So this is an excerpt from the first chapter of my WIP. There's other sections before this which I'm perfectly happy with the introduce two other MC's but there's something about these two sections that still feels like they need re-working. The second character's section isn't the full text as all of it came to about 1300 words, so I trimmed down a little :/
***
Well, that was the school run done. The sofa beckoned.
Jenna Coulhan’s phone buzzed for her attention. There was the usual political strife and sports news that bored her, mixed with the usual celebrity gossip that she had no time for anymore. Then there was something about the northern lights later that evening, which of course seemed to be the only bit of news that stood out amongst the sea of the usual suspects. Not that she was particularly interested in that, but her kids would be. She set her phone down on the coffee table and stretched out over the sofa, taking in some slow, deep breaths, feeling more comfortable, more relaxed with each breath, and just a little sleepy.
Her eyes promptly shot wide open as her phone buzzed into life like the lovechild of a hummingbird and a jackhammer, threatening to jump off the tables edge! Cursing as the bright lights hurt her eyes, she blindly groped for it, then decided grabbing would work better if she was facing it. A second later it was on the floor, writhing around like a homeward bound salmon that wished it hadn’t jumped so high. She sighed, clambered off the sofa onto her knees and saw the message, a news update, vanish before she could pick it up, teasing her about bodies found in a school being demolished.
Intrigued, she unlocked the phone and barely read through the first paragraph before having to fend off the inevitable popup advert asking for her consent to allow cookies to let her read the article. Which reloaded the page forcing her to re-read most of it again, sticking adverts up over the text she hadn’t yet read for good measure.
“Eastcliff Boarding School began its redevelopment earlier this week as older parts of the school building started to be demolished. She found herself reading out loud, more muttering really, partly to help make sense of it all, partly to fight the rising sense of nausea her stomach wanted to add. “Originally closed down ten years ago, it was reopened a year later under new management, but closed its doors once more last year after a fire. However demolition had to stop once a grisly discovery had been made when the school's lower assembly hall, which had been used for stage productions, was found to have human remains in it. The most striking issue is the lack of a skull.” Jenna gasped out loud, almost falling over! Shocked as much by her own reaction as she was at the news. There had been jokes about the stage being the scene of a murder of a child, and a haunting with a headless ghost that of course no one ever really saw. That had just been childish larking.
Hadn’t it?
She couldn’t for the life of her recall the details of the tale, muddled as it was by time, but it had a name. A catchy name. As her thoughts ran around inside her head trying to piece the jigsaw bits of her scattered memories together, she could vaguely recall the jokes about the ghost starting up after she had come back from a half term holiday, but the tale of the murder had been around for years before that.
Or was it a full term holiday? she wondered. One of those breaks where I’d stayed at the school while my parents went galivanting around… Elsewhere in the world? Probably somewhere hot. What was the name they’d given the ghost? The Pale Poser? The Deathly Dancer? The Singing Syren? The Buxom Belly Dancer? Some of those had to be wishful thinking from some of the boys, and she probably had committed some of the more misogynist names to the black bin bag of forgotten things. Wasn’t it one of the teachers who was supposed to have done the deed? she recalled. Did one of the teachers really do it?
And then there’d been all the descriptions that kids who’d claimed to see her had made. It was always a girl, maybe thirteen, maybe older, maybe younger. And always in her PE kit. And always dancing on the stage to a tune only some had claimed they could hear, but couldn't make out.
And Jenna could recall she’d somehow known they’d all been telling the truth, but she only had the dimmest recollection why she knew that. It wasn’t that long ago she’d been there? Surely she should still recall more?
Then she remembered she was only optimistically in her mid thirties.
But another thought came to mind. All the ghost stories and jokes had started after a boy in her year group, in her form class no less, had died during that same holiday. Or was it after the holiday? She couldn’t quite recall when, but his name came to her straight away.
Sebastian. Poor kid. She’d never learned how he’d really died. The tales that had spread like a forest fire in a heatwave had been far too nasty to be real. Each spawning new tales that leant fuel to the darker creative traits of certain pupils. But no one had ever seen his ghost stalking the premises like they had the dancers.
Jenna suddenly recalled the reason she’d known the others were being honest about seeing the ghost in the hall. Jenna had also seen the dancer.
Much to her own surprise, Jenna realised she was panting. Her heart was clearly beating so hard it felt like she was being punched in her chest by a particularly catchy disco track. All this time, all those assemblies and activities in that very hall! And there was a dead body just feet from us all?. She’d always felt queasy being in that hall, much like she did whenever she visited graveyards. Now she had a feeling she knew why.
She read on, breathlessly. “The bodies of two children have been discovered and police have now cordoned off the area while they investigate further. Given the age and condition of the bodies it’s possible they were buried while the school was still in use. Further checks will confirm the age and cause of death of both children.”
Two children? No one had ever mentioned seeing two ghosts.
*
Mr Sinclair looked over his local newspaper with the vaguest of interest as it lay on his kitchen table. He spread butter thickly over his toast before putting the knife down on the heavily scarred but formerly smooth, light orange table top with its subtle hints of browns, then sipped his orange juice, before resuming butter spreading duties. He could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock on the wall opposite him, the one covered with framed photographs from his days as headmaster, with various classes and staff peering out of group photos. He could hear his partner rummaging around upstairs for something, most likely lost for all time since they‘d last redecorated the house a number of years ago.
