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Let me tell you what I know about this after living here for nearly thirty years.

This is a modern European country, the home of hot net startups, of Internet giants and (in some places, some very few places) the fastest broadband on Earth. People here live in this century, HARD.

Yet they get nervous about walking up that one hill close to their home after dark, because, you know… stuff happens there.

I know this because Peter and I live next to One Of Those Hills. There are people in our locality who wouldn’t go up our tiny country road on a dark night for love or money. What they make of us being so close to it for so long without harm coming to us, I have no idea. For all I know, it’s ascribed to us being writers (i.e. sort of bards) or mad folk (also in some kind of positive relationship with the Dangerous Side: don’t forget that the root word of “silly”, which used to be English for “crazy”, is the Old English _saelig_, “holy”…) or otherwise somehow weirdly exempt.

And you know what? I’m never going to ask. Because one does not discuss such things. Lest people from outside get the wrong idea about us, about normal modern Irish people living in normal modern Ireland.

You hear about this in whispers, though, in the pub, late at night, when all the tourists have gone to bed or gone away and no one but the locals are around. That hill. That curve in the road. That cold feeling you get in that one place. There is a deep understanding that there is something here older than us, that doesn’t care about us particularly, that (when we obtrude on it) is as willing to kick us in the slats as to let us pass by unmolested.

So you greet the magpies, singly or otherwise. You let stones in the middle of fields be. You apologize to the hawthorn bush when you’re pruning it. If you see something peculiar that cannot be otherwise explained, you are polite to it and pass onward about your business without further comment. And you don’t go on about it afterwards. Because it’s… unwise. Not that you personally know any examples of people who’ve screwed it up, of course. But you don’t meddle, and you learn when to look the other way, not to see, not to hear. Some things have just been here (for various values of “here” and various values of “been”) a lot longer than you have, and will be here still after you’re gone. That’s the way of it. When you hear the story about the idiots who for a prank chainsawed the centuries-old fairy tree a couple of counties over, you say – if asked by a neighbor – exactly what they’re probably thinking: “Poor fuckers. They’re doomed.” And if asked by anybody else you shake your head and say something anodyne about Kids These Days. (While thinking DOOMED all over again, because there are some particularly self-destructive ways to increase entropy.)

Meanwhile, in Iceland: the county council that carelessly knocked a known elf rock off a hillside when repairing a road has had to go dig the rock up from where it got buried during construction, because that road has had the most impossible damn stuff happen to it since that you ever heard of. Doubtless some nice person (maybe they’ll send out for the Priest of Thor or some such) will come along and do a little propitiatory sacrifice of some kind to the alfar, belatedly begging their pardon for the inconvenience.

They’re building the alfar a new temple, too.

Don’t go near big trees in the night

If you live on a farm, don’t look outside the windows at night

I have broken all these rules.

I’ve seen some shit.

If it sounds like your mom, but you didn’t realize your mom is home…. it’s not your mom. Promise.

One walked onto the porch once. Wasn’t fun. But they’re not super keen on guns. Typically bolt when they see one.

You think it’s the neighbor kids.

It’s not the neighbor kids.

Might sound like coyotes but you never really /see/ the coyotes but then wow that one cow was reaaaaaally fucked up this morning. The next night when you hear another one screaming you just turn the tv up a little more. Maybe fire a gun in the air but you don’t go after it. If it is coyotes then it’s probably a pack and you seriously don’t want to fuck with that and if it’s the other thing you seriously REALLY don’t want to fuck with that.

So in the south, especially near the mountains, you just go straight from your car to inside your house, draw your curtains and watch tv.

If you see lights in the fields just fucking leave it alone.

Eyes forward. Don’t be fucking stupid. Mind your own business. Call your neighbors and tell them to bring the cats in. There’s coyotes out. Some of them know. Most of them don’t.

Other than that everything’s a ghost and they died in the civil war. Literally all of everything else is just the civil war. We used to smell old perfume and pipe tobacco in the weeks leading up to the battle anniversaries.

We had ‘witches’ in the mountains (more like ghost-women who will snatch you up by making you wander in a daze around the forest like the Blair Witch before killing you or letting you back out into society but you’re… different). Or devils in springs or abandoned wells (don’t look too long into one or something will follow you). 

