Where Every Scroll is a New Adventure
Ghost Stories - Blog Posts
My family is out, you know what that means
Ghost stories dub on the big screen
just ghost stories dub casually being the best thing to exist
you’ve all heard of “faithful translations” now get ready for “unfaithful translations” where i make my translation say whatever the fuck i want because i think the source material sucks ass
Guess the anime 2: Electric boogaloo
(Spoilers?)
Gaslighting: the anime
“WE MUST SAVE MY FAMILY “
Bubbles are angry and cause hallucinations for parkour enthusiasts
Everyone will die. I will die. Life is meaningless. Now for our commercial break!
Guy realizes no means no (it didn’t)
Two guys but one is a girl who’s so hot everyone falls for him
Teen loses his sister or something and goes off the rails by taking everyone’s magic, becoming clinically depressed, and attempts murder
A dub so controversial it changed the genre
Stoping a kaiju powered time loop with the power of a space robot and several space freeloaders
Worlds worst adoption center
Wraith
The little girl at night wept.
It is no use, no time to pray.
The family man could hear her.
His time is about to end.
What a pain! So much despair!
Since the failed business, his destiny has been set.
The unrelenting foreign sorrow,
Is the hunter for such bad men.
Trapped inside his home alone.
There goes Mike O.
He was drained of blood.
Every single associate is now cold.
"I didn't do it," he shouted.
"It's not my fault, you know!"
But the walls answered with blood.
And he hears the creaking floor.
"Please! Don't come closer!"
He fired into the empty hall.
Midnight was announced by the grandfather clock.
Now her presence is seen in the corridor.
On his knees, he crumbles.
Praying to deaf gods
She touched his shoulder.
All her pain flowed into his soul.
Before being drained of blood.
He saw through her eyes what he had done.
He felt short of breath,
His finger nails are hot as hell.
He made the mortal order.
For a crime she witnessed herself
She was buried alive.
Thus sealing his twisted fate.
The diver
Another short horror story I wrote.
Word count: 2339
"Are you ready?" Bob asks us in an excited tone.
I nod anxiously, but in truth that simple action is an enormous lie.
We have never been this deep before, no one has and the things we might come across at the bottom is a mystery to us.
Still, we have been training for this for months now. I should stop worrying and just dive down with my team.
Our heavy diving equipment gets their finishing touches and we are ready to go.
"Alright, you guys know what to do if something goes wrong, right?" James asks us.
"Yes." I answer, just nodding won't do it now. They won't be able to notice it with my helmet on.
The others let him know they know as well, it's just pressing the red button after all. Then James and the rest of the crew, still above water, will get us out.
If something does go wrong however, it will take a while for us to get back.
But I don't want to think too much about it.
With a loud splash my group and I jump into the water, slowly they let us down with the ropes attached to us.
I peer out of the small window in my helmet, watching everything slowly growing darker and darker the deeper I go.
Fishes rush away from me, while the seemingly unending plant greets me to come further down.
"Liam, You good?" Bob asks me.
"Yes, I'm okay. You?"
"That's good to hear. I really wonder what we will find down there." Bob still sounds as excited as before. Really that man knows no fear.
As it gets darker, we turn on our lights. But even so, there isn't much we can see except for each other.
Finally my feet touch the ground and we decide to look around to put everything we see on film.
We fasten the ropes to some rocks that seem sturdy enough, our suits are made especially for us to spend longer underwater.
Not only has it gotten darker, it has gotten much colder as well.
"Guys, you should come see this." I hear Kimberly say through the radio.
"What is it?" Asks Kyle, while walking towards her. I carefully follow them.
Finally I see what Kimberly wanted to show us.
It's a building.
A building made of old bricks, taken over by nature, but still standing in great condition.
A building underwater.
Unfortunately it's too dark to make out what kind of building it might have been.
"This is so strange, the robots we sent before didn't show anything like this." Kimberly says, astonished.
"They could have missed it, but I guess we have to call for archeologists now before we can continue." Kyle sighs.
"It shouldn't be a problem as long as we don't enter it." Bob suggests.
As we make our way around it, I take notice of the fact that there seems to be no fishes down here. Only plants.
"Hey, did you hear that?" Kyle suddenly asks, clearly afraid of something.
Bob looks around: "No, I didn't hear anything." If it wasn't for his heavy suit he would have probably visibly shrugged.
Quietly we move our flashlights around to see whatever Kyle could have heard.
"Where did it come from?" Kimberly asks.
"I-I think it might have come from the building."
