I haven’t posted anything for this in a week, maybe two. Yes, yes, I’m a terrible person. The simple fact, though, was I wasn’t writing anything and was hardly about to just throw something up at random.
However, if you follow me on Twitter, you know this has been a busy week for me. I embarked on a series of short crossover stories with Rachael (also known as @ObiKimono), a fellow writer. (Apparently our characters used to date each other. Don’t ask.) And I got an idea for a ghost story, based on this footbridge here in Guelph:
|Heffernan Street Footbridge, Guelph ON
(Photo by L.M. Murphy)
This story isn’t going to be like anything I’ve written before. Normally I embark on a new story with the promise that no matter what I put the main characters through, they’ll come out of it alive and somewhat happy.
That won’t be the case this time. Lor Rose
knows this, because I was talking to her when I had the idea. I’m still playing it, but somehow I ended up with a prologue. And an opening line, a blurb, a closing line, and a title.
So, to make up for my absence around here lately, have at it: The prologue of H(A)UNTED, my newest WIP.
**Note: I’ll be keeping track of the feedback I get on this, and page views won’t count! If you wanna see more of Darcy, be sure to click a reaction or leave a comment so that I know you’re interested! You can check out my Facebook page for more, and for an idea of what I’ve got in mind. **
Let me get one thing straight here. This isn’t the story of the poor little woman, isolated and alone, who wanders into her own personal horror movie by accident. I live alone because I just broke up with a guy, moved to a new city and haven’t met that many people yet. And I don’t wander into this stuff by accident. I keep my eyes wide open, and I walk out to meet it.
I didn’t move into a house, then start hearing rumours about it being haunted and discover the horrible story that went with it. Nor did I start experiencing creepy, unexplainable things shortly after unpacking. I look for houses with ghost stories attached, and the more gruesome the history that goes with a place, the happier I am when I move in.
I’m used to ghosts. I live in haunted houses all the time, study them, love them. When I moved into my newest home, I was excited about the stories that surrounded the old footbridge beside it.
But only because I didn’t know that I should have been terrified. Not yet, anyways.