R.K. Summers's Blog

The Haunting of Port Logan

Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away…

Except this isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a true story about a haunting I experienced while in a small coastal village called Port Logan, in Kirkmaiden, Rhins of Galloway, Wigtownshire. I want to reiterate that this is a true story. This is not a piece of creative writing or a writing exercise. This is exactly how events unfolded.

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View of Port Logan from the old lighthouse

But let’s begin at the beginning.

In 2011, my family decided to holiday in Scotland. Having heard of the Wigtown Book Festival, and knowing my deep adoration of books, my parents chose Wigtownshire. At the time, I was midway through writing The Old Ways, and hadn’t yet found a publisher willing to take on little old newcomer me. So, we drove the hundreds of miles (315 miles in fact, and approximately 4 hours of driving) to a small pier village called Port Logan, where we were renting a holiday cottage.

We arrived to find, not necessarily a village, but a street, consisting of about 10 houses and 1 pub, imaginatively named The Port Logan Inn. I jest, but this place was like something out of Middle-Earth and I loved it. I adored this village; it was bleak, windswept, cold, saltstung, dark, and utterly joyless. Being an aspiring writer with (at the time) aspirations of Poe and Byron, it was a dream come true.

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Don’t let the sunshine fool you

I’ve also just learned the Port Logan Inn has been closed permanently. This is especially sad as this small establishment served wild boar sausages, boasted a coal-and-wood burning fire, and proudly displayed a mounted stag’s head on the wall.

But I digress.

We were given the keys and shown into our home for the week. It was a beautiful house, three levels of wood floors and cold air, and a view of the seafront barely 10 feet from our front door. The ground floor held the kitchen and small dining area. The first floor held the master bedroom, the living room (with a sofa which pulled out into a bed), and the bathroom. The top floor/attic had been converted into a second bedroom, consisting of two single beds. This is where I slept. Again, being a bleak and depressing (but not whiskey-soaked) aspiring author, I didn’t mind the fat, black spiders who dwelt in the windows. They were small enough and kept to themselves.

What I did mind was the presence who dwelt in the room. But I’ll get to that shortly.

Our holiday passed like normal, nothing out of the ordinary. We went into the towns, bought souvenirs and gifts, attended the Wigtown Book Festival, perused many bookshops, and ate and drank in the Port Logan Inn of an evening.

One night, I suffered a nightmare. I don’t remember the specifics of it, but I distinctly remember a man with bright blond hair, almost bleached, wearing a striped shirt, calling for a boy called Eddie. I remember hearing the sing-song way he called, almost like they were playing Hide-And-Seek, or shouting for him to come in from the cold. Eddddiiiiiieeeee! Edddddiiiiiieeeee! I woke up the next morning and shook off the nightmare. Just a dream, right? Didn’t say a word about it, wasn’t important enough, and the day carried on like normal. Remember this, I didn’t say a word about it.

The night after I’d experienced the nightmare, I was having trouble sleeping. I sat awake in my bed, listening to the rain outside. Seaside Scotland in September tends to have stormy weather, but I didn’t mind. It was what I wanted. It was starting to get late, and I remember checking the time and noticing it was around 11:40pm. I was working on The Old Ways, hoping I would nod off.

Until I heard someone whistle at the end of my bed.

Not just a whistle. A tune. Someone was standing at the foot of my bed, and whistled me a tune. This was not a noise that the wind through the rattling windows could have made. This was a song. Someone whistled me a song. And they were at the foot of my bed.

Afraid now, I put away my iPad, (stupidly) turned out the light, and lay down to sleep. I pulled the covers over my head and listened to the wind and rain pounding against the window for the next four and a half hours.

I knew, I knew, there was someone standing at my bedside.