"Ah, not used to the sounds of old buildings underwater yet?" Bob shares, but gets no answer except an annoyed silence from Kyle.
I look around further, letting the light of my flashlight slowly pass over all my surroundings.
There are more buildings.
A lot more.
And on the ground.... This almost looks like an asphalt road... like one used nowadays.
I call the others over to inspect it.
"Creepy... it looks just like above.... But wrong." Kimberly says reluctantly to go further.
"Yeah, I think we should go back." Kyle agrees, not trying to hide his fear anymore.
Something is wrong.
Not just this place.
But where the hell did Bob go?!
I look around.
The other two seem to have noticed as well: "Did you think he went inside one of the buildings?"
"Goddammit! We can't just leave without him. If he is just pranking us, I will-"
"He is not that kind of person." I answer quickly, I've known Bob for a while now. He might like to joke around sometimes, but this is beyond him. Something must have happened!
We search for our lost friend and call out to him, but no matter how well we look, he just doesn't seem to be around.
"Alright, I'm pressing the button." Kyle says, already holding the thing in his hand.
Kimberly agrees: "Yes, I will try to get in touch with the ship."
Then I can suddenly hear Kimberly saying in a panicking tone: "Guys... I can't contact them."
Kyle starts to panic as well: "FUCK, I knew this was a bad idea!"
I would be lying if I said that I didn't feel it as well, but there was something else that took my attention from the two.
I think I know this place...
These buildings... They are so familiar.
Carefully I walk towards one, the one that gives me this feeling the most and shine my flashlight just above the doors.
It's in a language I can read.
And it clearly reads 'Hospital'.
"Guys." I mumble to them, but they are too busy arguing.
A sudden idea enters my mind.
What if I enter? And go to the highest spot I can get... will I be able to get into contact with the others on the boat again?
I walk towards them: "Hey, I think we can still get help."
I explain my plan to them and at first they think it's ridiculous, but there isn't really any other option.
We have to enter.
The doors to the hospital are open, so getting in isn't difficult.
An eerie feeling creeps over me as I see the interior.
It looks just like the hospital I know, one I would rather not remember though.
"I think I know this place." I mumble to the others.
"You know this place? There is no way. This has been down here for god knows how long." Kyle answers me.
I turn towards him: "Couldn't you read the text above the door? Or really any of these nameplates?"
He looks at me confused: "Man, is your oxygen tank already malfunctioning?"
So they don't see it? But I can see it all so clearly.
"Liam, are you okay?" Kimberly asks.
"Yes, I'm fine."
I hate that they doubt me so much, but if I think about it, I would probably doubt me too.
Even so, I take the lead and thanks to me seeing the things they don't, find the stairs without problem.
It doesn't take long for us to reach the second floor.
"Bob?" Kyle suddenly asks.
"Wait, did you hear him?" Kimberly looks around.
"I'm sure of it. I heard him over there!"
Before we can stop him he walks towards where only he heard it come from.
"Kyle, did you hear his radio? Or his voice?" I ask, but receive no answer in return.
We follow him quickly.
Kimberly stops for a second to check if she can contact James again, but seemingly to no avail, as she continues on soon after.
As I turn back to look where Kyle went, I don't see him anymore.
"Kyle?" I call out to him.
"Shit, did he leave without us?"
We run towards the place we had last seen him, but it doesn't matter how many doors we open.
He is not there.
"Bob! Kyle! Where are you two?!" Kimberly yells.
"I think we should go further to let the others know." I tell her as we have searched the entire floor.
She sighs, but follows me back up the stairs.
We skip the next floor, since this door does seem to be locked.
I wonder how many floors this building has...
"Hey, Liam... I think I smell something..."
"What?"
"It smells like blood."
"We are really deep underwater right now... how come? Did you get wounded somehow?"
"No, I'm fine." She mumbles as I check for blood.
This is so strange... Kimberly smells things here, Kyle heard things here and I see everything different from them... just why? Are we all going crazy?
"Let's skip this floor then... it might be something dangerous."
"No, Kyle and Ben might be in danger! We have to find them." Before she can run ahead of me I stop her.
"Alright, but I will go first. Otherwise we will lose each other as well."
Luckily she seems to agree and we walk to the place where she smells blood.
"It's here." She whispers as we stand by the door.
"Alright."
Carefully I open the door and shine my light inside the dark room.
"Bob? I-Is that you?" I ask the man sitting slumped over on a chair, wearing a familiar diving suit.
"Liam..." Kimberly tries, but I ignore her and step into the room.
"Hey, wake up. We gotta go!"
