Friendships

Mysterious Sound #MysteryMonday

Published on October 26, 2020October 26, 2020 by Joan Hall29 Comments

Hey, everyone. It’s been a while since I wrote a Mystery Monday post. A few days ago, I was reminded of a mystery that happened right in my back yard. I wrote the original post several years ago. With it being October and nearing Halloween, I decided to repost. Hope you enjoy it.

Goblins and great pumpkins. Trick-or-treats and haunted houses. Bats flying about. Witches on broomsticks. Halloween is always a good time for an old-fashioned ghost story.

My encounters with the unexplained are due more to an over-active imagination. Such as the time I thought I saw a werewolf. Or when my cousin and I convinced ourselves a ghost was after us. Once I was even on the lookout for a headless horseman in the woods near our home.

However, I had one strange occurrence several years ago that I can’t explain. Nor can anyone who was present that night.

In October 1980, my family hosted an outdoor chili supper. We invited friends and neighbors. The following year, we expanded it to include an art exhibit. It became an annual event where my brother and some of his classmates from The University of Texas would display their latest works.

A highlight of these annual events was a Saturday night bonfire. Starting in late summer, we gathered tree limbs and scrap lumber and piled them in an open field. By October, it was large enough for a nice bonfire.

One year, a few days before Halloween, we gathered in our pasture. About fifteen adults were present. We stood around the fire, enjoying the conversation. Since it was in October, I’m sure a few people had a ghost story to share.

The winds were still. The moonless night sky glistened with stars. Traffic was sparse on our country road in those days. The only sounds came from the crackling of the fire and soft-spoken conversations.

We had been outdoors for an hour or so when it happened.

A noise.

A strange noise.

An inexplicable noise lasting twenty seconds at most.

Conversations ceased. Everyone asked in unison, “WHAT WAS THAT?”

“It sounded like a dragonfly flew next to my ear,” someone said.

Another person joked it may have been a UFO, while another thought it was the trill of a nighthawk.

The closest thing I could think of was the sound of a plane’s landing gear being lowered.

No one could agree on the source A single dragonfly can’t buzz fifteen people’s ears at the same time. At any rate, dragonflies aren’t around in late October. Most discredited the nighthawk theory. We didn’t see any strange objects in the sky. (Nor any aircraft.) As for me, to hear the landing gear sound, I would have needed to be inside a plane.

After a few minutes of speculation, most of us continued our conversations. One person took the opportunity to go inside the house on the pretense of checking on his son. He didn’t return.

Life gets busy. Years passed without us hosting the annual event until my brother and his friends revised the art show several years ago. In 2013, friends gathered at our place. Several of those attending were present on that night in the early eighties.

Times change. Instead of a cookout, we went out for dinner at a local restaurant. A fire pit replaced the larger bonfire. But in the course of the weekend, we discussed the mysterious sound heard long ago.

People often tend to embellish stories such as these. Not this one. Those of us who were there still stand by our original story. We heard a strange sound. No one could identify it. We can’t pinpoint the origin. Although we can’t agree on an exact description, it’s safe to say it wasn’t our imagination.

Perhaps we’ll never know what was behind the mystery at the bonfire, but one thing is certain. It makes a good story to tell while sitting around a fire at Halloween.

A Visit to Sleepy Hollow #WIPWednesday

Published on September 25, 2019September 25, 2019 by Joan Hall27 Comments

Hey, everyone. We’re coming up on October, the time of the year when I think of ghosts and goblins, bright, full moons, and legends. Even a headless horseman. This week’s WIP Wednesday is both a work in publication and a work in progress.

Several years ago, when I did a First Friday Fiction post each month, I wrote a serial story about two longtime friends, Lauren and Hannah. Lauren taught history at the local high school, and Hannah was the school librarian.

During their summer break, they decided to take an extended road trip. Their first stop was a place called the Sleepy Hollow Inn—not to be confused with the locale in Washington Irving’s novel. However, with a name like you can imagine all sorts of possibilities.

It didn’t take long for the two friends to get caught in the middle of a century-old story. And Hannah’s superstitious nature and curiosity help lead to the solution.

Excerpts:

“You’ll be in room 212,” Millie said. “It’s at the end of the hall on the left—one of two rooms with a private bath. We serve dinner at six. There are storms forecast for this evening. We often lose electricity, but don’t worry. We have plenty of candles and oil lamps.”

