Jessica Harper Uncanceled

“I need your help, April,” I said. “What are your favorite elements of a ghost story?”

“Zombies!” said my best friend, bless her. Her answer to most brainstorming-type questions is “zombies”.

“Hmm, they’re not really ghosts, are they?” I said.

“Well, they’re not very alive either. Are you thinking more of ghoulies in white sheets?”

“That kind of thing. In movie terms, think The Others, The Haunting, The Innocents and maybe The Shining.”

“Weeeendyyyy, I’m home!” said April, doing her best Jack Nicholson very loudly. The diner went quiet for a few moments. April snorted. “Am I being much help?”

“Not yet. Come on, what are the best bits of a haunted house story?”

“Arriving, definitely. Creaky gates, gravel driveway, the house glimpsed from a distance.”

“This is good stuff,” I said, noting it down in my pad. “And then the greeting, usually by a butler or some other member of staff,” I said.

“The frosty housekeeper,” added April. Then, in a terrible Scottish accent she said: “Ah’m Mrs McTaggart. Dinnar hweel be suhved at eet o’clawk in the duhnin room.”

“Great,” I said, a little nervous because once April has performed one character it can be hard to make her stop.

“And her husband, Alfred. ‘Noises, madam? In the night? Ah yes, that will just have been young William damping down the fire in the parlour.’”

“You should write a book, April,” I said. She was better at this than I was.

“‘Of course, young William died years ago.’”

“Nice twist. Putting out a fire?”

“No, he choked on a gobstopper.” Then in a terrible Cockney accent, she said: ‘I’ve gawt a bleedin’ sweetie stuck in me windpipe, ma’am, can I take the day orf?”

“I see a whole prequel series about poor William.”

“We could call it William: Road to the Gobstopper. So is this going to be another mystery novel?”

“It will. The mystery will concern the ghost of a slave trader whose ship crashed off the Georgia coast in the 1770s.”

“What does he haunt?”

“His former house, set on some cliffs.”

“Do we have many cliffs in Georgia?”

“Er, no. Maybe it’s not set in Georgia, then. Maybe I travel to Maine. Then I can go there for a research trip and not feel bad about spending the money. Okay, what happens after the characters arrive and they try to work out what the Scottish lady is saying?”

“They go to their rooms. Unpack their stuff. Chocolates on the pillow.”

“In a haunted mansion? It’s not a Ritz-Carlton.”

“Good point. No chocolate on the pillows. Then dinner. But the host doesn’t show up.”

“Nice. And the portraits have moving eyes.”

“Too cheesy,” said April. “This isn’t Scooby Doo.”

I noted down her observation, while secretly thinking that I would sometimes love it if my plots had the subtlety of Scooby Doo.

“Somebody tells a scary story,” said April. “About the previous occupants. From the very distant past. Some woman hanged herself. Then there’s an actual scream and we find the host is dead. But the butler doesn’t seem that bothered.”

“Yeah, he’s all like uh huh, another mess to clear up before old muggins here can call it a day.”

“And then the first night shenanigans!” said April. “The best bit of a ghost story. Screams, creaks, mysterious figures trying the doors handles to the rooms.”

“How do you maintain the momentum after the first third of the story, that is going to be the challenge,” I said. “I was thinking of mixing in my old friend the Culture War…”

“Again?”

“Yes, but gently this time. Everyone agrees that slave trading was bad, so maybe the plot is that all the guests are just trying to piece together what the curse is all about and break it forever.”

“Nice,” said April. “Oh, and we must have a storm.”

“Storm! Of course. Noting that down… More coffee, please!”

If these ideas come to fruition, Jessica Harper and the Slave Trader’s Curse will be published in late 2024.