Something Wicked This Way Comes: An All Hallow's Eve Interview With Jemima Valentino

Jemima Valentino is the author of His Elle, an erotic novella, and Broken, a short story based on real life events.  I couldn't think of a better time than Halloween to talk to Jemima about her new supernatural release The House On Hundred Hill.

Your new paranormal novella, The House On Hundred Hill, explores the hidden world of the Nephilim.  Has this particular mythology always been of interest to you?  Did you have to do much research?

I absolutely love mythology and the supernatural, but to be honest I am probably a bit of a dunce when it comes to ancient legend - I do love to make it up though! I did do a little bit of research on the Nephilim, and discovered that they were supposed to be giants, so much larger than my characters Draven and Nate Black. I think the thing with mythology though, is that it’s open to interpretation as the whole point is, nobody really knows. So, I allowed the research and information I discovered from it to swirl around in my head for a while to come up with my own interpretation. ‘The House on Hundred Hill’ was my first real attempt at world building, and I totally loved it! It’s given me a new passion and a totally different direction to my current work in progress.

Your first novella, His Elle, was a piece of erotica set in the real world.  The House On Hundred Hill is a paranormal thriller with erotic elements.  Did your writing process differ at all the second time around?

Absolutely. I wrote His Elle very much from the heart, putting myself in the place of my central characters and basing their emotions on how I thought I would feel in that situation. His Elle is a story of emotional and psychology healing through BDSM and although I have never lived in this lifestyle, it’s always easier to write a character that you can relate to. I remember having a similar discussion with you before about how it is easier to write a character based on your own gender, age group, environment etc.

Whereas with The House on Hundred Hill, I have (obviously) never encountered a real-life Nephilim or their ancient enemies, the Gregori. Therefore, the short answer is definitely yes - my writing and thought process differed massively with second book, and I’m sure it will do so again with my third, fourth and fifth as you grow as a writer, and in the writing process, with each new idea.

Genre terms such as "urban fantasy" and "paranormal romance" have become ubiquitous in recent years due to the success of Stephenie Meyer and the more adult fare of Laurell K Hamilton and Sherrilyn Kenyon.  What do you think it is about these subgenres that makes them so popular?

I think people in general like to get lost in fantasy. The worlds that Laurell K Hamilton and Stephenie Meyer have created have massive appeal to readers that can use their imagination and lose themselves in an alternate reality for a period of time. It’s escapism in its simplest form. I read ‘Thinner’ by Stephen King when I was a child and was probably far too young to be let loose inside a book that dealt with an adult theme of gypsy curses, but that book has stayed with me to this day because I remember thinking what I would do if one of my family was cursed in such a way.

Escapism is what books are all about - every fiction book ever written and read has caused somebody somewhere to lose themselves, even if it’s just for a second. Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Romance are not new to our bookshelves, they’ve just been modernised with the times, and given updated ‘genre definition’ from the classics of Bram Stoker and JRR Tolkien.

Do you have a favourite novel from the fantasy or horror genre?

I actually watched the start of ‘Christine’ last night on the TV, before I fell asleep. I’d forgotten what an awesome story that is. Although it’s probably not amongst my favourites, I do enjoy most books by Stephen King.

This year I have also read quite a few books in the fantasy genre by indie authors, and the one that really stuck with me is Fierce Dawn by Amber Scott. It was really very well written and probably the only time I’ve given a 5 star review to a book that sits in the YA category. Then again, I also totally loved Hunger Games too, and can’t wait for the film release next year.   

What would you say separates The House On Hundred Hill from other works of fiction that explore paranormal romance?

Probably it’s erotic element. Angels and BDSM is not something that I’ve come across that much (if at all!), and some readers may find that a bit of a strange theme throughout the book. It was written intentionally though and I really think it adds that extra dimension to the normal ‘sexy angel’ books that you find floating around on the bookshelves of YA readers. The House on Hundred Hill is very adult, and I’m hoping it will appeal to readers who like to combine the paranormal and sex.

Can you choose one sentence from the book that encapsulates its style or theme?

He was Nephilim; the perfect impure balance between humanity and the sprawling darkness, the terrifying shadows that eclipse the soul of the pure-bred humans and lead to that desperate ache, that chill of bones, the screams of malevolence that beg and fight for release but are never heard or recognised until it’s simply far too late. 

Do you have a favourite character in this book?  Who was the easiest to write for?

Jessica was the easiest to write (going back to my earlier comment about relati

ng to characters), but the most fun and my favourite was actually Draven. I love that dark dangerous edge in an alpha male character and my favourite part of the book was when Jessica meets him for the first time.

The House On Hundred Hill is the first in a series. What can readers expect from future instalments?

I would love to tell you, but then I’d have to kill you. (That’s not a threat by the way, before I’m arrested for posting death threats to the internet….)

