Behind the Mirrors of Ashcombe
There is something uniquely unsettling about silence — not the peaceful kind, but the kind that hums just behind the wallpaper. That was where Ashcombe began.
When I first envisioned The Blackwood Journals, I didn’t set out to write about ghosts. I set out to write about what remains — the grief, the echoes, the questions never asked aloud.
Ashcombe Manor is not real, and yet, in many ways, it is more real than some places I’ve stood in. I’ve walked its halls countless times in my mind. I know where the wallpaper peels, where the mirrors sit crooked, and where no one dares to knock.
The story of Dr. Blackwood came from my fascination with rational minds confronting irrational dread. He is a man of medicine haunted not by what he sees but by what he refuses to believe he has seen.
This blog will serve as my dimly lit study — a place where I’ll share glimpses behind the writing, the folklore that shaped it, and perhaps even some tales too strange to fit into fiction.
So come in. The fire is lit. The manor awaits.
– C.N. Harrow
When I first envisioned The Blackwood Journals, I didn’t set out to write about ghosts. I set out to write about what remains — the grief, the echoes, the questions never asked aloud.
Ashcombe Manor is not real, and yet, in many ways, it is more real than some places I’ve stood in. I’ve walked its halls countless times in my mind. I know where the wallpaper peels, where the mirrors sit crooked, and where no one dares to knock.
The story of Dr. Blackwood came from my fascination with rational minds confronting irrational dread. He is a man of medicine haunted not by what he sees but by what he refuses to believe he has seen.
This blog will serve as my dimly lit study — a place where I’ll share glimpses behind the writing, the folklore that shaped it, and perhaps even some tales too strange to fit into fiction.
So come in. The fire is lit. The manor awaits.
– C.N. Harrow
No comments have been added yet.
