I wanted to write a Hallowe’en story to post today, just for fun. But after tearing my rotator cuff a few weeks ago, writing is hard, because I only have one fully functioning arm and it’s hard to type! So instead, I offer you as a Hallowe’en gift this excerpt from my newly re-released novel, The Cabin. ‘Tis not a Hallowe’en tale … but it does involve a ghost!
Bright whorls of light flashed through Corrine’s mind. Her head hurt terribly, and she was burning up with fever. She was in the forest. Why was she sleeping in the forest? It was nighttime, and she could feel the sky ablaze with the light of a thousand stars.
“Corrine, Corrine…”
She was in a dream, that was it. A dream that smelled of damp earth and decayed leaves; a dream where she was sitting by the creek, looking for … looking for what?
“Corrine, Corrine …”
“I’m here, Grandmother.”
“Corrine … open your eyes!”
She opened them. Standing before her was her old Indian grandmother, glowing like foxfire. Trembling, she bowed her head to the ancient apparition. “Am I dead, then, too?”
The Grandmother chuckled. “No, my child. You are not dead. But you have stumbled upon the ancient fairy magic, and your life has been forevermore changed.”
“William, my children …”
“What has become of them I cannot say,” the Grandmother said.
“Cannot, or will not? Do you not know?”
“Alas, it is not within my power to speak of things that have transpired,” the Grandmother replied. “I cannot tell you what has happened. This you must learn for yourself. But this I can say to you: Believe what you see.”
“But I don’t understand, Grandmother! Everything is wrong; everything is changed!” Corrine felt a tear slide down her cheek.
“Everything has changed,” the Grandmother agreed. “And changed forevermore. But listen to my words, grandchild of my heart, and remember. What was torn asunder must be reunited; only then will this grave wrong be righted.”
“Remember what? Grandmother, you’re speaking in riddles, and I don’t understand!”
The foxfire began to flicker and fade. “What was torn asunder must be reunited; only then will this grave wrong be righted.”
“Grandmother, don’t leave me. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Grandmother!”
“Remember, Corrine. What was torn asunder must be reunited …”
She was gone.
Mysterious and masterfully crafted, Smoky Trudeau Zeidel‟sThe Cabin draws the reader into a world in which reality swims, and truth is a thread of love through time. When protagonist James-Cyrus Hoffman inherits his grandfather‟s farm, he discovers he has inherited more than land, his lineage bearing the passions, transgressions, and scars of his ancestors. A thoughtful, provocative, satisfying story that challenges not only the protagonist’s sense of time and place but the reader‟s as well.
—Patricia Damery, author of Snakes, and Farming Soul: A Tale of Initiation
A breathtaking journey back and forth through time, through dream-space, and through magical realms. A celebration of the power of love and reverence for life that knows no limits or bounds.
—Donna Henes, author of The Queen of My Self
Smoky Trudeau Zeidel brings to this magical and compelling historical fantasy an obvious and highly detailed love of plants and animals, mountains, dreams, and the old wisdom of one attuned to the mysteries of the natural world.
—Malcolm R. Campbell, author of The Sun Singer and Sarabande
Great hook!
Thank you, Yvonne!