On Monday night, me and Matthew and Faith went to the cinema to see Obsession and I'm writing about it here because it's the best horror movie I've seen in a long time. It starts off funny and warm as Bear tries to work up the courage to ask Nikki out on a date. But he is too scared, because he has this lovely, slightly flirty friendship with Nikki that he doesn't want to ruin.
But then he comes across a One Wish Willow, and he wishes that Nikki would love him more than anything else in the world.
And that's where the trouble starts.
Obsession builds from there, at first unsettling and creepy, but soon growing weirder and scarier and then gobsmackingly gory.
And I'm not ashamed to tell you that at one point I screamed!
If you like horror, then this is highly recommended.
Chapter Nine of Le Grande Mystérieux — Hapwell's Curios
‘Look over here,’ Miss Fenwick said, pointing.
We joined her at a cabinet stacked with glass domes caked in dust and filth. Miss Fenwick had wiped clean a patch in the glass of one dome. I bent down and peered into the shadows of the domed glass.
‘Good God,’ I whispered. A large, brown rat sat on its haunches, its head arched upward, its black eyes seeming to stare at us. From its back sprouted a pair of pincers, poised and ready to attack.
‘Well, it seems we are in the right place,’ Mystérieux murmured.
I wiped the dirt from another glass dome. A hairy, bulbous spider with far too many legs squatted inside.
Le Grande Mystérieux is a serialised story for paying members.
You can read a preview of Chapter One here:
I have a free story for you this week. And the Bells Rang On is a Christmas ghost story, my attempt at writing something like the short films that the BBC used to show over the Christmas holidays. And yes, I know it's June, but what can I say?
I hope you enjoy it.
And the Bells Rang On
He was standing on top of Sugarloaf Mountain with Elizabeth, and the wind was blowing her hair, and she was laughing, and he was freezing, and all he wanted was to get back down before those black clouds started dumping snow on them, back inside the cottage by the church, with its open fire, and the Christmas decorations.
Bloody hell, how had she managed to persuade him to trudge up here on a day like this? She was off her head, that’s what she was, and he was just as stupid for following her.
A sharp gust of wind shoved him over, and he hit the ground on his back. He gasped, struggling to catch his breath from the impact. The church bells in the village started ringing.
But that was ridiculous, how could he hear the church bells up here?
And then he realised, the sound was Elizabeth laughing. She was standing over him, pointing at him, head tipped back, hair blowing in the wind, laughing, laughing.
And she was laughing at—
Owen Taylor’s eyes snapped open.
Even as he rolled over in the bed to look at the clock, the dream was disappearing.
The orange display glowed in the dark; 2:06 am.
Owen rolled onto his back and peered at the dark shape his wife made in the bed next to him.
The details of the dream had mostly slipped away now, but he could still remember Elizabeth laughing at him, and the humiliation burning in his guts.
And the church bells, he could still hear those bloody awful church bells.
What the bloody hell were they thinking of, ringing the church bells at two in the bloody morning?
Owen’s hand automatically reached for the pack of cigarettes on the bedside cabinet, before his brain reminded him he had given up smoking a year ago, and there was no cigarette packet.
God, how had he managed that?
Owen gazed at the darkness.
A year ago today, on Christmas Eve. When they had made their way back from climbing Sugarloaf, and got back inside the warmth of the holiday cottage. No, not quite then. Later that evening.
After.
That was the moment he decided to quit. Not so much a premature New Year’s Resolution, more of a snap decision.
Bloody hell, wasn’t somebody going to put a stop to those bloody bell ringers? Didn’t they have beds to go to? It must be bloody freezing up there in that bell tower.
Owen pulled the duvet up under his chin. It was freezing enough in here. Owen was sure he could see clouds of his breath in the darkness.
It had been the same last Christmas. The village was pretty, for sure, but those cobbled streets were treacherous when covered with a layer of slick ice.
A person could break their neck, just like that.
Owen scrubbed his hands over his face. There was no chance of getting back to sleep now, not with those bell ringers giving everything they had out there. He looked over at the indistinct form of his wife beneath the duvet, and thought about waking her up.
Forget it, she’d only get all pissy and whiny on him. But he couldn’t lie here for the rest of the night, listening to that godawful bellringing.
Owen flung the duvet off. The cold bit at his flesh, through his pyjamas. He padded barefoot across the warped floorboards. Inched the curtains apart.
The inside of the windowpanes were covered in a thick layer of ice.
Jack Frost has been to visit, Elizabeth would have said.
Owen couldn’t see a thing outside, through the swirls of ice.
He leaned forward, his hand resting on the fat, old-fashioned radiator.
‘Ow!’
He snatched his hand away. The thing was blazing hot.
Downstairs the grandfather clock began chiming the hour. Owen looked back over his shoulder, checked the time on the digital display of his bedside clock.
3:00 am.
That couldn’t be right.
The grandfather clock continued ringing, past the hour of three.
Bloody thing must be broken.
Great. Now he had two sets of bells ringing away.
Owen pulled his dressing gown on and slipped his feet into his slippers. The floorboards creaked with each step he took across the bedroom. On the landing he fumbled for the light switch. The cottage remained in darkness.