Just after the school closed, some, what, he wondered to himself as the rummaging got louder and more frequent. Ten years ago now?
***
Well, that was the school run done. The sofa beckoned.
Jenna Coulhan’s phone buzzed for her attention. There was the usual political strife and sports news that bored her, mixed with the usual celebrity gossip that she had no time for anymore. Then there was something about the northern lights later that evening, which of course seemed to be the only bit of news that stood out amongst the sea of the usual suspects. Not that she was particularly interested in that, but her kids would be. She set her phone down on the coffee table and stretched out over the sofa, taking in some slow, deep breaths, feeling more comfortable, more relaxed with each breath, and just a little sleepy.
Her eyes promptly shot wide open as her phone buzzed into life like the lovechild of a hummingbird and a jackhammer, threatening to jump off the tables edge! Cursing as the bright lights hurt her eyes, she blindly groped for it, then decided grabbing would work better if she was facing it. A second later it was on the floor, writhing around like a homeward bound salmon that wished it hadn’t jumped so high. She sighed, clambered off the sofa onto her knees and saw the message, a news update, vanish before she could pick it up, teasing her about bodies found in a school being demolished.
Intrigued, she unlocked the phone and barely read through the first paragraph before having to fend off the inevitable popup advert asking for her consent to allow cookies to let her read the article. Which reloaded the page forcing her to re-read most of it again, sticking adverts up over the text she hadn’t yet read for good measure.
“Eastcliff Boarding School began its redevelopment earlier this week as older parts of the school building started to be demolished. She found herself reading out loud, more muttering really, partly to help make sense of it all, partly to fight the rising sense of nausea her stomach wanted to add. “Originally closed down ten years ago, it was reopened a year later under new management, but closed its doors once more last year after a fire. However demolition had to stop once a grisly discovery had been made when the school's lower assembly hall, which had been used for stage productions, was found to have human remains in it. The most striking issue is the lack of a skull.” Jenna gasped out loud, almost falling over! Shocked as much by her own reaction as she was at the news. There had been jokes about the stage being the scene of a murder of a child, and a haunting with a headless ghost that of course no one ever really saw. That had just been childish larking.
Hadn’t it?
She couldn’t for the life of her recall the details of the tale, muddled as it was by time, but it had a name. A catchy name. As her thoughts ran around inside her head trying to piece the jigsaw bits of her scattered memories together, she could vaguely recall the jokes about the ghost starting up after she had come back from a half term holiday, but the tale of the murder had been around for years before that.
Or was it a full term holiday? she wondered. One of those breaks where I’d stayed at the school while my parents went galivanting around… Elsewhere in the world? Probably somewhere hot. What was the name they’d given the ghost? The Pale Poser? The Deathly Dancer? The Singing Syren? The Buxom Belly Dancer? Some of those had to be wishful thinking from some of the boys, and she probably had committed some of the more misogynist names to the black bin bag of forgotten things. Wasn’t it one of the teachers who was supposed to have done the deed? she recalled. Did one of the teachers really do it?
And then there’d been all the descriptions that kids who’d claimed to see her had made. It was always a girl, maybe thirteen, maybe older, maybe younger. And always in her PE kit. And always dancing on the stage to a tune only some had claimed they could hear, but couldn't make out.
And Jenna could recall she’d somehow known they’d all been telling the truth, but she only had the dimmest recollection why she knew that. It wasn’t that long ago she’d been there? Surely she should still recall more?
Then she remembered she was only optimistically in her mid thirties.
But another thought came to mind. All the ghost stories and jokes had started after a boy in her year group, in her form class no less, had died during that same holiday. Or was it after the holiday? She couldn’t quite recall when, but his name came to her straight away.
Sebastian. Poor kid. She’d never learned how he’d really died. The tales that had spread like a forest fire in a heatwave had been far too nasty to be real. Each spawning new tales that leant fuel to the darker creative traits of certain pupils. But no one had ever seen his ghost stalking the premises like they had the dancers.
Jenna suddenly recalled the reason she’d known the others were being honest about seeing the ghost in the hall. Jenna had also seen the dancer.
Much to her own surprise, Jenna realised she was panting. Her heart was clearly beating so hard it felt like she was being punched in her chest by a particularly catchy disco track. All this time, all those assemblies and activities in that very hall! And there was a dead body just feet from us all?. She’d always felt queasy being in that hall, much like she did whenever she visited graveyards. Now she had a feeling she knew why.
She read on, breathlessly. “The bodies of two children have been discovered and police have now cordoned off the area while they investigate further. Given the age and condition of the bodies it’s possible they were buried while the school was still in use. Further checks will confirm the age and cause of death of both children.”
Two children? No one had ever mentioned seeing two ghosts.
*
Mr Sinclair looked over his local newspaper with the vaguest of interest as it lay on his kitchen table. He spread butter thickly over his toast before putting the knife down on the heavily scarred but formerly smooth, light orange table top with its subtle hints of browns, then sipped his orange juice, before resuming butter spreading duties. He could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock on the wall opposite him, the one covered with framed photographs from his days as headmaster, with various classes and staff peering out of group photos. He could hear his partner rummaging around upstairs for something, most likely lost for all time since they‘d last redecorated the house a number of years ago.
Just after the school closed, some, what, he wondered to himself as the rummaging got louder and more frequent. Ten years ago now?