 

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I was too terrified to look. Too scared to shout for my mam. I tried to put my earphones in so I could nod off listening to calming music. It didn’t help. I put the light back on. It didn’t help. I didn’t want to admit I was afraid of the dark, but I was afraid of what was in the dark. There was a rattly old heater next to the bed, and I slid my arm out of the covers to switch it on, hoping the noise of the fan would drown out the noise of the rain against the window. It didn’t help.

I knew there was someone else in that room with me, and if I looked out from my bedcovers, then they would know that I was awake.

I eventually nodded off, somehow. The next morning, at about 8am, my stepdad came into my room and woke me up. The very first words that left my mouth that morning?

“I’m not sleeping in this room again. There is something in here.”

Of course, rational mind him, he didn’t believe me. My mother was a bit more believing. But, humouring me, my stepdad agreed to sleep in the attic room the next night, while I slept in my mam’s bed instead. He’d had a few, so was a little tipsy and therefore inclined to sleep deeper.

The next morning, the morning of our last night in Port Logan, he told me he hadn’t heard or seen anything. I decided to sleep in the room one more night. My mam agreed to sleep in the attic room with me, in the other single bed on the other side of the room. I was comforted by this. She snores a little, so I got some earplugs so I could sleep easier. I drifted off first, and she took my iPad to watch some videos or read for a while before going to sleep.

Around 45 minutes later, she gently shook me awake.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“I’m going back downstairs, do you want to come?” she said.

“No, no, I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure? I can make up the sofa bed for you?”

“No, I’m alright.”

“Are you positive? Absolutely sure? You can sleep in the living room.”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay, I’m half asleep and I have my earplugs anyway.”

“Okay… If you’re sure.”

I fell back asleep and didn’t even hear her leave the room to go back to the master bedroom downstairs. The next morning, she admitted to me a little something.

She was trying to get me out of the room. She wanted me to go downstairs with her. She saw something in the attic room.

While reading on my iPad, she’d started to nod off. In that half-state of sleep and awake, she experienced sleep paralysis. This is a fairly common and easily explainable phenomenon. What is not fairly common or easily explainable, is how she saw a little boy with bleach-blond hair and a striped shirt standing at the foot of my bed looking at me.

What is also not easily explainable is how she knew, but didn’t know how, but she knew that this little boy was called Eddie.

Not only that, but a few months later, while out at a Chinese restaurant, and again while slightly tipsy, my stepdad did admit to feeling very uncomfortable in the room. He didn’t see or hear anything, but there was just an unpleasant atmosphere up there that he just couldn’t explain.

I still tease in mock outrage that they both let me sleep in the ghost room and didn’t say anything!!!

My mother says she didn’t want to frighten me. Little late for that, don’t you think, Mama?

 

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This is Gary, he’s here to ease the tension

We’ve tried to look up any other hauntings of Port Logan, or anything about missing/dead men or boys called Eddie, but our searches have brought up nothing.

To this day, it has been the most sinister and terrifying encounter either of us have experienced. And my mother and I have both had ghostly experiences in the past. None of them have ever measured up to Eddie, and the Haunting of Port Logan.

 

Do you have a ghost story you want to share? Tell me all about it in the comments below!

 

It’s Been A While

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I am so sorry for being away so long, I know you just can’t survive without my inane ramblings. In my defence, I’ve been to Disneyland

Newest Poem!

Just wanted to share my newest poem with you. I originally wrote it for the National Poetry Competition, but lacked the courage to submit it. So, it’s just a new poem now. Enjoy!

 

Malice

A fantôme curled a finger

And the flickering heat spread quick

“Fire, Alice! Fire!”

It crumbled, the world

A fond kiss, Alice

Hands red, shaking, dripping

Don’t be afraid, Alice

Gripped the blade, a vorpal bite

Off with her head, Alice!

The lights go out

And that wonderful land spreads far and thick

A toxin in my head

Snicker-snack, snacker-snick!

It’s dark

Too dark

Can’t see

Who’s there waiting for me?

It’s white

I can see

Only white

But cold!

Too cold!

