Reading I Remember You

I Remember You: A Ghost Story
by Yrsa Sigurdardóttir, translated by Philip Roughton
Originally published 2010, English translation published 2012

Image

Three friends from Reykjavíc arrive in remote Hesteyri, a village in the Icelandic Westfjords that was abandoned in the 1950s. Nowadays, the place is only occupied in the summer, as a sort of a base camp for vacationers who wish to hike the surrounding wilderness. Garðar, his wife Katrín, and their friend Líf have purchased a house in Hesteyri, planning to convert it into guest lodgings. They (along with Líf’s dog Putti) have come to the deserted village in the chilly offseason, in order to renovate their property.

While there, the trio must battle their own lack of handyperson skills, the increasingly frigid weather—and a strange hostile presence that doesn’t seem to want them there, but also won’t let them leave.

Meanwhile, in Ísafjörður, the largest town in the Westfjords, psychiatrist Freyr leads a lonely existence. He transferred here from Reykjavíc after the mysterious disappearance of his young son Benni three years before. When a preschool in the town is viciously vandalized, local police officer Dagný brings Freyr in to consult. The vandal has completely destroyed the place, and scrawled epithets like “dirty” and “ugly” in all the rooms. There is no sign of forced entry. How did it happen? And why does that one little kid stare so hostilely at Freyr?

Freyr discovers that sixty years ago, the town elementary school suffered a similar defacement. It occurred right after the disappearance of Bernódus, one of the students, who vanished in much the same way Benni did. And on the same day that the preschool is vandalized, one of Bernódus’s former classmates hangs herself without explanation. She leaves a note behind: one that mentions not only Bernódus, but Freyr’s son Benni, whom she never met.

As the narrative progresses, Freyr and Dagný uncover strange connections between the events of the present, of three years ago, and sixty years ago. Connections that reach all the way to Hesteyri.

Continue reading →

Posted on by Nina Zumel 0

Tales of the Kyoto Ghost Story Priest

Tales of the Kyoto Ghost Story Priest
by Daiun Miki, Adapted by Tatsuya Morino
Originally published 2021
English translation published 2025 (translator not credited)

It’s been a while since my last post! Apologies for that, there’s been a lot going on. But I’ve still been making time for reading and puzzles and watching classic television and film. Today, I think I’ve got a goodie for you.

Image

Tales of the Kyoto Ghost Story Priest is a manga, illustrating some allegedly true ghost stories from the real-life “Ghost Monk” (Kaidan Osho), Daiun Miki. Miki is the Chief Monk of the Renkyu-ji Temple in Kyoto, and is known for his use of “scary stories” to teach Buddhist precepts. Sorta like the Jatakas, or (for Christianity) the parables of Jesus, only spookier.

The manga includes eleven stories, all of which are either tales that Miki heard from people who consulted him, or were his personal experiences. As you might expect, they have a told-round-the-campfire, urban legendary feel: sometimes gruesome, sometimes sentimental, sometimes both. And yet, they are distinct from the types of urban legends that I typically hear.

Though Miki tells these stories in order to teach about Buddhism, you needn’t worry about being preached to. In fact, not all the stories have a moral or a lesson explicitly attached to them. When they do, they generally treat the theme of karma (no surprise), or illustrate the persistence of consciousness/soul after death.

Continue reading →

Posted on by Nina Zumel 1

Nightmare, aka Fear in the Night

This originally started as a sort of follow up to my “William Shatner as Archie Goodwin” post from last November: I found what seems to be the first feature film role of Deforest Kelley, aka Star Trek’s Dr. Bones McCoy! After a little more research, though, this has morphed into a read-and-watch post, in which I compare a Cornell Woolrich novella and two film adaptations.

First, the novella:

And So To Death (1941)

AndSoToDeath Woolrich.
Illustration for “And So to Death” as published in Argosy Vol. 306, No. 1 (March 1, 1941)

Young Vincent Hardy has a terrible nightmare, in which he dreams of fighting with and then killing a man in a strange mirrored room. When he awakens, he discovers bruises on his throat and blood on his wrists. And in his pockets: a button and a key that he had grabbed in his dream! Horrified, he runs for help to his brother-in-law, Cliff Dodge, a homicide detective. Cliff doesn’t believe him at first—until they learn about a murder that matches Vince’s dream in every detail. Is Vince a murderer? And why doesn’t he remember?