Seriously though, I have the plot semi formed in my mind at the moment but I’m taking a little break from writing the next one to concentrate on something else. But, what I can tell you is that there will be a surprise return of a character mentioned in The House on Hundred Hill, and Jessica and Nate’s relationship will be threatened as they venture into Gregori territory on the desperate hunt for Draven and Azrael.

Who are your writing influences and/or literary heroes?

I hate this question because there are so many literary heroes and I always struggle to name just a few. From the top of my head, I would have to Say Stephen King and Anais Nin. I always want to throw Sue Townsend in there as well, as the woman is a comedic literary genius and the Adrian Mole series will keep in entertained for the rest of my life as I never get tired of reading those books, time and time and time again.

As it's Halloween, I have to ask you - do you believe in ghosts?  Have you ever had a paranormal experience?

Oh for sure! I am a great believer in paranormal activity. I’ve never actually seen a ghost, although I think I’ve felt them on more than one occasion.

My parents live in an old converted barn / woodshed that dates back to the early 1800’s (just to clarify, it’s a house now, they don’t just live in a woodshed…), and they have a long sweeping gravel driveway that leads up to the house. My dad told me once that he looked out of his bedroom window one morning and there was a man with a horse and cart walking up the driveway. By the time my dad went out to greet him, the man and his horse had disappeared. When my dad asked in the local village if anyone knew him, the locals said his name was Ipikin and he was a rag and bone man at the time my parents’ house was built. The villagers even showed my dad some drawings of what the man looked like. Since then both of my parents have seen Ipikin a few times, mainly in the winter when the driveway is covered in snow. Spooky eh?

The House on Hundred Hill is out now on Amazon. Check out Jemima's website for more information, or follow her on Twitter: @JemimaValentino

Top 5... Ghost Stories

The ghost story has been around since the invention of the campfire.  Since children have woken in the night and asked; "what was that noise?".  The best ghost stories chill you to the bone.  These five paranormal novels provide numerous spooky moments, but there's also plenty of meat on their bones when it comes to characters and plot.

5. Sleep, Pale Sister by Joanne Harris

Effie Gray, an artist's young wife, is drawn into the devious plans of a Tarot-reading brothel keeper in this chilling, lustrous Victorian thriller.  Set against the backdrop of the thriving Romantic art movement, Harris's novel spins a tale of deceit and possession that mystifies and grips at the same time.

4. The Witching Hour by Anne Rice

Michael is saved from drowning by Rowan, an ambitious surgeon.  As an after-effect of his near-death experience, Michael develops psychometric abilities - he can touch an object or a person and experience visions of the past and future.  Rowan soon finds that Michael's powers are connected to her own search for her biological family, after she was adopted as an infant.  Together they discover that Rowan is a child of the Mayfair family, a New Orleans dynasty that also happen to have supernatural powers - powers that have been inherited by Rowan.  This is a hefty read, and at times the narrative can drag (an entire section of the novel is devoted to the generations of Mayfair witches), but the end result is worth it.  This is the first book in a trilogy, by the end of which your head will be spinning with the intricacies of Mayfair geneology and the Machiavellian plottings of the spirit Lasher.

3. Beloved by Toni Morrison

Taking place in the aftermath of the abolition of slavery, Beloved follows Sethe, a mother and former slave who is haunted by the crimes she endured (and committed) in her past.  One day, a mysterious woman arrives at her house.  Much of the novel is spent trying to figure out exactly who she is: simply a stranger passing, or an avenger from the spirit world?  Read it and decide for yourself.

2. Bag Of Bones by Stephen King

Like many of King's novels, the protagonist in Bag of Bones is a New England-based writer.  When he loses his wife suddenly, he is paralysed by grief, and decides to go to their old lake house to mourn.  Once there, he becomes involved in a local power struggle, develops a fixation with the lake, and comes across numerous clues that his wife has not truly left him...

1. Beyond Black by Hilary Mantel

Hilary Mantel went on to win the Booker Prize with her historical epic Wolf Hall.  This novel, by comparison, is less ambitious - but still gives the reader much food for thought.  The central figure in Beyond Black is Alison, a psychic medium by trade who tours the South of England with her manager Colette and spirit guide Morris.  Colette is a hard-hearted harridan, and Morris is just this side of pure evil.  Alison, by contrast, is a large and jovial soul (I kept thinking of Dawn French in the role), or at least, that is what appearances would suggest.  As the reader follows Alison on her seemingly endless stage show around the suburban dystopia of middle England, it becomes evident that she is running from her past, as well as trying to find her place in the world.  Beyond Black effortlessly blends the ethereal with the domestic and is both depressing and hilarious, as the best British fiction tends to be, with something to say about human beings, not just their ghostly counterparts.

"Little Death" Extract 6: Haunted (continued)

"Your coffee, sir."