I place my hand on his shoulder and give it a hard shake.
His head slowly rolls off and falls onto the ground, leaving me in a dark cloud of red mist.
"Liam!" Kimberly yells, but I can't locate her.
Blindly I stumble around, until I can clearly hear something break from beneath me.
I curse loudly, as I can feel something stab me and fall down.
I fall pretty fast, but water is still water, so it's at least a little bit slower. Yet not slow enough to fall multiple floors down.
As I finally stop falling, I open my eyes, cursing the fact that I'm still alive and that this isn't some terrible nightmare.
This place is awfully dark, just like the rest of the bottom.
It luckily doesn't take long for me to find my flashlight.
"Hey Kimberly! I'm okay!" I yell at what I think is above.
I shine my flashlight around me, is this... a morgue?
It sure looks like one.
Did I fall into the basement?
And are the floors that weak?
Then I hear a noise.
Something behind the table.
For a moment I hold my breath, something is there. I know it and it might be dangerous.
In the dark I hear the moving of a creature.
Quickly I shine my flashlight towards it.
It feels long that I'm standing here, it's slowly getting colder.
The creature seems to have stood still for a while, but then it moves into the light.
Out of the darkness appears a young boy, about ten years or so, teddy bear in his arms.
No diving suit, nothing that could help him breathe. He slowly walks towards me, not even swimming as if there is no water here at all.
But even stranger than all that is... I know him.
I know him.
Why? From all the people that it could have been... Why does it have to be him?
Carefully I take a step back.
"But... you're not here anymore..." I utter.
The child before me takes another step closer to me and I another back.
"Are you scared of me?" He asks in a rather sad tone, somehow also sounding as if we are above water. The expression on his face is one of deep sorrow.
"Y-yes." I answer honestly, but my answer makes me feel guilty immediately.
I can't think straight anymore, am I really underwater? Or was that a dream?
Is that child before me really...?
No that can't be...
Ronan has died long ago, I know it, I was there when it happened.
I wonder what would have come from him had he survived.
Would he have been taller than me?
Would he have become the person he wanted to be?
"Is something wrong?" He asks, this time without getting closer.
Suddenly I feel a burning sensation on my lip, I must have been biting it and causing it to bleed.
Without thinking my hand goes up to my helmet, I want to loosen it.
"DON'T!" Ronan suddenly yells at me while rushing to me, trying to pull my hand down: "If you do that, you will certainly die!"
I push him away.
"Don't you even remember me?" He asks in tears.
"Of course I do, I'm sorry... just how...?"
"I can't answer everything, there is something here. A monster. And I need to save you." Ronan puts on a brave face.
I shake my head: "Why? Just why? How can I be certain that you will? For all I know, you might be the monster."
For a moment he looks down, but quickly he turns his face back to me again: "Because I promised I would protect you."
"When?"
"Always! Since you were a baby. I always said that I would protect my little brother!"
"But now you're-"
"Yes, I know! No need to remind me. I'm sorry I left so early, but even so, I never stopped caring for you or watching over you! You don't deserve to die down here!"
Before I know it my vision gets all blurry from my tears.
It's really him.
How could I forget that determination from him?
But with the good, the bad memories return too.
The reason why he went to this hospital.
"Liam, we need to hurry." Ronan pulls me back to the present.
"You're right."
"Please take this." He says as he hands me his teddy bear.
"Thanks... but why?"
"It was meant to be given by me on your birthday, but you know I couldn't."
I don't answer, I just can't.
"So... will you trust me now?"
"Yes." I whisper as he takes my hand.
.
.
.
A search has started for the missing group.
Even the police and the army have gotten involved now, searching desperately.
As the sky slowly turns dark, there is still no sign of the divers.
Despairingly James helps with the search, checking every second for one of the missing to send an SOS. But even the location sharing that should have worked just fine has stopped functioning.
Adding insult to injury, there even seems to be a storm approaching.
"Goddammit." James curses quietly, frantically looking for another way to be useful in helping.
As the first few drops of rain come down, they are still searching.
"You still haven't heard anything?" One of the officers asks James.
"No, I haven't. I just hope those guys down there are okay."
"They have been down there for more than six hours, right?" He asks: "Sorry to say this, but it would be a miracle-"
A loud beeping suddenly interrupts the officer.
James rushes towards the machine.
"We found them! Or at least one of them."
An hour later they pull out one of the men of the group.
They remove his helmet to see that even though he is wounded, he is still breathing.
Though there is something strange about him.
He is holding an old teddy bear in his arms.