Millie pressed a vintage desk bell, and a man appeared in the room. He was tall and lanky with long arms and a head that seemed too small for his body. He was exactly how Lauren imagined Ichabod Crane might look. Hannah let out a soft gasp but was quick to cover it with a cough.

“This is Ivan,” Millie said. “He’ll help with your luggage.”

Millie stood. “Shall we all gather in the parlor for dessert and storytime?”

The others stood to follow, but Hannah pulled Lauren aside.

“Did you notice how many were seated at the table?” She whispered.

“I didn’t count.”

“Thirteen. Thirteen at dinner. That’s not good.”

“Reading Agatha Christie again? I hope that’s the reason. Please don’t tell me it’s because you’re superstitious.”

“A person can’t be too careful.”

“You are superstitious. Hannah, this is the twenty-first century. I admit a good old-fashioned ghost story is fun, but I don’t believe walking under a ladder or having a black cat cross my path will bring me bad luck. And I’m not the least bit concerned over the number of people at the dinner table.”

A farmhouse near Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. I picture the Sleepy Hollow Inn to look something like this place.

A Visit to Sleepy Hollow will be included in a book of short stories to be published next year. Others in the collection are The Dare and Woman in Black. (Click the links if you’d like to learn more about those stories.)

Originally, I planned for Lauren to be the main character. However, as characters sometimes do, Hannah quickly took center stage. I felt Lauren needed her own story and thought of using Woman in Black as a prequel.

In the meantime, I wrote a short story titled The Keeper’s House, which is included in an anthology titled Macabre Sanctuary. Lauren and Hannah appear in the story with Lauren serving as the main character.

You’ll hear more about Macabre Sanctuary and The Keeper’s House in the upcoming weeks.

Best Laid Plans #ThursdayThoughts

Published on August 22, 2019August 22, 2019 by Joan Hall33 Comments

Hey y’all. It’s time for this week’s Thursday Thoughts.

Like many of today’s writers, I also hold a full-time job. I leave the house around 6:30 each weekday morning and get home around 4:30 unless I have errands to run.

My husband works on Saturdays, and I try to use that day as my primary time to write. I had big plans this past weekend. I woke up early, grabbed a quick shower, saw the hubs off to work, and sat down at my writing desk. I was productive during the first part of the morning and finished the first draft of a short story.

By that time, I was ready for breakfast, so I stopped long enough to eat, then took my laptop and settled on the sofa for what I hoped would be an equally productive writing schedule. However…

“The best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.” John Steinbeck

Mid-morning, I got a text from a friend who asked if I could help someone with an urgent matter. I readily agreed and contacted the person. Several emails and a few hours later, I was able to solve her problem by early afternoon.

In the meantime, I lost my momentum for writing. I was able to brainstorm on a few short stories. Writing in the evening was out. My husband and I had plans to go out to dinner with a group from our church who meet each month. I always enjoy these events but when we arrived at the restaurant, I kept thinking how I’d rather be home writing.

Then, a friend came up to me and said, “I love your new book. Both Nathan and I are reading it. He lets me have it a little while each day.” She has been an encouragement to me and is instrumental in spreading the word about my writing.

Another couple attended. The man is a retired police detective who answered some questions I had about investigations and has offered his assistance with future books.

Next, another woman, after we played the game “truth or lie” said to me, “I thought you might say, ‘I’m Joan, and I’m a published author.’”

Someone else inquired about my book sales. Another friend and her husband attended. She has encouraged me to consider speaking engagements to help promote my books.

Yes, I lost writing time on Saturday, but what I gained was far greater. I was able to help someone with a problem attain a satisfying solution. I learned to appreciate even more the support and encouragement of friends. I met new people and enjoyed the time of fellowship.

I’ll have other opportunities to write. I may not have those times with friends who care for and support my efforts.

Seals and Crofts once recorded a song titled, “We May Never Pass This Way Again.” I’ll leave you with the video.

Mystery At The Bonfire

Published on October 29, 2014October 26, 2020 by Joan Hall10 Comments

Goblins and great pumpkins. Trick-or-treat and haunted houses. Bats flying about and witches on broomsticks. Halloween is always a good time for an old-fashioned ghost story.