"Thanks," Zach takes the proffered cup with one hand and digs a folded, Xeroxed photo out of his jeans with the other.  "I don't suppose you've seen this girl around, have you?"

The teenager behind the counter squints at the photo for a couple of seconds, then shrugs.

"Don't recognise her.  But we get tons of people in here."

"Alright, well thanks anyway."

The sheer logistics of the task before him begin to dawn on Zach.  How many people will he have to flash this picture to before he can say in good conscience that Georgina isn't in Bellevue?  When he'd first accepted this peculiar job, he had planned to check into the hotel room that the Forresters had booked on his behalf and spend a couple of days drinking the local liquor before reporting back that there was, well, nothing to report.  It wasn't like he owed Quentin and Eleanor anything.  But his own morbid curiosity had reared its head, and first thing this morning he had located the phonebooth from which the Forresters' mystery calls had been made.  To his misfortune, the culprit had not been loitering nearby with a placard that said "It Was Me", and so Zach had taken to canvassing.  If he found no trace of Georgina after a few days, he told himself, he would return to Florida, cash his cheque and hop on a plane to Jamaica.

“So you’re saying you don’t believe in ghosts?”  The urgent, almost shrill nature of the question makes Zach falter on his way to the door, unsure if it is intended for him.

“Not necessarily,” a second, lower voice says.  “I just don’t think places are haunted in the way that you think.”  The speaker is a pretty young blonde.  Her companion is a swan-necked redhead with a pixie cut.  Zach backtracks and sits as inconspicuously as he can at the table next to theirs, facing the front of the cafe so that their conversation takes place in his peripheral vision.

“What do you mean?”  Asks Thin Red.

“I just imagine that if the dead were going to hang around, it wouldn’t be places they were drawn to,” says Honey Blonde.  “It would be people, don’t you think?”

“Not places, but people...  People are haunted...”  Thin Red says, seemingly rolling the concept around on her tongue.  “I like it.”

“But either way, to answer your original question – no.  Truthfully, I do not think there is anything wrong with our place, or with you, that couldn’t be cured by a couple of sleeping pills and a glass of whiskey.”

The trace of impatience in her voice makes Zach smirk.  This girl speaks sense, and he gets the impression from their brief exchange that she is often talking this girl down.  He is taken off guard by a sharp, unexpected pang; how long has it been since he had this kind of casual, throwaway conversation?  Out of nowhere, he is filled with longing for Jacksonville, for dinner with friends, for drinks and human company in general.  He’d withdrawn from everyone and everything after William died, and one by one his friends had stopped trying to reach him.  Not that there were many of them at all; he and Will had always been something of a closed club.  Except, of course, for when it came to Georgina.

“Well either way, that dreamcatcher didn’t work one bit.  You might as well return it, get your money back.”

Honey Blonde hums noncommittally, and drains the contents of her cup before picking up her bag and standing.

“Are you working tonight?”  Thin Red asks, following her out of the booth.

“Yeah, the new girl quit so I’m stepping in.  Although I’m not sure it counts as quitting when she only showed up for a handful of her shifts.”

“Excuse me,” Zach says to the two girls, and they both pause, turning to him in unison.  “Sorry for interrupting.  I was just wondering if...”  He fishes the folded picture out of his pocket yet again.  “...If either of you has seen this girl?”

They both give the photo their full attention, more than the cretin behind the counter had done.  The redhead squints in such a way that suggests she would be better off wearing glasses, but is prevented from doing so by vanity.

“No, sorry,” she says, and the blonde shakes her head.

“Nevermind,” he says.  “Thanks anyway.”  These words already feel carved onto his tongue after just one morning. 

“Are you alright?”  The blonde asks as he turns away.

“Peachy,” he says, with a smile that isn’t convincing enough for either of them.

***

The rest of the day is spent at the police station.  He is told by the desk clerk that somebody will be with him shortly.  “Shortly”, in Tennessee, apparently translates to “never”.  After he has watched the clock for what feels like an eternity, after he has examined every pamphlet on the coffee table and read every poster on every wall of the reception area, Zach goes back to the woman behind the desk.

“All I want is for somebody to take a look at this photo,” he says, holding it out to her.  “I just need to know if anybody has seen her.”

The impatience with which the woman looks at him suggests that Quentin Forrester’s constant calls have made them intolerant to out-of-town missing persons cases.

“I’m sorry sir,” she tells him.  “I wish I could help.  But I’m telling you, honestly, there are no officers here.  There’s been a...”  Her previously hard face creases and softens as she holds back a sob.  “Something terrible has happened.  To a girl.  A local girl.”

Her message is clear.  They cannot spare a man, or a single moment, for Georgina.  And Zach silently agrees.  He mumbles something that might be an apology, or a condolence, and leaves.

