It started before dawn. I woke up to fog. Real Gothic fog.
Now, from my fourth floor window I normally look across a cityscape of roof and skylight and the odd church tower. The staircase of the nearest block of flats shows a searchlight beam all night. Fantasy-tall cranes in the distance carry a red warning light on skeletal antennae. In the pre-dawn, there are lights in a few attic windows.
But this morning early there was none of that. Just fog, swirling and eddying like sea fret.
I got up and went out. The lights were shifting and formless, like blobs of paint dropped in running water. I couldn’t find a lamppost I knew was there, until I was close enough to touch. It was cold; still and very quiet.
Gothic October Day
So, of course, I came home and wrote up a Gothic scene. A damn good scene, I may say. Good enough to have had Wilkie Collins gnashing his teeth with envy. Continue reading