Writing for the lost
A short horror story I wrote a while ago.
Word count: 2096
I've always wanted to be a writer.
I've always so desperately tried, to then always fail.
I've written stories about dragons, stories about strange civilizations, and yet it seems to be that all my hard work has been for naught.
I grasp to every chance to write something, be it a competition or just for others.
And I always end up getting hurt, again and again and again and again and again.
Perhaps they've been right all along, I just don't have any talent.
That my stories are mere imitations of the great ones.
Well, they might be, for all I know they might all be damned.
Perhaps it would be better to stop, to call it quits, but I can't.
I can't.
I just can't.
As the thing I've been working towards my entire life, I can't let it go now or I will really have lost.
I work jobs I don't like in order for me to be able to purchase the things to write and to give myself time to read.
But a masterpiece is something I will never be able to write.
I remember once entering a competition just to be told that my writing lacks emotion and originality. Well I've been told worse before.
But still, I try and try again.
Probably until I can't anymore.
Until even breathing is something too difficult.
Recently I moved to a new house, it's old.
It's also difficult to keep clean, but the rent is dirt cheap.
I might be able to stay here for longer than half a year, so I'm pretty happy with it.
Perhaps it's time to hire a maid, though I would need to work even harder to afford one... Yeah, I should just do it myself.
Even though this house is in a bad shape, it feels almost as if it has a soul.
Like the house is a whole character in itself.
In a way it makes me feel less lonely.
The paint is slowly peeling from the walls and not all the lights work, but in a way it speaks to me.
Like something I've long lost or have yet to gain.
In all truth, there is something amiss with this house, something strange, but I dare not call it wrong.
The first night I sat by my mattress on the floor and took out one of my old notebooks.
"Alright, I think I'm going to write now." I said to the house, I said to myself.
Speaking aloud is something I do often when I'm alone, so I did not expect a response.
"What will you be writing?" a voice echoed through the house, entering my bedroom.
I was quiet for a moment, listening to the suddenly eerie atmosphere that had entered the room.
After a long while I finally mustered the courage to answered: "A story"
"What is this story about?" The house asked.
"I-I don't know yet..." I whispered.
I could feel my hand holding the pen tremble, but I didn't dare to run away, I didn't even dare to look behind me.
"How about you write a story about me?" The voice asked slowly.
"I-I can do that, please t-tell me." I hated the fact that I couldn't stop my voice from shaking.
"Hmmm..." The voice seemed deep in thought: "How about we write it together?"
I could feel a cold hand touch my shoulder, to then enter my body.
It was truly a strange sensation, nothing I had ever felt before.
But I guess I can say, I got possessed.
When I came to, I had written almost an entire book, my hands covered in blisters were sore as can be and I felt like I had had the strangest dream.
I dreamed that I was someone else.
I dreamed of the feelings they felt.
I dreamed of the pain they had to have endured.
As I looked at the pages written in a handwriting that wasn't mine, I could remember the dream more vividly.
I looked up to find an almost transparent man before me.
"Not enough." He mumbled: "Not enough."
"What do you mean?" I asked carefully.
"This is simply not enough..."
I let him think in silence for him, afraid of what would happen if I were to anger the spirit before me.
"It's not the whole story yet." He finally answered: "It has yet to be finished."
As I tried to get up, holding up my arms for him, wanting to tell him that he can try again, dark spots start appearing in my vision and before I know it I fall over.
"That must be the problem." I heard him say: "You are too weak."
The words sound harsh, but I also know that they spoke the truth.
I was weak... No I still am.
I can't do anything.
I have no talent for anything.
I am useless.
Somehow the ghost decided to take pity on me and sat next to me.
"You gotta eat something, my friend." He said in a kind voice.
I could feel an ice cold hand on my shoulder, so cold that it felt like it could freeze my body and turn it into solid ice.
Slowly I got up, my 'friend' following closely behind me, making sure I wouldn't fall over.
He helped me sit down at the table, where I reached for some of the fruit in the basket.
I took a bite and only then noticed that it had long spoiled, still I continued until I had finished it completely.
"What is it that made you so obsessive over writing a story?" My friend asked.
"Good writers live forever within their works, good writers never leave this earth."
"What caused you to think like that?"
"People disappear often, swiftly and without much noise. I don't want to go out like that."
My friend hesitated and then answered: "I see." I think he said it because he didn't want to invade my privacy.
"So, why do you want to have your story written?"
He shrugged: "I guess it's almost the same reason as for you to write. I don't want my story to disappear. I came to my end in a way I don't wish upon my most feared enemies."