Back at the hotel, he tries to sleep, but the sun is still painfully bright as it descends behind the houses.  The sky is orange and violet, like that of some alien world, when he leaves his room again, driven out by pangs of hunger.

The manager at the hotel had recommended a place just a few blocks away, and Zach is grateful for the closeness.  Despite having done little more than sit since he got up this morning, he is exhausted.  As he approaches the restaurant, he spies the pretty blonde from the cafe this morning through the window, working.  Not a complete write-off, then, he thinks of the day.

His shoulder collides with that of somebody hurrying out of the entrance.

“Sorry,” he begins, just as the other man barks:

“Watch yourself!”

Their eyes meet for a second before the man turns away, striding off, and Zach’s heart leaps into his mouth.  The face looking back at him had been a perfect mirror image.

“William,” he utters, before logic or reason can tarnish what he has seen.  But his double has already disappeared around a street corner.

“William!”  He shouts, running after him.  His legs are weak when he turns the corner, but there is nobody in sight.  What had he been wearing?  Is there a doorway he might have vanished into?  Somebody gets out of a parked car, and Zach almost jumps on them, before forcing himself to think rationally.  What would he ask?  Had they seen anybody around who looked exactly like him?  Somebody who had been dead for over a year?

“I’m losing it,” he whispers, and the sheer act of talking to himself again makes him cry out in despair.  He sinks to his knees on the pavement, face burning with rage and the threat of tears.

Not places, but people.  Laura’s words from earlier that day sound in his ears.  People are haunted, says a voice in his head, and now he can’t stop hearing it, echoing and ceaseless, like a prophecy fulfilled.

"Little Death" Extract 3: Sunday

“That you, Death?”  The Haitian calls out in response to the clink of the bell over the door.  “You’re a little early.”

Marley smiles.  Sunday is perhaps the oddest man she has ever met, which means she has an awful lot of time for him.

“Just me,” she replies, “sorry to disappoint.”

Sunday chuckles from behind the shop counter and spreads his arms wide, gesturing to his little kingdom.

“And how can I assist such a beautiful disappointment today?”

Marley casts her eye over her surroundings.  They are eclectic to say the least.  The walls are lined with shelves, which are themselves laden with books, candles, figurines and carvings of just about every pagan deity one could imagine, beautifully coloured glass jars which hold less pleasing contents, and in one corner she even spots a small animal skull.

“You’ve redecorated,” she exclaims in mock surprise.  “Where did the wall hanging of the goddess Kali go?  I was looking forward to getting another eyeful of her blood-stained boobs.”

“Alas, somebody bought good old Kali,” Sunday shakes his head.  “I’m going to miss that woman.  Anyway my lovely, what brings you here?”

“My roommate.  She’s convinced our house is haunted.  I told her I’d come get some good vibe incense.”

“What makes her think it’s haunted?” 

“Well, she’s highly strung and more than a little superstitious.  So, that.  And she says she’s not been sleeping too well lately.”

“Ah!”  Sunday vanishes under his counter and reappears a moment later.  “Here,” he hands Marley a small frame which vaguely resembles a spiderweb, adorned with feathers.  “Dreamcatcher.  Native Americans swore by the things.  Pleasant dreams and restful sleep assured.”

“Fantastic,” Marley digs into her purse.  “How much?”

“On the house.”

Her blue eyes widen.

“Are you sure?”

“Sure as syrup.”  He grins and instantly looks younger.  Marley has never heard that expression before, and it makes her wonder just how old Sunday is.  She has never been so bold as to ask.  She imagines he would go all coy on her.

“Well thanks,” she tucks the dreamcatcher carefully into her battered handbag.  “You just made my roommate’s day.”

“Anything for a pretty thing like you,” he says, in a way that manages to sound not at all lecherous.  “What does the rest of the day have in store for you?”

“I’ll be heading straight to work now, the new girl called in sick.”

“She has a hangover,” Sunday says.

“I guess so...”  Marley nods slowly, unsure what to make of this.  He didn’t sound like he was guessing, or making a joke.  He just... knew.  She is about to probe him on this, when her eye catches a particularly phallic statuette, and her question turns into an embarrassed stammer.

“Well, thanks again, Sunday.”

“And once again, you’re welcome my sweet.”  This too sounds innocuous, fatherly and not sinister.  Sunday, she decides, is the world’s strangest gentleman.

Once the door has closed behind her, Sunday’s genial expression sags somewhat.  That is the third dreamcatcher he has felt compelled to give away in as many days.  Bad for business, for sure.  But he also fears it is a sign.  A portent of something malign settling in Bellevue, making its home here.  This evening he will make an offering to Baron Samedi and pray for the safety of Marley and her friends.  Something in that girl brings out his gentler side.

“By the twiddling of my thumbs,” he sings out loud, in an effort to lift his spirits.  “Something wicked this way comes!”