Shaved

Depraved

Makes me well-behaved

A hole in the head

Gives the troubles more space

A tincture

A cure

Makes me more demure

“No more talk of rabbits and dodos, Alice.

It’s time to face what you committed.”

A race! A race!

A pool of tears too deep to trace

Around and around we go

Until our feet are bloodied roots

The fire made you forget your boots

A curious eye winks from the shadows beneath

Made curiouser by a Cat

Who vanishes;

Leaving only a grin

A wicked slash of teeth

Shall we play a game, Alice?

Chess and cards

A castle in the sky

Jam yesterday and jam to-morrow

But never jam to-day

Too big to play,

Alice

Follow the vale of tears

To find the repugnant Lepidoptera

Steaming and piping in the cool night air

You’re late, Alice

Too late

What’s that you’re humming, Alice?

Dum-Dee-Dum-Dee-Dum

The Hatter won’t be pleased, Alice

But the Dormouse

The Dor

The Door

The door!

Enough, Alice!

But I found the Queen, Alice

She has my face

Wearing her heart on her lace

A Suicide King sits beside her

Says his words in reverse

I don’t understand, Alice

What don’t you understand, Alice?

When can I go home?

You can’t go home, Alice.

Why?

You’re mad as a March Hare, Alice

Mad as a Hatter, Alice?

Madder than Hatter, Alice.

Oh, Alice, don’t you know, dear?

We’re all mad here.

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As you can tell, it’s based on Alice: Madness Returns, a fun but twisted game by American McGee. Check out the trailer here.

Blessed be,

RK )O(

It’s The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

It’s almost Christmas time once again, and it’s that special time of year that turns everyone into either a Holly Jolly Santa Claus, or a complete douchebag.

This is a very short PSA to remind people to not shout or abuse people in retail or customer services. We’re human, just like you, please don’t take your frustrations out on us.

In other news, Age of Magic is about 4-5 maybe 6 chapters away from completion, and, aside from a teeny-weeny blip in the middle of November wherein I lost all motivation to finish it, it’s going well. Apart from the fact that it’s about 30,000 words too short.

Uhm. Oops?

On Dragons

I once had a dream where I was riding a dragon.

This is fairly normal for me, as you can imagine. But this one time when I was riding my dragon through the night air (escaping something, if I remember correctly), I remember exactly how it felt. And the sensation was beyond magnificent.

The lurching, the swaying, the feeling that the ground was so far away. The sweep of enormous wings underneath my legs like sails. The air rushing past, not warm, not cold. I felt the currents of the wind carrying us through the night. And the roar. Oh… It was glorious. Majesty and might in one earth-shaking thunderous noise.

Was this the most vivid dream I’d ever experienced? Or did I own a pet dragon in another life and this was just a memory? I’m hoping for the latter.

Dragons are probably the best known magical creatures in media. Literature, movies, games, music, dragons have left their claw-marks on the collective hive-mind of fantasy fans. Often the symbol of kings and great heroes, dragons can be beautiful, terrifying, powerful, and dangerous.

One thing we need to address first and foremost:

Dragons have four legs and wings. Wyverns have two legs and two wings.

The dragons of Skyrim, Game of Thrones, and Harry Potter, are wyverns. The dragons of Dragon Age, Dragonheart, and How to Train Your Dragon, are Dragons. (Well, mostly; I’ve noticed a few wyverns sneaking in HTTYD)

I imagine one isn’t really interested in counting legs when one is on FIRE.

King Arthur’s surname means “chief dragon”. Fitting for the Once and Future King. England’s patron saint, St George is famous for slaying a dragon. A popular folk tale where I live tells of the Lambton Worm, a poisonous dragon (or wyrm) so large it wraps itself around a hill and devours livestock.

In France, dragons are used in the stories of Christianity triumphing over Paganism. Dragons symbolise raw, wild, untapped power.

Myths, legends, folklore, even Bible stories are rife with dragons. The Devil himself is often depicted as one in his most powerful form.

