A Very Weird Story

 

I've spent part of the summer rereading all my work. I've often felt myself to be a bit of a square peg trying to fit in a round publishing hole. Too many different kinds of books, I thought. Until a friend  pointed out that maybe the publishing industry itself never had a convenient commercial box into which my work might fit. Which is probably true.

Anyway, having had some welcome rights reversions, I've had a whole tranche of my work republished, as well as starting on a couple of new projects. One of the pieces I've reread is a short novella (or longish short story) called Rewilding. And given that we're heading for Hallowe'en, it's free on Kindle from Monday 5th October, for five days, so if you like the uncanny and unsettling, give it a try.

Where did the story come from? 

I had been visiting friends on Skye, where I saw the broch in the above picture. I'd also been listening to an excellent talk by a young man who had made an adventurous and fascinating solo journey across the Scottish Highlands, and it had struck me that most young women would think twice about doing such a trip. They might well think twice and do it anyway, but it would still give them pause for thought. What if the woman in the story, perhaps a young woman with a slightly troubled background, decided to feel the fear and do it anyway? It's a shortish hike, and no big deal for an experienced hillwalker, which she is. Four days, staying overnight in three different bothies. I'd been reading about Highland bothies. What if, at some point on that journey, she has an unusual encounter? 

The second bothy is remote, and she's alone. She's predictably spooked by the silence and the absolute darkness but she can bear it. She reflects on all those reasons why women may be frightened by their own vulnerability, usually involving men. 

'We are constantly aware of our surroundings. And when you think about it, it’s no way to live, is it? It’s exhausting. I remember our self defence instructor pointing out that no animal would ever get into a confined space like a lift in a situation where it felt threatened. Yet women do such things all the time. We ignore our instincts and put ourselves in harm’s way out of politeness. We sacrifice our own safety and security to the feelings of men.'

But harm's way can take many forms. And do we always understand that? Or even want to understand it? 

Without giving away too many spoilers, here's a 'footnote' to the story. The other source of inspiration, if you like. You should know that there are various mythical water beasts in Celtic mythology. Some belong in that category of creatures invented to keep children well away from standing water. Mill ponds in the North of England have Jenny Green Teeth who will drag you under. Scotland has a variety of cautionary 'monsters'. There is the water bull, the tarbh-uisge who gets a mention in The Curiosity Cabinet and who is commemorated in various Gaelic place names, including one on the Isle of Gigha. He's a massive amphibian bull, ugly and weird, but mostly mischievous rather than really dangerous, unless provoked to violence. Then there's the kelpie, who tends to haunt fresh water and who will entice children in particular onto his back, and then hold them fast and drown them. (The statues are just amazing. Go and look at them if you can!) Finally there's the each-uisge, the true water horse, perhaps the most terrifying monster in British folklore. He's a shape shifter, who can appear as a handsome and charming young man who, like the kelpie but worse, may drown you and eat you.

However ... to add another twist to the tale, there's this extraordinary song sung here by Julie Fowlis.  It's a traditional song about the each-uisge of Celtic belief. And yet in this song, he's also a sorrowful abandoned lover with, heartrendingly, an abandoned child too. Which, of course, doesn't mean that interacting with him couldn't also be a perilous undertaking. Who knows? 

By the way, the most amazing description of a water horse was written by Gillian Philip, in her magnificent and seriously undersold Firebrand trilogy. Undersold rather than underrated, because the reviews were deservedly wonderful, but she is another fine writer who seems to have been let down by a publishing industry that often neglects talent and originality in favour of celebrity.

Anyway. Rewilding. This isn't a ghost story and it isn't a horror story. Who knows what it is? It even disturbed me, when I reread it. One of those 'where did that come from?' moments. Read it and see what you think. I hope you get the same wee frisson that I certainly had from writing it! 

Here again is the link to the eBook. 

The Kelpies

Of Water Horses and Other Worlds

The Kelpies: photo copyright C. Czerkawska

Many people have heard of kelpies, mostly because of these spectacularly beautiful statues near Falkirk. What most people don't know though is that kelpies could be reasonably - albeit certainly not always - benign, or at least able to be controlled.

Back when I was very young, I briefly attended Brownies and among the sixers that pranced around the big plastic toadstool in the church hall were kelpies. I was a pixie. 'Here we are the jolly pixies, helping people when in fixes.' we sang. I think the kelpies were 'ready helpers'. A demonic and notoriously male water creature was perhaps not the best role model for little girls. Maybe that was why I ran away, hopped on the bus home and never went back. However, that's a story for another day.

Later on, I did a masters degree in Folk Life Studies and learned a bit more.

Essentially, the kelpie is a shape shifting 'water horse' inhabiting Scottish rivers and burns. They may seek human companionship, assuming the shape of an attractive black horse when out of the water, but you have to be wary of them, because they can also carry you to your death, if you're not careful!

The kelpie might be caught and harnessed, using a halter with the sign of the cross on it. As a last resort, 'cold iron' could kill it - as it could be the downfall of many other problematic supernatural creatures.

Occasionally, the kelpie might appear in the shape of a human being, but this is where the beliefs in these otherworldly creatures become confused and confusing, because while the kelpie can have a certain impish quality, the creature that you should never under any circumstances mess with, is the true water horse - the each uisge.

He is perilous indeed, this fiercest and most dangerous of the water horses. He lives in lochs or in the sea. He too may appear as a horse, on land, but will carry you off to the deepest part of the loch if once you so much as touch his mane. Even more dangerously, he can and all too often does appear in the shape of a handsome young man but when he rests his head in your lap, you'll find that he has sand in his hair. All in all, the each uisge does not get a good press.

But then, you come across old, old songs like this extraordinarily beautiful piece sung by Julie Fowlis: Dh’èirich mi moch, b' fheàrr nach do dh’èirich  in which the water horse turns out to be not so much the villain of the piece as the ... well, what is he? The abandoned lover? The heartbroken father? By any standards it's a deeply mysterious song, and I like things like that - things that challenge my view of the world.

It made me think.

Late last October I did an event in Tarbert with my new book, A Proper Person to be Detained and while we were there, I also listened to an excellent talk about overland cycling, and remote bothies. It struck me that for a woman alone, staying in such places might involve at least a frisson of nerves. It would for me, anyway, even though I have friends who would be absolutely fine with it. After that, we headed for the Isle of Skye to visit friends there, and one day, I clambered up by myself to a well preserved Broch. It was a wild, lonely, evocative place, and that too made me think.

Sometimes people ask me 'where do you get your ideas from?' This is where I get my ideas from. All kinds of places, all kinds of experiences that somehow slot together into a piece of fiction. I don't know how it works, but some stories just have to be written.

When we got home, in the dreich space between the onset of winter and Christmas, all these threads somehow wove themselves together in my head, and I wrote a long story - so long that it almost became a novella - called Rewilding

At 17000 words, it was a bit too long for a a short story, but too short for a novel. It presented itself to me in diary form, in the voice of a young woman, who has a perilous encounter in a wild place.

Or does she?

Well, you can decide for yourself. It's free on Kindle for five days, from 25th July till 29th July. If you're too late for the bargain, it still isn't expensive. So give it a go. One of these days, I might write the sequel that's lurking in my head, like the water horse, only just out of sight.
But it might have to wait till winter.