Not that I believe in ghosts. My encounters with the unexplained are due more to an over-active imagination. Such as the time I thought I saw a werewolf. Or when my cousin and I convinced ourselves a ghost was after us. Once I was even on the lookout for a headless horseman in the woods near our home.

However, I had one strange occurrence several years ago that I can’t explain. Nor can anyone who was present that October night.

In the 1980s, our family held a special event each October. It began as an outdoor chili supper and we invited close friends and neighbors. Later, it expanded to include an art exhibit. My brother and some of his college classmates would display their latest works.

One of the highlights of these events was a Saturday night bonfire. In late summer, we began to gather tree limbs and scrap lumber into a big pile. By October, the mound was the right size for a nice fire.

One year, a few days before Halloween, we gathered in our pasture for the bonfire. About fifteen adults were present. We stood around the fire in groups of two or three.

The winds were still and the moonless night sky glistened with stars. Traffic was sparse on our country road in those days. The only sounds came from the crackling of the fire and soft-spoken conversations.

We had been outdoors an hour or so when it happened.

A noise. A strange noise. An inexplicable noise. It lasted twenty seconds at most.

Conversations ceased. Then, almost in unison, everyone asked, “WHAT WAS THAT?”

“It sounded like a dragonfly flew next to my ear.”

“Maybe a UFO,” another person joked.

“Or the trill of a nighthawk.”

I remained silent, but the best description I could come up with was the sound an airplane makes when the pilot lowers its landing gear.

No one could agree on the source of the sound. A single dragonfly can’t buzz fifteen people’s ears at the same time. We didn’t see any strange objects in the sky. Most discredited the nighthawk theory. And for me to hear the landing gear sound, would require me to be inside a plane.

After a few minutes of speculation, most continued their conversations. One person took the opportunity to go inside the house on the pretense of checking on his son. He didn’t return.

Times change. Life gets busy. Year passed without us hosting the annual event until a few years ago when my brother and his friends revised the art show. This past weekend, people gathered for the event.

These days, we eat dinner in a restaurant rather than having a cookout. Fire pits have replaced the large bonfires. But in the course of the weekend, we discussed the mysterious sound heard long ago.

As years pass, people often tend to embellish stories such as these. Not so with this one. Those of us who were there still stand by our story. We heard a strange sound. No one could identify it. We can’t pinpoint the origin. Although we can’t agree on an exact description, it’s safe to say it wasn’t our imagination.

Perhaps we’ll never know what was behind the mystery at the bonfire, but one thing is certain. It makes a good story to tell while standing around a bonfire at Halloween.

Published on November 21, 2013 by Joan Hall10 Comments

Toward the end of first grade, I learned my friend Debbie was moving away. I came home from school and cried.

Rhodema and I in the Kiamichi Mountains — Rhodema and me in the Kiamichi Mountains

My mom explained that throughout life, people would come and go. Friends would move away, new ones would come. And she was right.

Although I never saw Debbie again, I still have friends from first grade. Several of us went through all twelve years of school together.

I made new friends. One of them was Rhodema. She and I met at church a few years back.

She was a writer. I wanted to be a writer.

She wrote for our women’s magazine. I dreamed of writing.

She was editor for the women’s ministry blog. I was afraid to share anything I had written.

But one Sunday, while serving together as greeters, I got up the nerve to mention that I had written a couple of items.

She asked me to send her something. I did.

A few days later, I received an email saying that she loved the piece, that it needed very little editing, and she was posting it on the church blog. My writing career had begun.

We became friends. We attended writer’s conferences and workshops, including She Speaks. We took a trip to the Kiamichi Mountains with other friends for our own writing retreat. We started our own writers group and led women’s Bible studies together.

She called to let me know when her first article was accepted in a national magazine. She rejoiced with me over my first publication.

Without her encouragement and support, I probably wouldn’t be writing today.

But my friend is moving away. She came to our critique group Monday—one of her last nights to attend. At the close of the meeting, she said, “I have something for you.”

Outside, she handed me a gift bag with instructions not to open it until I got home. “You need to keep it by your writing desk. I have a matching one,” she said. “And it will be at my desk.”

I came home, opened my gift, and cried.

But this isn’t the end. Our friendship will last, over time, over distance, through thick and thin. God bless you, Rhodema, and thank you, my friend.