Dragons who don’t speak are animalistic, therefore act as animals do. “I am hungry, therefore I shall eat.” Do we begrudge cats killing mice and birds? It’s their nature. It just so happens “birds and mice” to a dragon are “cows and sheep and the occasional human” to us. They don’t know any better, they’re just hungry animals.

Of course, not all dragons are like this. (Yes, I used the phrase #NotAllDragons.) A famous phrase states “Meddle not in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and good with ketchup.” But some dragons, like Draco from Dragonheart, strive to be good and help humanity.

Dragons are wise. They have to be, they’re long-living beings. They can’t live for hundreds, maybe thousands of years, and not accumulate knowledge just as they accumulate wealth. In Braveheart, dragons are shown to save humans in danger. A stark contrast to, say, Smaug, who can’t help noticing how tasty Bilbo looks.

Eregon, book and movie, has an interesting spin on dragons. They imprint on a human (their ‘rider’) upon hatching, can hold telepathic conversations, and share sight with each other. Mushu, from Mulan, remains to this day one of my favourite Eddie Murphy roles. Yes, it’s lighthearted and goofy, but he’s a funny dragon. Who can’t love a funny dragon?

In conclusion, I’m beyond excited to start work on the as-of-yet untitled book three, because I can finally write about dragons, and describe them in all their awesome majesty, and give them all the respect and honour they’re due.

Blessed Be

RK )O(

I Do Not Wish To Live In A World Without Dragons

“I am the lasht one!”

This post has nothing to do with the title, I just adore this line and will be inserting it into Age of Magic as soon as possible

What Makes A Good Bad Guy?

WARNING:

THE FOLLOWING BLOG POST MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR THE OLD WAYS.

PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK.

 

I was procrastinating performing extensive research for my novel on Pinterest earlier today, when I found this gem:

When I first saw it, I laughed. I mean, I laughed hard. Because my immediate thought to myself was, “Of course not, Erlik thinks he’s the best thing ever created!”

Then I went deeper into it. And I realised the whole reason he thinks so, is because he does have low self-esteem. He acts the way he does, because of crippling insecurity. He spends the entire novel hot on Mab’s heels. He swings from one emotion to another in the blink of an eye. He’s often shown drinking heavily (in the morning! What a lush). He’s infamous (in-universe) for his sexual exploits, and has the… *ahem* extensive progeny to prove it.


These can be symptoms of low self-esteem. Addictive, promiscuous, and chaotic personality traits. While he never displays anxiety attacks or a lack of self-confidence, he certainly has something about him that indicates he dislikes himself, and is projecting that dislike upon others to make himself feel better.

Loki has low self-esteem too. Yes, that’s my excuse for using his picture…

So is that what makes a good bad guy? (Okay, okay, I’ll say good villain from now on. Makes for less confusion) Well, I don’t think it is. Erlik has low self-esteem, yes, but he’s also funny, charming, sinister, manipulative, vindictive, and so deliciously wicked.

I… may be a little biased. #TeamErlik

Anyway. Is that what makes a good villain? ‘Nice’ qualities? Human qualities? Well, I don’t think so. I mean, I think they certainly help, but Sauron was a perfect villain, and he had no human qualities at all.

Good villains can be relateable. They can have something in them that makes regular, less-villainous people go “Oh, that’s like me! Wait, is that good?”

What about those villains who know they’re evil? The ones who relish in their darkness. The ones who torture and torment for fun. Lookin’ at you, Ramsay Bolton.

Couldn’t resist, sorry :3

There are villains who believe they’re the hero of the story. Villains who believe they’re doing what they’re doing for the greater good. I think Heath Ledger’s Joker has a little of that in him. He wants to unleash chaos for the people of Gotham for them to realise their full potential.

