Ghost story

storker

I've been using this forum for a while now, and have never actually stuck my head above the parapet and posted anything of my own, so I thought it was about time.

Here's the start of what I intend to be a short ghost story. I have more than this written and it looks like it'll be more of a novella if it ever gets finished. I've brought it to a certain point and have been stuck for over a year about how to proceed.

Feedback appreciated on this, the beginning of the story...

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It seemed a strange thing to think, but the cemetery was a place you could almost enjoy. On a day like today at least; a pleasant spring day with the first traces of warmth in the sun after the winter's cold. The cemetery was on high ground, with a sweeping view of the surrounding farmland that lay south of the town whose dead were buried within its boundaries, and the wind, bitter during the winter months, was now a refreshing breeze.

It was a Saturday, so the cemetery had several visitors. Some were simply paying their respects and offering silent prayers, heads bowed as if conversing directly with those beneath the headstones. Others were more active, tending to the graves of departed loved ones; discarding withered flowers, replacing them with new ones, removing weeds, and generally keeping things looking....well, nice. And it was nice, for all this activity was carried out in a reverential hush, and the busy sounds of Saturday afternoon in the town did not reach as far as the cemetery, so that the sunshine, the soft breeze, the slight warmth and the peace of it all made for a very relaxing atmosphere.

If only there was somewhere to sit, thought James, as he brought his attention back to the recently-filled grave before him. Aunt Margaret. His mother's sister. James' mother, knowing he would be passing this way today, had given him a potted plant to place on the grave. It would flower in about six weeks, she had said. He took her word for it. Now he stood in front of the grave, the plant pot seated securely in the disturbed earth that was already showing signs of settling.

The job was done, but he still lingered, unsure why. He hadn't really known his deceased aunt, and could count on one hand the number of times he had met her since childhood. She had lived over a hundred miles away, only returning to the family's home town after her death. Nevertheless, he could not bring himself to depart with what to him would be unseemly haste. So he bowed his head and meditated for a few minutes, vaguely wondering where, if anywhere, Aunt Margaret was now, and wishing her peace and happiness, if they were to be found.

A child's laughter ended his meditations. Annie. "Annie...shh", he admonished his daughter gently, with a smile. "You have to be quiet here, OK?"

"Sorry Daddy. I won't make noise." Off she went among the graves again, looking at the headstones, the flowers, playing with the marble chippings. To a five-year-old, this was more like a playground with so much to see and explore. She flitted happily from grave to grave, softly vocalising imaginary conversations with goodness only knew who.

After a few moments he turned away from his aunt's grave and followed Annie's meanderings at a slight distance. They had only got out of the car a few minutes ago; it was too soon to strap her back into her booster seat. Let her get some air, expend some energy, explore a bit.

He caught up to her as she stopped to survey one of the graves for longer than usual. "Why are there toys there, Daddy?” the blue eyes interrogated him gently. James made a show of examining the evidence, accompanied by a drawn-out "hmm", while he figured out how best to answer. Annie was full of questions. She was at that age, of course, and the child's natural curiosity seemed underscored by her open face and wide eyes. Even before she was old enough to ask questions, she had a look of wonder about her. "The look of an innocent abroad", was how her grandmother described it.

The evidence consisted of a collection of various small children's toys, placed seemingly at random in the off-white marble chippings that topped the grave. In principle, James believed in answering Annie's questions as directly as possible, except for those occasions where a direct answer would trigger a flood of subsequent unanswerable questions, or where the direct answer would be too distressing for a child of her years. The subject of dead children fitted squarely in the latter category. James congratulated himself as he thought of a way of answering the question directly without frightening her.

"They must belong to a child," he said. "A little boy or girl."

"A little girl like me?"

He glanced at the name and age on the headstone and felt a sudden and deep sadness at what he read. "Yes...just like you."

"Where is she?" Annie looked around, still not satisfied.

"I don't know." Another truthful answer, conveniently assuming that the question was not limited to physical remains. He was doing well.

"Where is she, Daddy?" More insistent this time - saying you didn't know just didn't cut it with Annie.

"She's probably gone home for her lunch, and she'll be back for her toys later." Oh well, two out of three wasn't bad.

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Stork

dead one

It is said, whenever there is mention of Ghost and its story, Ghost is always there, for the time being assume, that i am ghost -- Ghosts are very in weak English, I hope you would understand

storker

dead one wrote: »

It is said, whenever there is mention of Ghost and its story, Ghost is always there, for the time being assume, that i am ghost -- Ghosts are very in weak English, I hope you would understand

Nice to meet you...um...ghost.

Stork

dead one

storker wrote: »

Nice to meet you...um...ghost.
Stork

I am the ghost of cactus land. A land with stone hearts and frozen hopes -- A land without rain

Arfan

I fear your thread is haunted Storker.

Your first paragraph is a bit awkward. The scene setting's there it just needs to be punchier with less complex sentences.

The second paragraph is... well, nice? You need a better word than nice. It's ok to be flowery sometimes. Spruce up that sentence and flex your thinking things.

Third paragraph, you really like those long sentences. This may be taste but I prefer more pauses. "He stood before the grave, meagre offering seated amongst the disturbed earth. It would settle soon enough."

Fourth paragraph should probably be with the third, it's a continuation of the exact same scene.

The interaction with the daughter is good but you show and then tell when you didn't need to. We already see how she's curious, you don't need to go into detail about it.

'Tis easier to criticise than to do. I look forward to the continuation!

Oryx

I agree that you need to edit it down to make it punchier. Its a ghost story but the only ghostly thing right now is the setting. Its not creepy nor has it that overly bright yet sinister feeling that many ghost stories have. Id like an unspoken threat coming through. But I suppose it will make more sense if we see where you are going with it. It probably hangs together well in the longer story.