I’ve been storyhunting again, the baby in tow. My hunt took us all over. The best October tales are spiced with spooky flavors: crusty cobwebs, graveyard dust, eye of newt. The dark comes quicker, it stays longer. The death of autumn haunts the air. The stories, naturally, turn to the macabre.
My hunt was a success.
I traveled to many ancient cemeteries in search of my October tales. The dead were most obliging and the baby enjoyed the fresh graveyard air. We soon came across an intriguing grave stone marked with nothing but my own initials. A macabre tale waited just beneath it.
In a second graveyard I found peaceful ghosts and an old tin man, but the stories had all been told. Or so I thought. When I checked through my photographs upon our return to story hunting headquarters, I discovered an odd door I somehow missed while we were there. If you follow the arrow, you’ll see it, not hiding at all, out there in the open and the ghosts.
Of course I plan to open said door in search of its story, but I will have to wait until the baby is not with me. Portals are hard on children, or so stories have led me to believe. Few are the risks I’m willing to take with her.
On a third wild hunt I found a moody universe I am only beginning to understand. For now I stare at in awe, the story an ethereal dream that isn’t willing to be translated into words as yet. I can feel it trembling, somewhere behind the image. It won’t be long now.
The stories will be scribbled down, polished, and sent out into the reading world as part of my ongoing catch and release program. One, for a certainty, will be available to read for free upon it’s publishing date somewhere before Hallowe’en. I’ll share it here as it becomes available.
Happy hunting, happy haunting, and merry October.