Ossified

One of the nice things about writing and publishing weekly, as compared to the long timelines of magazines and competitions, is capturing the seasonal drifts in my thoughts and feelings. So here, almost exactly as distant from Hallowe'en as possible, is a story about dressing up for Hallowe'en. Listen, if this newsletter were tidy and organized I would have called it "Shelving".

You can hear more about my daily stories on this month's episode of The Joy Ethic Show. Jolene's show is always warm, connecting, and thoughtful, and will make your day better. I was really pleased to have the chance to talk to her about Scattering, and to share the space with two lovely features on art and on visibility and vulnerability

This week’s daily stories

Monday

Dad said you must always give the seagulls one chip, as an offering. Mum said you mustn’t encourage them. So chips at the seaside meant a choice about who to betray. There was no third option: to throw half a chip, or one soaked to inedibility in vinegar, would betray them both. It was only going back home, fully grown and accustomed to making my own choices, that I noticed: she always threw them a chip, and he never did.

Tuesday

A person can drown in as little as an inch of cherry blossom. Nose and throat plugged, and you imagine that if you can cough it up it will make a fluttering pink cloud, but all it makes is a thick wet splat. All the beauty was gone when you tried to breathe it, and you only tried to breathe it because there was nothing else left. You have spoiled the spring insisting on air, but air is better than beauty, and it will be summer soon.

Wednesday

We were blowing dandelion clocks all afternoon, the seeds streaming from the stems and never running out. There would be weeds all over our mother’s perfect lawn, making it more beautiful. But they didn’t grow, for we blew and blew and never found the time.

Thursday

The mosquitoes were biting, but they weren’t biting me. Was it something in my blood, or the scent of my skin? Was there some poison in my veins that they could taste even before landing? I slapped where they should have been, and scratched until I made the welts I was missing. I scratched until the blood came, and I saw what was wrong with it.

Friday

All week we gambled on ladybird spots, betting chocolate bars and pints and twenty pound notes. On the last night we found a wildlife book in Gary’s room, in among his winnings, with the page on ladybirds turned down at the corner. 7-spot, 2-spot, 4-spot. I’d always thought it was random. Serves us right, I suppose, for not being curious.

Saturday

Through slatted blinds I read the landscape plotted out on graph paper: the treetops rising steadily on the horizon; the sky squeezed out by rising land; and at the end of the x axis, one big square column, a mode far from the median. I understood, until he pulled the cord and the blinds rattled up, and I could no longer see the shape of things.

Sunday

There was a shudder in the walls every morning in the old house. "Don't worry," my uncle said, "it's just the pipes, where the Creature lives." He was always like that. He didn't know how much kids can believe. He didn't know I'd crawl out of bed before dawn and sit by the radiator, looking for something to talk to.

I have been reading...

• Winter's Tales by Isak Dinesen/Karen Blixen. These stories have an element of fairytale uncanniness to them, which I've found hard to get to grips with but compelling.
• "Hold Me Looser, Tiny Dancer" by Maria Kuznetsova, from One Story, which has a similar sort of oddness to it.
• I've dipped into the first two issues of The Aftershock Review, which hold some very fine and varied poems. Issue 3 is out soon.

This week’s story: Ossified

For Hallowe'en it was fancy dress in the student bar. It had been fancy dress the year before, too, when they were all still new and keen to impress. Lots of scanty costumes and daring jokes. Jane and her new best friend had gone elaborate, a two-part pantomime demon-horse that dripped paper entrails when they separated. The friend had dropped out at Christmas, and they had both sincerely meant to keep in touch. This year, Jane couldn't be bothered. She went along for the company, and hoped she might be scary enough on her own. When asked, she said: "I'm a skeleton. But it's almost November, so I've got my big coat on."