Life Imitates Art That We Haven’t Even Made Yet

As loyal readers know, we are ably assisted in our fiction by Lady Marzipan and the Bandit Lord, for it is they who demand nightly treks around the fiefdom, and those excursions give us much opportunity to converse about our various projects.

 

We do these walks rather late, mostly. After dark. We take flashlights with us, but unless a car is coming or there’s some other reason, we don’t turn them on. To really set the mood, people in our neighborhood have begun decorating for Halloween, and this year they’ve really brought their A-game. And, the project that’s occupied our attention on these night-time promenades of late is the Ghost Story, in all its otherworldly splendor.

A few nights ago we had an unexpectedly stimulating ghost-talk walk. About halfway around the neighborhood, as we chatted about ways in which beings from other dimensions could make their presence known, a blinding white light suddenly appeared fifty feet ahead of us. It floated about six feet above the ground, and held us for a few seconds before turning red and then moving laterally, crossing to the opposite side of the street. Still eerily hovering several feet up. There was no sound.

Then came the bark of a small dog. A gentle human voice told the dog everything was alright. It was our neighbor, wearing a headlamp as he engaged in his own canid-equipped nocturnal peregrinations.

A writing partner is someone to share a briefly terrifying but inspiring encounter.