No, no—there are depths, depths! The more I go over it, the more I see in it, and the more I see in it, the more I fear. I don’t know what I don’t see—what I don’t fear!
from The Turn of the Screw by Henry James.
By currently reading, I mean I was reading this until a couple of minutes ago. But then it got too tense, freaked the living daylights out of me – bearing in mind the fact that I live in a 17th Century house – and I retreated to the depths of the internet in order to soothe my troubled soul.
Personally, I find anything to do with the supernatural terrifying. Now I’m seriously wondering about how deluded I must have been to start reading this, the most Gothic of ghost stories, in the middle(ish) of the night. AND BLOODY HELL Classic FM is playing creepy-ass music and the heating is making creepy-ass sounds and I am totally, utterly done with this book. NO MORE READING TONIGHT MY FRIEND.
Screw it, I don’t think I even want to finish this novella. Ever. At this moment in time, I’d rather stick my hand in a blender. I’m just going to look up the ending on Goodreads. I don’t have the guts for this. I don’t even like his style. Or maybe I’m too freaked out to appreciate it.
It’s going to take me a while to sleep tonight.
P.S. RIP Bowie and Rickman. I’ve been slightly emotionally unstable since Monday. Reading a ghost story did not help.