I shall submit short stories to magazines in the meantime. Who knows, I may even have time to write another novel whilst waiting for Spirits of Rosehill to be accepted. Here is an extract for you, a scene in which Camilla ventures into the cellars of the house, beckoned by an unknown entity:

Plaster peeled from ancient walls, once applied with a loving hand, perhaps once admired by proud eyes. A small heap lay upon concrete floor; damp, forgotten. Visible patches of stone greeted me as I touched its crumbling walls, my fingers excavating years of standing decay. Tiny paw scurried beside by feet, a desperate wish for freedom, a life still to live. Cobwebs wrapped around my hair, tearing strands whilst I trailed a long ago creature from sleep. Steps almost gave way beneath me, clear danger looming should I have lost control. My hand needed to grasp for safety, a rail of aged wood and early craftsmanship. Descent to darkened rooms in trepidation, the unknown as was always my existence. I had learnt not to fear, to look forward with challenging mind, embrace with anticipation. With flickering candle I made my journey, a short wait before the unknown would be familiar territory. From days gone by I could feel my thoughts drowning in residual energy, a possession becoming too close for comfort, too many spirits vying for my attention. I wanted only one. Yet I was not sure which one. I knew my heart rested with a male entity, I knew he once lived in this house. My frustration played on my ever potent mind but I was drawn, beckoned by a force too strong to resist. My destination would soon become clear, light would shine upon perishing rooms and my eyes would see the love which continued to overwhelm me. Just a few more steps to take. More deterioration from an unoccupied space. I wanted to know who sought me from the depths of Rosehill; which soul still lived to protect me in my home; and why.

I arrived in the first room, a large pantry, shelved and mouldy. The open door clung to a hinge, determined not to fall to plaster-ridden floor. Two square sheets of glass at the top, thick with dust, dark brown wood flaking, woodworm having lived within for too many years. Old and murky bottles stood on a top shelf, cobwebs encased around them. Putrid tins with lid intact, broken glass, rusty pans, all shared space upon shelves, memories recorded by servants’ hands. The candle continued to flicker, I cupped my hand around its flame, the darkness would have been too thick for me to wander these desperate rooms. More scurrying, orbs, perhaps dust, whispers from another world. I made my way into the next room, a large space filled with a debris littered floor. The room was staggeringly cold, my heavy coat unable to warm me. A small light shone in one corner, alerting me to a possible presence, and my potential find. I transfixed my eyes to the light as it grew, a steadfast glow increasing in intensity whilst arrogantly performing before my eyes. A shape began to appear, a body first, legs following. The light became the figure of a man, to which I felt I had been invited to witness. My breath was evident, my hands were frozen to the bone. I did not feel afraid though I was cautious, the atmosphere adding to my apprehension.

The light now shone against the head of the figure that stood before me, seemingly unwilling to show a face. It was the same outline as the spirit man I had seen often around the house, still shy of allowing me sight of his identity. A little frustration grew inside me as I asked, quietly,“who are you?” I stayed cautious, I did not want spirit to think I was prudent. Spirit will only show themselves if they choose, it is their prerogative.