"Why not find someone stronger and more talented than me?" I asked out of curiosity.
"You're the first."
Just what does he mean with that?
"The first that was able to allow me to write to speak out my anguish."
As I have regained some of my energy I carefully stand up, this time not falling over nor seeing dark spots cloud my vision.
"Alright, let's work together." I offered and my friend nodded in agreement.
Days went by in which I took better care of myself and had a moment in which my friend could take up my pen.
Day after day, more empty pages got filled with a story, the story of him.
As the final day grew closer, I could feel his frustration slowly ebb away.
Then it came.
It arrived much too early for my taste to be completely honest.
After all, I made a friend, a good one at that, someone that only I could hear and see, someone that told me different from my dark lingering thoughts.
"May I request something?" He asked kindly like always.
"But of course, anything that may be of help to you."
His face turned serious.
"I would like it if you were to publish this, under your own name."
Shocked, I looked at him: "But this is your story, yours and yours alone, you can't leave it to me! If you want it published so badly, I can bring it to a publisher and say that you, my friend, are the writer of this masterpiece."
He looked down.
"But you wrote it." He silently protested.
I immediately shook my head: "No, you did, you did it, you wrote the story of your life."
Then he slammed his fist on the table.
"Dammit! I want you to take it, you have been nothing but kind to me. I have worn you out to have my last wish be granted through you. Most people would run away if they ever were to even lay eyes upon me. You are the only one to understand me, so please... just listen to me."
Shocked by his sudden burst of anger and frustration, he reminds me that his last day is coming closer.
This time I look down: "Fine." I mumbled: "I will publish it under my name, but I will tell everyone that I wrote it with the help of a friend."
A sad smile crossed his face: "You better do."
And thus I went to the publisher the very next day.
It was one of those that had refused me before a couple of times, but this was the closest one to my house.
As I knocked on the door, I was greeted by the man that owned the company.
"What the hell are you doing here so early in the morning?!" His voice was stern, perhaps angry even.
"I've come to show you something."
"Again?! You know I ain't reading anymore of that garbage that is written by you!"
"I wrote it with a friend."
"Oh, yeah, who ist?"
"He... he prefers to remain anonymous."
"Anonymous? Bah, the only thing I smell here is bullshit!"
"It's because it's his personal story."
A mailman walks by giving the owner a couple of letters.
At first I wasn't sure, but I noticed that one of them had something like 'EVICTION' written on it.
He then confirmed it to me.
"Look pal, there is no story big enough to save this company of mine. Rent is due and there are mouths to feed."
"Please..." I begged him: "Please just read, even if it's only the first page. No first half of the page is good enough."
He sighed.
"Fine then, but this is your last chance. If it's bad again, I will never allow you to enter this place anymore."
Thanking him, he let me inside.
Carefully I handed him my manuscript as he sat down on a chair.
"Half a page you said?"
"Yes." I nodded.
To my delight, as the owner started reading the story, he almost seemed to get absorbed in it.
He didn't read half a page at all like I had requested, page after page he read.
At some point I could see tears well up in his eyes, at another I could see the frustration in him like that of the protagonist of the story.
And then he closed the last page.
It had already gotten dark outside and he had read every word, not skipping anything.
With a satisfied sigh, he wiped his head and then looked at me.
"Well that certainly is how you do it, son."
I bowed and thanked him.
"I-it's truly almost something close to a miracle."
"Could you publish this for me?"
The man nodded: "Yes, yes. Of course."
It didn't take long before I could find my book in the local bookstores.
But I didn't take the time to celebrate this victory.
My best friend was gone after all, his place felt empty.
I couldn't care less about my income or the fact that I could finally live somewhere else that was cleaner or in better shape.
I visited his grave often, even talking to him, knowing full well he wasn't there to listen anymore.
Then one day another one came.
A spirit.
A lost soul.
Someone in need of my help.
Like before I wrote them a book, I wrote their story.
And in time they left me again too.
I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote, I wrote and wrote.
Somehow in time I had become somewhat of a best-seller, people would even recognize me in the streets and ask me for an autograph. And I would always tell them that I never wrote a story alone.
I always told them that I shouldn't get all the praise.
Eventually I started noticing myself growing weak again.
Weaker than I had ever felt before.
Though some spirits would try to take care of me, I got sicker and sicker.
It wasn't something a doctor could cure.
It's my curse after all.
My curse is sucking away at my life force.
My unnatural talent is killing me!
Scared, I look up, dropping the pen from my trembling hands, spilling small drops of ink over the floor, my hands and on some of the pages.