He flicked the switch a couple more times. Nothing.
The church bells rang on.
The grandfather clock continued chiming the hour.
What a great Christmas Eve this was turning out to be.
Why the hell had he come back? He’s always hated his Christmases here, in the middle of bloody nowhere. Elizabeth was the one who loved the quaintness of it all, the narrow, winding streets, the ancient cottages with their low ceilings and deep, stone walls, and the tiny doorways. Oh God, those doorframes. How many times had he bashed his head on those things?
And yet, the first Christmas he got to have a say about where he spent it, he chose to come back again.
Except, he knew why really, didn’t he?
Owen used the light from his mobile to illuminate the steep stairs. He had to descend the staircase carefully at the best of times, the steps were so narrow, but now he needed to take extra care. With one hand against the cold wall to steady himself, Owen took each step slowly, his slippers sliding on the smooth wood.
As he drew closer to the hallway, the aroma of freshly dug earth almost overwhelmed him.
He paused at the bottom of the stairs. Despite the freezing cold he had to wipe beads of sweat off his forehead. The grandfather clock suddenly stopped chiming. In the silence, Owen realised the church bells had also stopped ringing.
But he felt no relief.
Instead he was consumed by a dreadful chill, and the certainty that someone was waiting for him in the lounge.
Owen wiped at his face, perhaps believing himself to be dreaming still. The lounge door stood slightly ajar, and the soft glow of Christmas tree lights spilled through the gap. Owen’s hand slithered across the wall and found the light switch. He flicked it on and off several times, but still the darkness stubbornly refused to give way to light.
Go back to bed. Climb under the covers and pull them over your head and wait for morning.
No. He couldn’t.
Owen placed the flat of his hand against the door and pushed. The door swung open. The Christmas tree lights gently pulsed from orange to red to blue to yellow and back again. Presents were piled beneath the tree. The remains of a fire still glowed within the log burner. Two empty wine glasses stood on the coffee table. Where was the empty bottle? Owen half-remembered kicking it off the table as they had fumbled with each other’s clothing on the sofa.
A figure was sitting in the wing back chair in the corner. The festive lights flickered across its shape, revealing stick thin arms, bony hands clutching the armrests, frayed taffeta and lace, swirls of material draped over the chair and across the floor. But much of it remained in the shadows.
Owen held his breath, transfixed by the sight.
‘Owen,’ it said, its voice thick with earth and stone.
Owen’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, felt too large to fit inside. His throat closed, his breath coming in short gasps.
‘Owwwwennnn …’
His mobile clattered on the floor, fallen from his lifeless hand.
The thing in the chair shifted and stirred. Lace fluttered, as though in a breeze.
Owen shook his head.
No.
The church bells had been ringing when they got down from Sugarloaf mountain, and the first snowflakes had begun drifting from a sky thick with dark clouds. The cobbled streets had been thick with ice.
Owen had slipped on the frozen cobbles and fallen down. And Elisabeth had tipped back her head and laughed.
Like always.
Is it really a year ago that you gave up smoking?
The thing in the chair shifted.
Why did you give up the habit that day in particular?
Bony limbs cracked and snapped as it gripped the armchair rests and pushed itself upright.
Because you’d had no reason to carry on smoking. You’d have given up years ago, except for the fact it annoyed her.
‘Darling,’ it said, dried lips pulled back from elongated teeth.
Why did you come back, you stupid bastard? Why?
The thing raised its arms, skeletal hands reaching for him.
Because you wanted the last laugh, didn’t you?
Owen and Tania, married a year to the day Elizabeth died.
That ice, so treacherous. I told her to be careful. I told her …
The corpse’s bony fingers gripped Owen’s skull and began squeezing.
And it laughed, and the church bells rang on and on.
Thanks for reading! I just wanted to let you know that paid members of Writing in the Shadows get a story every week. Coming soon they are going to be getting a Zine once a month too. Paid members also get free access to the archive, and to some of my ebooks.
If you've been thinking about a paid membership then now is the time to join, as prices are going up soon. But all current members are locked in forever at the price they originally paid.
Find out more here.
Currently Reading
Reading this to get me in the mood for writing my own Victorian novel.
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Watching 365 movies in 2026
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136
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137
It’s a handsome looking, fine sounding movie, but it just didn’t quite do it for me.
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138
Great performances from the three leads and restless brilliant camera work.
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139
Part police procedural, part manhunt, part philosophical enquiry. And that camera work!
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140
The first half hour is fantastic but then it descends into the inevitable silliness.
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141
That was a tough watch. Bleak.
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142
At first it was a solid 4, maybe a 4.5. But by the time we got to the end? Nah. For all its virtues, the film failed the one character in there I was rooting for.
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143
It made me scream, so that’s an automatic five from me.
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144
Magnificently unsettling cinematography and grubby New York settings combined with Meg Ryan’s amazing performance. Mark Ruffalo was never so creepy and an uncredited Kevin Bacon is incredibly slimy.
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145
Such an amazing documentary. I cried, so that’s five stars from me.
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