Continue reading →

Posted on by Nina Zumel 3

More Speculations about “Encourage the Beautiful”

"Encourage the Beautiful, for the Useful Encourages Itself"
“Encourage the Beautiful, for the Useful Encourages Itself”
Illustration by Louis Rhead, from A collection of book plate designs (1907). Source: Old Book Illustrations

About a year or so back, I came across this lovely bookplate and became intrigued with the quote, allegedly by Goethe, that it displays. As I wrote about here, the quote is probably not by Goethe; it’s likely a misattribution by George Henry Lewes. Lewes used the quote as the epigraph for the literary section of the nineteenth-century periodical The Leader, during his tenure as its literary editor.

Recently, I received a note from Artur Zwolski, who proposes what might be the closest actual Goethe quote:

Es ist nämlich ein Vorrecht des Schönen, daß es nicht nützlich zu sein braucht.

which he translates as “It is namely the privilege of the beautiful that it does not have to be useful.”

Naturally, I spent a little time looking into this new quote, too. If you like quotation research, you might enjoy reading what I’ve learned about this actual Goethe quote, over at Dark Tales Sleuth.

Thanks to Artur Zwolski for contributing to this little literary sleuthing project! Enjoy.

Posted on by Nina Zumel 2

The Messenger

We’re coming to the end of this Christmas season, and here’s my last Winter Tale! This one comes from American author Robert W. Chambers (1865-1933), best known today for his interlinked weird tale collection, The King in Yellow. As was the case with my previous story, this piece isn’t Christmasy; it’s set in the autumn (October) rather than the winter. But I like it a lot, and I wanted to share it with you.

Acherontia - Print - Iconographia Zoologica - Special Collections University of Amsterdam - UBAINV0274 062 01 0002.tif.
The Death’s Head Moth is a key motif in today’s Winter Tale

American Robert Darrel lives in a small Breton village, having married a local woman named Lys Trevec. The story opens with the discovery of a heap of bones and rusty weapons in a gravel pit, the remains of a British regiment that was defeated by French forces in 1760. Local legend connects these grisly remains to a mysterious Black Priest, and to a curse that he cast against the Trevec family and all their descendants.

Pooh, says the American; just rural superstition. But strange things begin to happen around the Darrel household. Could the curse be coming for Lys?

You can read “The Messenger” here.

“The Messenger” comes from The Mystery of Choice (1897), another collection of weird tales, but of a somewhat different flavor: less “cosmic” than the King in Yellow. Also, I have to confess, more to my taste.

The first three stories in the collection are connected narratives about Robert Darrel and his life in a Breton village. I like them all, but I chose “The Messenger” because it has a Jamesian, folk horrorish feel: apostate priests, local tradition, the folkloric symbology of animals. All three Breton stories are woven around an entomological theme, in this case about the Death’s Head moth. It’s fairly spooky, and, like an M.R. James tale, the source of the weirdness is suggested, but not entirely spelled out.

Since the narrative makes references to the events of a previous story, I’ve added some footnotes to give a little more context. But for the most part, the tale stands up quite well on its own. I hope you enjoy it.

Thank you for spending another Winter Tales season with me! May we all have a happy and healthy 2026.

A list (with links) of the winter tales I’ve shared in previous years is on my Winter Tales page.

Image: Illustration of a Death’s Head Moth (Acherontia) from the Iconigraphica Zoologica (compiled circa 1881-1883). Date and Artist not specified. Source: Wikimedia.

Posted on by Nina Zumel 0

The Loquacious Lady of Lansdowne Passage

I hope you all had a Merry Christmas! I have a couple more Winter Tales to share this season, before Epiphany arrives. Today’s story is by England-based Armenian writer Michael Arlen (1895-1956). Though Arlen is little known today, in the 1920s he was a highly popular writer and playwright, producing humorous, satirical novels and short stories about English “smart” society, often laced with a bit of horror. Many of his works were adapted for film, stage and television.

Lansdowne passage.
Lansdown (sic) Passage, leading to Curzon St. Mayfair

“The Loquacious Lady of Lansdowne Passage,” is a short but sharp little tale, sort of a pair with one of the other tales I’ve shared this season (I won’t say which, so as not to spoil it). There’s nothing wintry or Christmasy about the story, but I like its bite.

George Tarlyon refuses to walk through Lansdowne Passage at night.

