Round the Herne

A revolting little story, of which there are several variations in different regions of Italy. Not recommended as an aperitif, nor for those of an anti-capitalist disposition (though you could chose to see it as an indictment of the degree to which the rich will not be parted from what is theirs, no matter what).

A friend of mine is continuing a Halloween tradition of hosting a gathering of people to read each other ghostly short stories by candlelight, whilst enjoying a drink or two. Sadly I cannot make it to London for the gathering, so thought I would contribute a virtual story. This is "Kecksies" by the rather under-rated Marjorie Bowen. Her collection of Gothic tales, "The Bishop of Hell & other stories", is well worth a read and heartily recommended. If you've not come across her work before, it's in the tradition of M. R. James ~ creepy rather than gory, with the malevolent frequently weaving its way into the everyday and mundane. Much of her work, like this particular story, is set wholly or partly in the 18th century, an age of rakes, goodwives and beldames.

Last night I went to a Halloween party at a local gay pub, where almost everyone was in costume ~ some of them quite elaborate. Thankfully I recognised a friend and was able to spend much of the evening chatting to him and, contrary to my expectations of such events, found that I really rather enjoyed the evening. Halloween is a very curious time of year, distinct from but intertwined with the ancient Gaelic feast of Samhain, and I was struck by the liminal nature of both the gathering and the date in general. Though British society is centuries ahead of places like Iran in its integration of sexual minorities, those attending were still people whose place in society is decidedly out of the mainstream ~ not only gays, lesbians and bisexuals but those whose gender places them as neither entirely one thing nor another, transsexuals and cross-dressers. There were also a small group of people with learning difficulties, who appeared to be loving every moment of the karaoke event and findin...

Well, with Halloween a couple of days away I thought I'd write a suitably horrible tale. Tommy Rawbones started as an idea on Saturday past, when I had hoped to tell it at an LGBT event - but it just wouldn't gel at the time. It has gone through a number of major changes, such as shifting location from central America to Ireland! I'm still not entirely happy with how it plays out, or the style of telling, and would appreciate some feedback. If you're wondering about the peculiar name, it's a traditional monster who appears in Irish and Northern English folklore, as well as undergoing a major mutation in American folk tradition. The Gaelic feast of Samhain appears in a great many myths, some beautiful ones such as the dream of Oengus Og, and others far more spectral and gruesome such as Fergus and the Hanged Man. More thoughts on Samhain shortly.

Returning on the train from Norwich's Pagan convention today (at which I was speaking, and more of which shortly) I had the opportunity to be sat across from a middle aged man and someone whom I presumed to have been a niece or possibly a future daughter-in-law. Their conversation was mostly insipid, but took a turn which distracted me from the spectral realms of Montague Rhodes James. For some reason they were talking about schools and the behaviour of some adolescent relative, when the fat man (let's call him McCabe, because I'm not feeling very imaginative tonight) started recollecting his own salad days. The salad presumably being a bit of limp lettuce in his greasy burger. With consider relish on that burger, he told various exploits involving reducing one teacher to tears, being part of a gang that drove another teacher into a nervous breakdown, locking another in a tool shed etc. Now lots of kids do grotty things and eventually grow out of it when they achieve some...