The logs crackle, the flames dance, and we
curl up, safe and warm in our cozy armchairs while, outside, the wind howls and
sleet slashes against the windows. We drink warming GlΓΌhwein or hot punch,
spiced with cinnamon and ginger, and revel in our favourite ghost stories.
Maybe it’s the Collected Short Stories of M.R. James – that master of the
creepy tale. Or maybe a film. A Christmas
Carol? The Canterville Ghost? The Uninvited? The Haunting? All excellent choices and there’s room for every one
of them. But for sheer British scares that thrill and chill, one series of
adaptations has stood the test of time and I’ll certainly be digging out my
collection again over the festive season – to watch in the dead of night, when
all is quiet and only the ghosts walk…
A
Ghost Story for Christmas was a tradition
maintained by the BBC for seven years, from 1971-78. It consisted of an
adaptation of a classic short story, shown on Christmas Eve. Wonderful chilling
tales by M.R. James (The Stalls of
Barchester, A Warning to the Curious, Lost Hearts, The Treasure of Abbot
Thomas, The Ash Tree), Charles Dickens (The
Signalman), Clive Exton (Stigma)
and one of my personal favourites, The
Ice House by John Bowen.
M.R. James originally established his own
ghostly Christmas traditions by reading his stories to friends and students at
that time of the year, and the British tradition of sitting around the fire
telling scary stories at Christmas undoubtedly influenced the idea for the
series of films. In 1968, a one-off – Whistle
and I’ll Come To You, adapted from M.R. James’ short story – set the scene
for more to come. There have been some attempts to revive the tradition in
recent years and I hope that will persist. Christmas isn’t Christmas without a
ghost, is it?
But what of the stories themselves? These
are not hardcore horror tales. The creepiness comes from the heavily laden
atmosphere suggesting a lingering, looming presence of evil. Shadows move.
Something forms under the bedsheet – a monster? We don’t know. We don’t physically
see it. We don’t have to.
A lonely and bleak seashore. A solitary
figure battling against the elements. A railway official who tells of a ghostly
figure that beckons and foretells calamity. A remote country house in the
middle of an ancient stone circle, where a dark force hides and waits. A
strange flower growing outside an old icehouse. Where has it come from and what
secrets does it hold? A lost crown found by an amateur archeologist in a remote
seaside town. Perhaps he should have let it lie. A sinister black cat and a hooded
figure that haunt a cathedral’s choir stalls.
Just some of the elements of these timeless
tales I can watch – and read – time and again.
There is something so much more satisfying
about a story that lays all the trails, but allows your own mind take over and
fill in the details. It then falls to your own imagination to create the ‘monsters’
and we know what scares u better than any writer could predict. Each of us will
put our own interpretation on what exactly was lurking in those shadows. The
skill of the writer has been to give us all the clues we need to finish the
story our own unique way – and that’s what
keeps us listening for any creaks or bumps in the dark after we’ve turned the
TV off or put the book down. It’s what makes our hands hover over the bedside lamp.
On? Or off? On tonight, I think. Because it’s just possible… well, maybe, we’re
not alone. Perhaps that…whatever it was…has followed us up to bed. It’s waiting
for us to close our eyes. And then it will pounce. We squeeze our eyes tight
shut and wait. The only sound – our own heavy breathing.
What’s that?
Something moving around the room. Clutch
the bedcovers. Tight as you can. Mouth dry. Hardly dare breathe. Something still
moving. Then a thump.
There’s
something on the bed. Oh why did I watch that film tonight? Oh no. It’s moving
closer. I can hear it.
A low rumbling sound.
A cold, wet nose.
Do
ghosts have cold, wet noses?
“Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr”.
Don’t have nightmares, but do have a happy
festive season – and may all your ghosts be benevolent spirits.
Can't have a spooky black cat! Enjoyed the Ice House - "Don't open the window!!!!" Nice post, Cat!
ReplyDeleteThanks Sue :)
DeleteHow well I mind these. There was nothing like curling up by the fire in the dark. I think that was what was so wonderful about these tales. It was like sinking into another world where we wanted to feel the prickle on the back of our necks. Christmas just wasn't Christmas without a good old ghost story. Thank you for reminding me of so much Cat. Wonderful post.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Shey. A couple of years ago, I curled up, snug and warm, on the settee, covered in a fluffy throw and devoured M.R. James' short stories while the wind howled and rain beat on the window on a wild November day. Perfect!
ReplyDeleteBreathtakingly delightful utilization of words.
ReplyDeletehaunted mansions