…you can tell him that [he ought to know better] until you are blue in the face and he will smile at you and agree with you, but still he will not walk through Lansdowne Passage at night, saying that he is afraid.

Why?

You can read “The Loquacious Lady of Lansdowne Passage” here.

Lansdowne Passage is (or was) a real London location; since I’m not familiar with London or its history, I had to look it up. A little research turned up an old Ordnance Survey map, which, along with this image, helped me visualize the situation. I’ve included the map in the PDF transcription, and added a few historical footnotes of interest.

But you needn’t know the historical details to appreciate the story. Do enjoy!

A list (with links) of the winter tales I’ve shared in previous years is on my Winter Tales page.

Image: Illustration of Lansdowne Passage by Charles G. Harper for Half Hours with the Highwaymen, Vol 1 (1908), also authored by Harper. Source: Project Gutenberg.

Posted on by Nina Zumel 0

Bone to His Bone

It’s Christmas Eve! And I have a gentle ghost story for you to read in front of the crackling Yule Log (or video of a Yule Log, if that’s what you’ve got). This is a fairly well known story, by M.R. James’s friend and fellow antiquarian ghost story writer, E.G. Swain (1861-1938).

Stoneground front cover.

The Reverend Mr. Batchel suffers from insomnia on Christmas Eve. He needs to be fresh for the next day’s service and sermon, so he goes to his library in the middle of the night, hoping to find a book he can fall asleep to. But it seems he’s got an uninvited visitor who has other plans for him.

Groping along to where the table stood, Mr. Batchel felt over its surface for the matches which usually lay there; he found, however, that the table was cleared of everything. He raised his right hand, therefore, in order to feel his way to a shelf where the matches were sometimes mislaid, and at that moment, whilst his hand was in mid-air, the matchbox was gently put into it!

You can read “Bone to his Bone” here.

“Bone to his Bone” is quite mild, as ghost stories go, but I’m fond of it for a number of reasons. It’s antiquarian and Jamesian in tone, and I’m a fan of M.R. James. It’s about a haunted library, and I love library-related ghost and mystery stories. And it’s structured a bit like a puzzle or clue-hunt, which appeals to my recently revived interest in Golden Age style whodunnits. Hopefully some or all of these reasons will resonate with you, too.

Incidentally, the book featured in the story—The Compleat Gard’ner, by Jean de La Quintinye, translated into English by John Evelyn—really exists. Evelyn’s translation was published sometime around 1693. Sadly, the passages from the text that the ghost uses to communicate with Mr. Batchel seem to be fictional. I suppose it was too good to be true.

Fictional passages notwithstanding, I hope this antiquarian ghost story provides some pleasant diversion for a holiday evening. Here’s wishing a Merry Christmas to all who celebrate, and a joyous day to all who don’t.

For the curious: The Compleat Gard’ner, 1693 edition, from the University of Michigan. Click on “View entire text” to see the entire text on one page, or use the links in the table of contents to see selected sections. The illustrations are unfortunately not included.

If you prefer to somewhat replicate the experience of Mr. Batchel, here are page scans of a 1701 edition, “Now Compediously Adbrig’d and made of more Use, with very Considerable Improvements,” at the Internet Archive. This edition is credited to George London and Henry Wise, not to Evelyn.

A list (with links) of the winter tales I’ve shared in previous years is on my Winter Tales page.

Image: Cover of Stoneground Ghost Tales (1912), E.G.Swain’s ghost story collection. Artist unknown. Source: Project Gutenberg.

Posted on by Nina Zumel 0

The Haunted Silk Mill

It’s Christmas week, the time when I traditionally share some gentler and more humorous ghost stories. Today I have a somewhat goofy, but fast paced and rollicking tale that appeared exactly 120 years ago, to the day!

Image

Jane Morgan’s fiancee Joe severely injures his right arm in a silk mill fire, rendering him unable to work. He, Jane, and Joe’s elderly mother are on the verge of starvation, when Jane hatches a daring scheme. She’s going to hunt for the legendary treasure of John Lombe, which is said to be secreted somewhere in his old silk mill. The hunt will be on Christmas Night, per a mysterious poem:

“Whoe’er would John Lombe’s riches seek,
Must be a maid both pure and meek.
No selfish greed must urge her quest,
For she must act at love’s behest,
No grizzly ghost can do her ill
If these conditions she fulfil,
And perhaps a ghost may point the way
To where old John Lombe’s treasure lay,
If she goes on the night of Christmas Day.”