"Are you okay?" The man, or rather ghost, before me looks worried.
"I...we..."
He looks down with eyes filled with regret: "Yes, you and I are the same. We both have the same curse, if you're not careful enough, death will come to get you earlier as well."
Chilly
The smile in the dark Of the potential dangers the safe shores framed by your beacon glow the sun gilded sheen And your rhythm chimed like the heartbeat of stones along that country walk The blue of the sky softening to something chilly above us . Some narratives I would never cling to, ghost stories in the teeth of fiction The touch of a hand in that false night grants an audience to such things. Shoo away the onset of heavy dusk til the song of morning sounds.
What a wonderful night for a quick throwback! I'd like to introduce you to the game which started my Spooktober journey.
You play as Penelope, who's just about ready to give up on her dream of being a singer, until she finds an audition notice for the opportunity of a lifetime... An audition for a reality TV show on a private island which turns into a fight to survive and may see some dark truths come to light.
Truly Sublime was created for the Spooktober Visual Novel Jam two years ago and it's nice to look back on it. Back then, this was my second game that I had published so it's got a couple of rough edges but I want to leave it as it is until I get time to make a shiny, better version.
There was so much cut from the game to make it work in the jam's timeframe so it might be a fun one to return to one day and explore the untold stories, especially with the character Lucinda. She had her own story and endings planned too.
Thanks for checking out my nostalgia ramble and I hope you're having a lovely Autumn evening!
Cheers for stopping by and take care!
watching the ghost stories dub ep 12 and i genuinely thought the silhouette at the start was eirin yagokoro lmao
Dumpster Gremlins
They share one brain cell…
~Spooki🖤
Hello I really like your haunted mansion art and was wondering if you could draw more of hatbox. I hope you have a good night/day
Hat Box Ghost
Why hello there stranger! Of course, how could I deny that request? I love this guy and I am so flattered you like my art too! Thank you for the ask! I may draw more of this fiend in the future~
~Spooki🖤
Do you like ghosts and the paranormal? Here at Ghost Hunters, we love it! We have chats ranging from haunted dolls to discussing the ghosts of animals. If that interests you, please consider coming in and checking us out! 🙂
YES 100%
Animes with the funniest dubs
the noodle man, 1865.
he calmly asks you for noodles, when ignored, he'll wrap you with his sloppy noodle-like tentacles. maybe he choked while eating them.
Every ghost story is the translation of trauma. Every heartbreak can produce ghosts, as every first kiss can create romance.
THE BURNING GIRLS by C. J. TUDOR (REVIEW)
quickly: a woman of the cloth relocates to small-town England and uncovers a long-kept community secret. (single mom with a repressed past and a rebellious teen daughter / creepy blair witch stick dolls / ghostly apparitions / family secrets turning into community secrets / rich men controlling local government / a random spree killer).
quaint, quiet English towns are some of the most dangerous places on Earth. this is what The Burning Girls confirms in a story that feels like the UK version of a Fear Street novel. the chapters are short and quick, often ending with a cliffhanger. ‘good vs. evil’ and ‘nature vs. nurture’ are major motifs in this story, sometimes stereotypically so, sometimes uninspired. i wish there was more thrill and horror… with the lore behind what a ‘burning girl’ represents, there was the potential to go so much further. while i love the author’s tone and style, the substance lacked.
★ ★ ★
more thoughts: SPOILERS!
Some personal context… I picked this book out based on a search I did for ’theological horror’. I was trying to decide whether or not I was going to read the non-fiction book “Heathen: Religion and Race in American History”. As I’m already reading a non-fiction book on Indigenous American history, ”Indigenous Continent: The Epic Contest for North America”, and I just completed the lengthy “The Books of Jacob”, I was hesitant to read another lengthy non-fiction book.
My thought process was… I can soothe my horror itch and my religious history itch by reading a book that combined both. If the book was intriguing enough, then I’d move on to Heathen by Kathyrn. I found several books that fell into the theological horror genre, and ‘Burning Girl’s’ was a newer one, so I picked it. Sadly, it did not inspire me to reach for non-fiction theological history. While not bad, it didn’t capture what was interesting about the religious lore of Sussex England that the title and cover art so openly refer to.
The title is what truly caught my eye: THE BURNING GIRLS. That, paired with the promise of uncovering church mysteries, pulled me in.
The story opens with Reverend Jack, short for Jacqueline, who is being informed that she is being relocated to a distant Sussex community after an unfortunate occurrence at her church in Nottingham. Essentially, she wasn’t able to save an abused child from their parents and was partially blamed when the parents murdered the child.