But we also had the cornfield demons. I’ve witnessed this many times. You’ll be in the passenger seat looking out the window and see red glowing eyes in the cornfield. No light shining in that direction. Just two red dots a few inches apart faintly glowing in a pitch black cornfield. They’re not the glow of deer eyes in the headlights. More like the embers of a dying fire. Sometimes, as you drive away, you’ll look out the back window or side mirror and you can see the eyes have moved to the edge of the corn field, still watching you. If you bring it up with the driver, they’ll call you paranoid, but grip the wheel a bit tighter and driver a little faster.

Well, about halfway through I start to get scared. For no reason. Within the span of two heartbeats I grew so terrified that my palms were shaking and my mouth was dry and for some reason I couldn’t take my eyes off the wood to the driver’s side. 

“Turn around.” I say, quickly. 

“Dude, already on it.” Kama said, doing a quick three point turn. I look in the mirror as she’s pealing away and see the creature. It was vaguely humanoid, and hairless, with elongated limbs and pitch black eyes, on all four limbs, loping after us. Now, if you’re in the know, you might be thinking “hey that’s like the creatures from Until Dawn, I call bullshit on this.” Well, Until Dawn was four years away, and it wasn’t even in development yet, so shush. 

I rip my eyes away from it and hold on tight as she drives. Then, at the same time, both of us get this instinct and we speak. 

“Don’t look in the backseat.” Needless to say, neither of us did. She drove damn near 90 on a dark canyon until we saw the lights of her complex at the mouth of it. 

I haven’t gone back in there since, and that canyon got shut down about a year ago due to a landslide and it hasn’t opened back up. I’m a history major, and research always has been my first love, so I go digging. I visit the local history society, talk about my tale. Turns out the whole valley used to belong to a people called the Tativam. One day, after the Spanish arrived, they vanished. Without a trace. We have a graveyard of theirs that we know of. One of my professors was trying to stop the houses that were being built on it. Spoiler alert: he didn’t, and the houses are hella haunted, and nobody wants to live there. 

Personally I do think the creature is a wendigo. That chain of mountains is park of unbroken chain that leads right up the Serra Nevadas and Donner Pass. 

THE Donner Pass. 

Most of what we’ve got is due to the Gold Rush, and not just the hauntings (though there are plenty of those, a great many of them are theatre ghosts, most of whom are harmless, though some are very particular).  What we’ve got by way of Things were brought along on the trail from the Old Country to the East Coast and then along thousands of miles of wagon trail.

We’ve got our fair share of phantom hitchhikers and women in white, but mostly what we’ve got are the Things That Survived The Flood.  There was a flood in the early 1860s, one that caused the state capitol to actually be relocated for a while, and when it was over and the floodwaters receded, there was enough sediment left behind that what had been the second floor of buildings was now the ground floor.

Another one I know of (my partner worked the site and swears it occurred) a JCB was ordered to demolish a fairy fort for another road project. It broke down as it reached the fort. It was repaired, barely damaged the wall and it broke down again. They had to leave half of the fort still standing and alter the road slightly, the half a fort is literally at the side of the road, the machines kept breaking, but only at that spot. 

essential supplies include: plenty of food and water, a change of socks, a hat, rope, bandaids, a knife, gloves, an acorn in your pocket, and an offering

there are always odd noises on the farm. half of them come from the animals

try to forget what the lake looks like between the hours of three and four AM

never ever find yourself alone in the milking shed in the south end of the farm. time passes differently there

if you happen to hurt yourself in your exploration, make sure you do not bleed onto the dirt

bring plenty of water, you do not want to drink from there

the cows will watch you, this is normal

close every gate you open, even if the fields are empty. don’t ever leave one open behind you, just trust me

beware unstable rocks, the cracks tend to be filled with insect nests

bring a weapon with you, but no guns

if you see someone else while exploring, never tell them your name. you can never be sure if they are real or not, and further out you go, the less real they will seem. the patupaiarehe have evolved in cruel and unusual ways

do not go inside the empty share-milkers cottages, whatever you do, do not go inside. something else lives there now

a tree with the undersides of its leaves showing mean that a storm is coming. a tree with no leaves means the storm has already come

sometimes the hills look like they’re moving. be aware of this, because some things don’t like to be disturbed