A good villain must be a foil. A contrast to the hero. An opposition to everything the hero stands for. Erlik is a Dark Prince, while Thomas (eventually) is a White Knight. Thomas has a strong moral high ground, whereas Erlik is underhand and plays dirty. Everything Thomas is or becomes, Erlik is ultimately the antithesis. In D&D terms, Thomas is Neutral Good, while Erlik is Chaotic Evil.

That’s what makes a good villain. Next time you’re writing, talk to your villain. Ask him/her/it what they’re fighting for. Ask them what they want. Does that goal conflict with what the hero wants? Do they believe they’re the hero of your story? Talk to them, and find out. Then you’re on the right path.

Now, go, writer! Write! Write like you’ve never written before!

Blessed be,
RK )O(

My First Ever Fan Art!

With permission from the artist, here is the first fan art I’ve ever received

Confession Time!

I, er… *nervous laugh* I lost my password to access WordPress…

But I’ve found it again! And look, I’m here! Here’s a dancing Winchester as an apology for not posting in over a month:

I don’t have much of an update other than YAY for progress on the Age of Magic. Oh, and I have my very first piece of fan-art! ^-^ And my first ever troll! As in, an internet-troll, not an under-the-bridge-troll. I already have two of those. They’re called Frank and Gary.

Once I figure out how to connect my iPhone to my computer (read: I do know how to do it, I’m just intensely lazy), I’ll share the fan-art. Once I have permission from the artist, of course!

So. Age of Magic. Yes, darlings, it’s in progress. Slow-going, for some reason… I couldn’t get characters to act the way they’re meant to. But things are looking up! I technically already have the first *ahem* few drafts, I just need to… well… let’s just say there’s a reason for the following (cropped) screenshot:

And it’s cropped because I don’t want you to see how many folders I had to get through in order to get to this one… I like folders. I’m hyper-organised when it comes to my writing.

Alright, pixies, enough chin-wagging! Better get some work done. These chapters (unfortunately) don’t write themselves!

Blessed be,

RK )O(

I’m Still Standing!

So pleased I got to use that gif again :)

On the other hand, having to use that gif again means I’ve been neglecting my poor darling pixies!

I should probably explain what’s been happening and why I haven’t been posting as much as I should be. Well, while it’s no excuse and I’m not using it as one, I shall explain:

Hospitals! Yay!

Due to personal health reasons, I have to go back under the knife. It’s a very small operation and I’ve had it before, but let’s just say the discovery of a certain lumpy bit where one doesn’t want to find a lumpy bit had me (and my family) quite on edge for a few days. Thankfully, the hospital is quite confident it isn’t anything serious, and I’m getting the results of my biopsy on Tuesday.

I would like to take this opportunity, because of what’s happened to me, and recently a lot more friends than I’d like to say have been receiving the worst kind of news, I want to encourage everyone who reads this to CHECK YOUR BITS. Girls: check your upstairs. Boys: check your downstairs. It only takes a few minutes, but those few minutes could save a lifetime.

I know, it’s embarrassing, and it can sometimes be scary if you find something you don’t want to find. But catching it soon means you can treat it soon. It can be, like in my case, nothing to worry about. But it’s always good to check.

Seriously, I can’t state this enough. CHECK. YOUR. BITS.

In fact, I’m going to wait. Go check them now. Go on. Go do it now. Right now.

   Here’s a bunny to watch while you’re checking.

Sorted? Okay, good. See? Was that so hard? Like I said, only a few minutes.

I know this post doesn’t have anything to do with writing, but it could very well save a life. I may have a high expectation of how many people read my site, but laws of probability might be on my side today.

Please, please, please, carry out regular checks. If you find anything out of the ordinary, talk to your doctor. I can’t state it enough. Too many people suffer because of this horrible, evil disease. I don’t want any of you beautiful pixies falling victim to it as well.

Now, get out there and shine like the supernova that you are!

Blessed be,

RK )O(

 

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How to carry out a proper check – Girls

How to carry out a proper check – Boys