She moves to Chapel Croft with her 15-year-old daughter, a small village where everyone knows everyone, and her arrival is big news. Immediately, both mother and daughter have separate encounters with appearances of ‘burning girls’, ghostly apparitions who appear to be on fire, and missing bodily limbs. Reverend Jack is coincidentally informed that the creepy stick dolls everywhere are to commemorate the girls and families burned during religious wars back in Olde England. She’s also informed that seeing a ghost of a burning girl is a warning of impending danger.
As the story goes on, Revered Jack’s back story is unfurled. She comes from an abusive home with a psychotic spree-killing brother who is responsible for the death of her husband (who was also a pastor). Just before her move, she was informed that her brother was released from prison. While she thinks she is evading him by moving to Chapel Croft, unbeknownst to her, he is ruthlessly and methodically making his way to her and leaving a trail of bodies in his wake.
All the characters are dealing with some form of ‘good vs. evil’ struggle, most evident in Reverend Jack’s brother, who seems to have a voice within that he compels him to do evil deeds. There are also several references to the great question of whether or not people can be born bad, and what it means to be bad vs. being a good person doing a bad thing. To be honest, the word count could’ve been better spent exploring the wild history of the burning girls.
Anyways, fast forward past two girls who went missing long ago being discovered in a well, the dead body of a missing priest being found buried under the church, a devious teenage boy found living with the dead body of his mother, and that same boy plotting the killing of Revered Jack’s daughter simply to please his equally devious killer girlfriend. Oh yeah, I forgot, did I mention that randomly, in the background of the main events, Reverend Jack’s brother has been traveling the countryside on foot and killing anyone who crosses his path?
The story ends in the loud gory cacophony of noise and violence that most B-level thrillers tend to end in. The psycho-killer teens confront Revered Jack and her daughter in the church for the big climax, which results in Jack killing the teens, and the church being set on fire in the process. At the last moment, just before Reverend Jack is engulfed by the flames, her psycho-killer brother rescues her. The people he killed to get to her kind of fade into the background as if his character’s sole purpose was to represent the bad person who does a good thing (in contrast to Reverend Jack being the good person who does a bad thing).
The miasma of “Good and Evil” that this story exists in is muddier than it is inspiring. Too many angels and devils in this garden if you ask me. And again, the gem, the burning girls, barely get any page time! Three stars. Not horrible, but not anything I am compelled to recommend. That said, I’d still love to try THE CHALK MAN, by this author, and give her another chance.
HIDDEN PICTURES by JASON REKULAK (REVIEW)
quickly: a recovering addict gets a new job babysitting a haunted five-year-old. (a young woman trying to live a sober life / a child with a questionable existence / homes that come with guest houses and hidden gardens / disturbed suburbian parents / physical and spiritual battles with sobriety / weird and quirky superstitious neighbors / wickedly beautiful artwork from the spiritual realm / gardeners who make you want to break rules)
not too shabby. not too complex either, honestly. the tone sits firmly in the mystery genre, for me. the ghosts in this story don’t scare or thrill me, but they don’t bore me either. stephen king is quoted on the back cover as saying “the language is straightforward”, and that is absolutely correct. not much poetry or soul to the writing, but it was a full story! it was compelling enough to pull me to the end, but not my favorite ending. it has the kind of ending that you find in most “B” level thrillers (which is no shade, i love b-movies). the ending is a resolution, but it doesn’t take my breath away.
★ ★ ★
more thoughts: SPOILERS!
Some personal context… after a reading sprint that began sometime in March, I spent the past few weeks with THE BOOKS OF JACOB. It is a tome of a book, 900+ pages, and the most time I’ve spent with a book in years. It was an interesting and detailed world to be in, but I couldn’t wait to get back to the thriller/mystery/horror genre, and HIDDEN PICTURES is my return. I read it in less than 24 hours.
The artwork really pulled me in, and wasn’t as gimmicky as it could have been.
The story opens up with Mallory reflecting on a paid health study she participated in which involved her being blindfolded in front of a group of men. She was instructed to raise her hand if she felt eyes on her, testing her ability to sense the male gaze. She was insanely accurate, telling the instructor that she felt a buzz in her mind whenever she sensed looks. The instructor offers to do more research with her, but Mallory trades her phone for Oxy and the lady is unable to reach her.