do not sleep under the full moon, in fact, just don’t sleep on the farm

finding skulls is normal, only become worried when you start finding ribs

if you find yourself lost in a forest, continue walking in a straight line until you are free again. the trees may make it look as though you are going in circles, but i promise you’re not. ignore the soft music you can hear

your phone won’t work out here

the ghosts from the land wars won’t harm you, but be sure to show them respect

around dawn/dusk/twilight if you feel something behind you, don’t turn around.  Even if you are in an open field

you hear a woman crying in the woods, hope that its probably a cougar.  dont go looking for it

avoid the woods around these farmlands if you can

dont cross streams

try not to be there around the evening time.  whatever you’re feeling will get worse and might follow

if you’re religious, don’t bring any artifacts of such if you can.  crosses etc.  it can upset whatever is there.  

I dont care how pretty the rock is, don’t pick it up

avoid going in most buildings.  not just the ones listed above.  especially barns.  look in, look around, don’t physically walk in there. not only is it structurally unsafe, you don’t know whats hiding in there.  corporeal or not.

So much of being a gay person is just surviving. So when we’re lucky enough to find love or feel love within ourselves for ourselves, gods, it’s luminous. Love is sanctuary.

As someone who has had so much pain for being a lesbian, so much depression & suicidal thoughts/periods, I wish I could tell queer kids that it gets better, but the truth is you will fight your whole life to love yourself in a world that often hates you. But I hope you do.

Every day that I’m alive is this profound gift, because I know, deeply and bittersweetly, what it feels like to not want this. Today I do.

Learning to love yourself, that you are enough, beautiful & worth everything is a daily thing. Try every day to remember you’re all of this. 

Being a lesbian is the best & worst thing. I am powerful. I terrify the world with my profound love. And it is heartbreaking to be so hated.

But my profound love? My wife that I adore with every bit of bone & blood within me? Who I am, soul deep? 

Bath, England

PSA: please don’t torrent #QueerYA or #GayYA books. Ask your library to order a copy or support the book by buying it. What’s supported thrives.

That being said, I know a lot of queer teens can’t check out physical books for fear of their parents finding them. In that case, ask the author you like for help. I’ve given away hundreds of books to kids who would lose their homes if they were outed. Just ask!  We’re all in this together. Torrenting books hurts authors (all authors, not just queer ones). I would much rather just give you my book.

That ALSO being said, THE DARK WIFE is free & over 50 YA STORIES with lesbian protagonists are free right here.  There’s a reason I offer THE DARK WIFE for free, and we do Project Unicorn. If a lesbian book had been found in my possession when I was a kid, I would have ended up homeless a lot earlier than I did. I understand, and I promise you, every other queer author does, too. <3

I know a lot of people torrent books who do have the means to purchase them, and won’t be physically or emotionally hurt for doing so.  If that’s your case, I hope you’ll reconsider torrenting.  :)  There are so few queer YA books in the world, and the only way there can be more is if those few thrive, and for anything to thrive, it needs support.  

Every time I talk about torrenting or pirating, there are many people who say “eh, whatever, people are gonna torrent, you can’t stop them.”  I understand I have no actual cosmic powers that shut down all torrenting sites with profuse amounts of glitter.  But I’m friends with a lot of pretty cool, queer authors who don’t have phenomenal cosmic powers either, who are just as human as I am, and who want to tell these stories with every fiber of their being.  And when more of their books are torrented than purchased, it’s a gutting feeling.  We already face a lot of turbulence for being queer and for daring to write queer books.  Support means the literal world to us.

So, my friend dug up a bunch of old portraits from our high school photography class, and this is me, age 15. Aside from noticing that, yes, I have always looked slightly irritated when I smile, I also noticed: hey, I was actually kind of pretty in high school. 

Why mention this? Because the girl in that picture thought she was a hideous fat cow.

I don’t have any life altering statements to make about body image and standards of beauty and America’s unhealthy culture around those things. I just want to send a lot of love out to all the girls and boys in the world who see beauty in everyone else, but not the person in the mirror. 

And I guess I’ll say this: please don’t compare yourself to anyone else. Don’t rely on anyone else’s body or face to tell you how you “should” look. Don’t listen, even, if other’s evaluate your appearance for you–they’re just as much a part of the system of conditioning as we all are, and one person’s opinion is never a fact.