Here’s a little something I wrote for the spooky month of Halloween.
Une petite lecture pour le terrifiant mois d’Octobre. (En anglais)
I grew up in South of France. In a town so small, so remote, there was not even a general store. Food and everything came by truck on specific days of the week. Forget to buy something and you’ve had to take the car.
The land is old. People living among medieval and antique walls old. Digging up actual skeletons in your cellar old.
My grandparents owned a place there and since my mother was away most of the day working her ass off to feed us both, that was where I stayed most of the time. It was by all means an odd building. Partially burned bakery turned vacation house turned family home in my grandpa’s hometown. It was never renovated so to this day if you raise your head toward the ceiling in the back you can see where the fire left its mark. It’s not nice. It’s decrepit and more than a little creepy. I loved it. I still do. Whatever darkness it holds, it will always be my home.