There is something delicious about curling up with a good paranormal novel while jack-o-lanterns burn in nearby windows and the scent of autumn leaves sweep through the air. My novel, Grave Refrain: A
The story follows Andrew Hayes, a brilliant but troubled guitarist in an up-an-coming band, who has been haunted since childhood by the presence of his muse. One night during a performance in San Fransisco he spots her, but before he can catch her - she vanishes from sight. Desperate to find the woman, he accepts a curious offer to stay in the city, moving into a dilapidated Victorian under going renovations that stir up more than dust. Andrew's life becomes more chaotic with the arrival of martini-swilling ghosts and a band of flesh-and-blood stoner spiritualists bringing bad tidings from the Great Beyond. As he struggles to solve the mystery surrounding the woman he loves, Andrew discovers his life is repeating a refrain more deadly than he'd ever imagined.
Ghosts feature heavily in Grave Refrain - both the charming and malevolent. I've always been captivated by the paranormal, from the works of Shakespeare to Gaiman. But ghosts in particular have held my interest. The oppressive fog of my neighborhood in San Fransisco planted the original seed for the story. The fog becomes so think at times here, it didn't take much to imagine it is really a whole secret society of ghosts (and even ghosts visiting from out of town) hovering and spiriting along. It's especially evocative at night: the image of ghosts living amongst us. They would have come from different times, of course, and I had always been captivated by the 1930s and and 1940s. Yet they were ghosts for a reason. Why? What was unresolved? What if it was related to love?
In regards to love in this paranormal story, I wanted to turn the paradigm of boy meets girl on its head. What happens if boy has loved a girl for his whole life but she has no idea who he is? How does he even begin to romance her without scaring her to death? I also wanted to play with the idea of what it means to be haunted: haunted by loves, past and present, haunted by lost opportunities, haunted by ghosts both charming and deadly.
In blending these spooky and sexy themes, I used a marvelous site in San Fransisco called the Columbarium to serve as the backdrop of a particular scene in Grave Refrain. Thousands of vaults containing the ashes of the dearly departed reside within this gorgeous structure. In this snippet, our heroine, Emily, is frantically searching for the ashes of the ghost who has enlisted her help in solving a deadly mystery. She has just escaped the rather twisted attentions of her professor, Vandin, who has tried to convince her that ghosts aren't real. After this scene, our hero, Andrew finds her and well . . . you'll just have to read the rest of the story to see how they presumably wake the dead.
From Grave Refrain: A
Even with the lights on, the lower floor, with its heavy, breathing silence, preyed on her nerves. Every corridor was lined with countless vaults up and down their high walls, making her search seem doomed. With each step, she could hear the unmistakable fall of footsteps behind her. They ceased when she paused. The chill of the air brushed against her hair as though someone - or something - had breathed against her ear. Looking over her should, her heart plummeted into the pit of her stomach when she saw the emaciated shape of an eyeless face slither into the shadows.
Swallowing down a mouthful of fear, she began searching for the vaults with red tags tied to their locks. Most were little niches with glass fronts, and they usually held and urn or some other receptacle for the ashes and other memorabilia from the departed. Some even smoothed her jarred nerves: a teapot, a piggy bank, a cocktail shaker that she double checked, sure it had to be Nora's, but it wasn't. Pictures of family were on display inside too, as well as decorated boxes and letters. Her hand dusted along as if greeting these people by name, seeing their lives defined by such heartfelt things. Other vaults brought back her trepidation. They were old, forbidding metal drawers, ornate gilded fronts with no visibility to the secrets within. As she crept about, her belief solidified that Nora's warning must have meant that her ashes were in jeopardy of being lost. Time passed, and with each weary footstep, the gravity and weight of the day began to sink in.
There were no such thing as ghosts, Vandin had said, mocking her. But she knew there were, and now she could feel them creeping out of the shadows to stalk her progress. No longer did they seem the dismissive lot that Dwayne had spoke of. Some felt lifeless in their stillness, some lurking, some waiting and watching. The hair on her arms stood up, her body keenly aware of their presence. Vandin's voice whispered among them: Ghosts are not reality, neither is love. They're both figments of the imagination to keep us from the void, from madnss.
That's when the lights went out.
Suddenly the air whispered with a thousand voices, hushing and hissing; the darkness about her was heavy with their swirling shapes. She flicked on the flashlight but it shook in her hand as the bulb began to wane. She jostled it a little more, but only an anemic sliver of light shone in the night. Faceless beings began to sweep around her, white, living cobwebs, moist and freezing as they passed. A palpable resentment filled them as though she had invaded their sanctum, stayed too long in a place she did not belong.
Their growing crush made her clutch at the wrought iron railing, compelling her to take one step at a time as she fought against the force that sought to drain her, to drag her down. She closed her eyes in an attempt to banish them, but she felt their souls last at their skin, equally enraged and fascinated by her humanity. Vandin's words reverberated again in her mind: To keep us from the void, madness.
No. She was in control, she insisted to herself, not the fear around her. Looking up she saw the top of the basilica - the last place she needed to search. Struggling to navigate the remaining flight of steps, she could feel the ghosts' increasing hostility at her trespassing, their curiosity turned heated. All the air seemed driven from her lungs and the walls of crypts threatened to suffocate her. Intense claustrophobia seized her. She remembered the awful childhood memory of being locked in a hallway closet. A wild mouse was trapped along with her. It scratched madly in the corner, its red eyes flashing in the thin line of light under the frame. Only a few seconds till she passed out. She thought of the cool night and the sweetness of the air, but she couldn't move.
"Nora!" she shouted into the blackness.
"Norrrraaaa!" returned to her unanswered. She had to get it out to open space. She couldn't breathe. Unseen hands shoved her closer to the edge of the basilica's railing, the marble floor barely visible from on high, its tiles pulling her to them like lead weights.
"Join us," she could hear the voices whisper. "One more step, Emily." Her hands clenched the metal handrail, her palms slicked with cold sweat. Long-dead fingers speared her shoulders and combed through her hair, leaving a chilled touch in their wake.
"No, let her be," another voice muttered. "She doesn't belong here, make her go away," a child cried. A thin, dry voice spat, "She'd be better off dead." Paralyzed, she felt arms heave her up the railing.
"No!" she screamed into the night. "No!" She wrenched away from the death grip and threw herself toward the stairs. A hand reached out and grabbed hers, but she slammed her body hard against it.
"Emily," she heard a woman shout.
Emily twisted about, hearing Nora's voice. The emptiness and desolation of this place took root in her. "Nora!" Emily cried out in return.
Then silence. A horrible, chilling silence swelled up in the darkness. And a rattle, a wheezing death rattle sounded from down far below on the marble floor. The lurid sound of a dead limb being dragged across the tiles. Terrified, Emily froze on the landing. Fear paralyzed her. Step by step, the think lumbered up the rings of the basilica until something rose out of the pitch black. Rages covered milky eyes. Dead black nails covered gray veined fingers.
"It's only a dream, it's only a dream," Emily prayed. She stepped back and her foot caught on edge of the railing. She stumbled, vainly grappling for a hold. "She's meant to be a ghost," a dry voice hissed as Emily's head crashed hard against the stone landing, and she heard no more.
Thanks so much Lacey for letting me stop by today. Happy Halloween to everyone.
Sarah.
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