You can read “The Haunted Silk Mill” here.

John Lombe (1693-1722) was a real person, and Lombe’s Mill a real silk mill. The story of Lombe and his brother stealing the Italian silk throwing process and importing it to England is historically accurate. And there really is a legend that the King of Sardinia sent a female assassin to kill the brothers in retaliation. She got John.

“The Haunted Silk Mill, or, The Ghost-Guarded Treasure” first appeared in the Derby and Chesterfield Reporter, Dec. 22, 1905—before the 1910 fire that destroyed Lombe’s original mill. The tale comes from the prolific pen of James Skipp Borlase (1839-1909), a Cornwall-born solicitor and author, who spent much of his careers (both of them) in Australia. He wrote historical romances, crime, adventure, and lots of pulpy Christmas ghost stories, including this one.

He also apparently plagiarized some of the work of fellow Australian author Mary Fortune, one of the earliest women detective writers in the world. But I’m pretty sure this one is all his. While it’s not exactly scintillating literary fiction, it is, I think, a whole lot of fun. Do enjoy!

More Stuff

A collection of Borlase’s Christmas stories, edited by Christopher Philippo.

A Christmas Crime story by Mary Fortune that I posted a few years back.

A list (with links) of the winter tales I’ve shared in previous years is on my Winter Tales page.

Image: Alfred John Keene, The Silk Mill during the fire of 1910 (1910). Yes, this is Lombe’s mill. Source: Wikimedia.

Posted on by Nina Zumel 3

The Nutcracker and the Mouse-King

Daa-da da da, da da, da-da-da, dum-dum-dum, da-da-dadada… That’s my best rendition of the opening to the “Dance of the Sugar-Plum Fairy,” from Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker. Even though the ballet is an ubiquitous annual holiday tradition with ballet companies here in the States (and elsewhere), I have to confess I’ve never seen a professional performance of it.

Mina Lowry, Nutcracker, c. 1941, NGA 28745.

But I do remember being in kindergarten, dressed in a little pink tutu and tights, and spinning around like a top, my arms in some approximation of fifth position, while attempting to “dance” in a circle with all the other little girls in my class to the music-box-like strains of “Sugar-Plum Fairy.” I think the little boys danced to “March of the Toy Soldiers” (Pum, pa-pa-rum-pum, rum-pum-pum….). I hope our parents were amused.

Do you have a similar memory?

Anyway, I recently discovered that the The Nutcracker is based on The Nutcracker and the Mouse-King, a fairy tale by E.T.A. Hoffmann1, originally published in 1816. I’m a fan of Hoffmann’s short stories, so this immediately caught my interest. Time for a Winter (Fairy) Tale!

Continue reading →

Posted on by Nina Zumel 2

Glen Moyr Castle

Today’s winter tale: a haunted room story by the Rev. Augustine David Crake (1836-1890), English clergyman and author of historical fiction. The story comes from his 1888 collection A Sheaf of Yule Log Stories, Crake’s (semi-fictional) reminiscences of a family Christmas holiday, where every night, someone tells a winter’s tale before the crackling fire. According to the preface, most of these stories were told to Rev. Crake as “true” events, by friends, family, or acquaintances.

A castle perched on a cliff, surrounded by trees. At the foot of the cliff are more trees, a small house, and a river or stream.

It’s the third night of Christmas, and it’s Uncle Thomas’s turn to tell a story. Thomas (nicknamed Tinto) is a painter. He relates the story of what happened to him one December at Glen Moyr Castle, where he’d been commissioned for some portrait painting and restoration. While staying at the castle, he and his dog experience some frightening visual and auditory “hallucinations.”

I still stood petrified: the more so as some indescribable sounds seemed to arise from behind the curtain—sounds I could hardly analyze, but which curdled my blood for all that.

You can read “Glen Moyr Castle” here.

It’s a pretty grim story for Uncle Tinto to be telling to children, but I guess that’s what they wanted! Enjoy.

A list (with links) of the winter tales I’ve shared in previous years is on my Winter Tales page.

Image: Chateau de Falaise, artist unknown (c. 1885). Illustration for Nouveau dictionnaire encyclopédique universel illustré. Source: Old Book Illustrations

Posted on by Nina Zumel 0