After this, we are immediately thrown into the present where Mallory is now sober and has been for 18 months. She is preparing to interview for a babysitting job with The Maxwells, youngish parents living in an affluent suburban enclave. After an awkward and stressful interview that involves her pulling out a piss test to prove her commitment to sobriety, she is hired. Caroline, the Mom, says they believe in giving people second chances, but you learn fast that you can’t believe anything they say.
Soon enough, five-year-old Teddy has formed a close bond with Mallory. The creepy pictures he draws always seem to show an entity hanging around him that no one else can see (but Mallory can sense). Teddy’s mom brushes the pictures off and tells Mallory not to encourage him. After the quirky next-door neighbor tells Mallory about the ghost stories surrounding the guest house where she lives, she eventually convinces herself that her guest house is haunted and the ghost is speaking through Teddy. Half right.
Of course, her pursuit of this tightens the underwear of The Maxwells, and so she begins to investigate under the radar. She enlists the help of The Maxwells’ gardener whom she’s told that she was a local student (and not a recovering person being given a second chance to get her life on track). Fast forwarding past the awkwardness of living with a married couple whose marriage is a thin facade of happiness, the “hauntings”, the creepy photos with the Samura-like girl in them, Mallory trying to confront the super rationalist parents about the supernatural realm, and Mallory trying to make contact to the ghost by ouija board… eventually the ghost jumps into Mallory’s body while she is napping and causes her to draw all over the walls of The Maxwell’s pristine white walls.
The rest is a loud and gory climax with a small scoop of falling action on the side. The parents fire Mallory because of the “artwork”, attributing it to some sort of mental break caused by recovery, and they give her 48 hours to get out. Alex, the gardener, is told about her true background as a recovering addict (but still wants to help her). She miraculously solves the mystery at the last minute and proceeds to do the dumbest thing that characters can do in a mystery/thriller… confront the bad guys with no backup, collateral, witness, or weaponry. The Maxwells reveal their devilry… they are kidnappers who stole a little girl and made her disguise herself as a boy. The child’s real mother, whom Caroline Maxwell killed, is who has been haunting little Teddy.
Caroline Maxwell plans to kill Mallory by drug overdose, but she’s saved by Ted Maxwell who secretly hates his kidnapping murderess wife (but has done nothing but enable her). A delusional Ted is killed by Caroline, in the midst of some pipe dream of him running away to some foreign land with Mallory. A chase ensues, with Mallory running into the woods with Teddy and hiding in a tree. Just as Caroline has hunted them down, the spirit of Teddy’s dead mother possesses her, getting Teddy to kill Caroline with an arrowhead conveniently found earlier in the story.
That’s how most elements of this story felt. Convenient. The end, while loud and gory, seemed staged. Like I could see the beginning from the end. All the little easter eggs stood out like they had billboards above them pointing out “CLUE HERE”, or “FORESHADOWING”. Yet, I still enjoyed it. Like I would an R.L. Fear Street book. Three stars, but a high three.
ADDENDUM: seeing from other reviewers how this author's work includes, deceptively, various ideologies used to other and vilify trans children and their parents (which makes me think back to that errant Harry Potter reference). Unfortunate and gross. Knowing makes the work even cheaper than it already was. Keeping my same rating, which was written and determined before I found out. I will definitely be more critical in the future.
I FINALLY FINISHED IT. idk why it took me SO FUCKING LONG. 😭😭
Some of my favorite Ghost Stories on film.
1) Casper
2) Personal Shopper
3) The Innocents (1961)
4) The Uninvited (1944)
5) Ringu (リング, "Ring")
6) The Haunting (1963)
7) The Stone Tape
8 ) The Shining (1980)
9) The Others (Spanish: Los otros)
10) The Sixth Sense
11) Kuroneko (藪の中の黒猫, "A Black Cat in a Bamboo Grove"; or simply "The Black Cat")
12) The Woman in Black (1989)
13) Any episode of BBC's A Ghost Story for Christmas
14) Kwaidan (怪談, "Ghost Stories")
15) David Lowery's A Ghost Story (Masterpiece.)
16) The Changeling
17) Hasta el viento tiene miedo (known in English as "Even the Wind is Afraid" and "The Wind of Fear")
18) Stir Of Echoes
Ghoultober has begun! And the first ghost story to be told has been uploaded on YouTube come for tonight’s spooky chill!
The lady of the Lake!
Here’s the video link: https://youtu.be/vJZa2h5Y47I?si=OM_S7Y7wYqkVMaLW
The main reason I am in need of ghost stories is because I’m doing a Halloween series where each of the month will have a ghost story video. So please if can, link me a good ghost story in the ask box, or messages. And they may be featured in the series!