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shewhomustPhantoms at the Phil, when Newcastle's Literary and Philosophical Society summons up the uncanny with readings of newly written stories (in theory ghost stories, but the definition is a loose one), has become a traditional marker of the end of the festive season, taking place on or near Twelfth Night. This year it was last Friday, so a little early. It has also settled for an approximation of former glories, being held in the downstairs lecture rooms - nothing like as atmospheric as the library itself, but with much better acoustics.
Sean O'Brien opened proceedings with a toast to "absent fiends" (had he someone in particular in mind, or did he just like the phrase? I don't know...) before handing over to Gail-Nina Anderson, who read a revised version of The Gallery, originally written for her much-missed ghost story sessions at the Northumbria Gallery. It concerns a mysteriously malevolent art exhibition, and if not quite a true story, has its origins in a real object and is all the spookier for that. Sean himself followed on, with The Translation: somewhere in eastern Europe, on the threshhold of the war, there is a snowbound castle, an unpleasant book and the threat of punishment for past misdemeanors. Finally, after a break for more wine and some chat, the guest phantom was poet Kris Johnson. I would have said she was completely unknown to me, but no: here is her contribution to Diamind Twig's Poem of the Month, which I am delighted to see is a ghost story of sorts - strictly, more of a ghost story than The Neighborhood, in which the deadly influence is eventually revealed to be of a different kind. Sean and Gail are both experienced and dramatic readers, and Kris Johnson's delivery suffered from the comparison: it was a sly and chilling story nonetheless, with a perfect closing line which made me gasp, and then laugh aloud.
After which, what could we do but head for Mario's for pizza - literally: Gail, having spent Christmas in Bologna, was in the mood for pizza, and it turned out that so was I. I must have been, or else it was a spectacularly good pizza Napoli (it has capers in it: is that caninical?) because I enjoyed it immensely.
This afternoon is S's 'bring along your leftoevers and let's finish this thing off' party. And then Christmas really is over.
Sean O'Brien opened proceedings with a toast to "absent fiends" (had he someone in particular in mind, or did he just like the phrase? I don't know...) before handing over to Gail-Nina Anderson, who read a revised version of The Gallery, originally written for her much-missed ghost story sessions at the Northumbria Gallery. It concerns a mysteriously malevolent art exhibition, and if not quite a true story, has its origins in a real object and is all the spookier for that. Sean himself followed on, with The Translation: somewhere in eastern Europe, on the threshhold of the war, there is a snowbound castle, an unpleasant book and the threat of punishment for past misdemeanors. Finally, after a break for more wine and some chat, the guest phantom was poet Kris Johnson. I would have said she was completely unknown to me, but no: here is her contribution to Diamind Twig's Poem of the Month, which I am delighted to see is a ghost story of sorts - strictly, more of a ghost story than The Neighborhood, in which the deadly influence is eventually revealed to be of a different kind. Sean and Gail are both experienced and dramatic readers, and Kris Johnson's delivery suffered from the comparison: it was a sly and chilling story nonetheless, with a perfect closing line which made me gasp, and then laugh aloud.
After which, what could we do but head for Mario's for pizza - literally: Gail, having spent Christmas in Bologna, was in the mood for pizza, and it turned out that so was I. I must have been, or else it was a spectacularly good pizza Napoli (it has capers in it: is that caninical?) because I enjoyed it immensely.
This afternoon is S's 'bring along your leftoevers and let's finish this thing off' party. And then Christmas really is over.
