Thanks for the positive comments as well as the negative. It’s always good to know what I have to work on. I’m not sure if first person narrative is what I wish to go with, but your point is valid. Thanks for your thoughts!
Annie.
Children's / The Midnight Mourner (with Query Letter) (Analysis)
Dear Ms. Einstein –
The Midnight Mourner is a Christmas ghost story, revolving around the strange occurrences observed and lived through by three young children in their townhouse in early 17th century London.
It all begins on the first of December, when the family moves into the newly built house on Fitzroy Square, unaware that their lives are about to change forever. Jacob, ten; Jennifer, eight, and Huckleberry, four, soon find themselves beginning to believe – more than ever – that there are such things as ghosts.
Jennifer, who is the first to be approached by the little girl haunting the house, will insist that they learn more about her; and as they delve deeper into the mystery, they will discover that it is not only the benevolent ghost of the girl walking the halls, but something dark and dangerous. They will have help in fending this angry ghost off, and will be triumphant, the story reaching its conclusion on the twenty-fifth of December. They will have learned new things about the past of their family, and there will be a possibility at the end of this adventure, for more adventures to come.
I have thought of this story as an advent calendar book, where you read one chapter each night counting down the days until Christmas.
I have previously been published in a short-story compilation.
I would enjoy working with an editor with knowledge of what young readers enjoy, who could guide me and advice me and who has as great a love of a good story as I do. I believe the Midnight Mourner would appeal to children between six and twelve who like listening to and reading the classics, such as A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie and the Narnia Chronicles by C.S. Lewis.
I have included the first three chapters, as they are all merely a page in length and I feel they will help give you a clearer picture of what I wish to accomplish than one single chapter could. I hope you will forgive my taking this liberty.
I thank you sincerely for your time,
Hopefully,
Annelie Widholm.
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The Midnight Mourner
Chapter One: The New but Old House
The story I wish to tell you happened once upon a dreary December. It was long ago, many decades before you were born, and the house on Fitzroy Square had just been built. It is a handsome building, and back then it was gloriously filled with people. There was a housekeeper and a maid; a butler; a cook and a man by the name of Jeffries, who had the title of driver, but would also run an errand or two, if Mr. Pennybridge would ask him kindly; which he always did.
“Jeffries,” he would say, “I do feel like tasting a fine cigar, but I seem to have run out. Would you be so kind as to?”
And Jeffries would give a nod, just one, and out he would go, through the front door, across the square, following ----- Street where it merged with Tottenham Court Road and continuing into the tobacco shop that Mr. Dennison neatly kept there.
But I have yet to tell you of the family.
The Pennybridges were of aristocratic birth, though none knew which aristocrat it was that had birthed them. That they moved as though noble blood flowed in their veins there was no disputing, and as they were so very amicable, there seemed little chance they would be lying, and so they had always been accepted, and being accepted was as much as telling the truth, or at least it was in London society.
Mr. Pennybridge dealt in antiques and would travel overseas to India to inquire about the queerest sort of artefacts, such as heavily gilded tea trays and colourful pieces of fabric to wrap oneself in – or ornate a wall with, whichever one preferred. He was thin, with a sharp nose that made him look slightly sterner than he actually was, for he always had a kiss to spare for his wife, and a smile left over for his children.
Mrs. Pennybridge was graceful and quiet and made no noise in the world, apart from hushing her three children softly, for their aim seemed always to be to make noise.
Jacob was ten, and as the oldest he was the ordained leader of his younger siblings. It was not a title he had chosen for himself so much as it was a birthright and, at times, a heavy weight on his young shoulders, for Jennifer, who was eight, would turn to him with burning eagerness for him to make up a game or show her something she had yet to discover about the world. As he had yet to discover most about the world as well, the latter sometimes proved quite difficult.
And Huckleberry, who was four, was always getting himself into trouble, crawling through the cat food or smearing jam on the dining room wall, and so he took the most overseeing of all. The worst parts of Huckleberry were his ears: they would not listen. No matter how much Jacob tried to tell him not to do a thing, the next moment he would be back at it, making a mess all over again, and making cook cross in the process. (Cook could get terribly cross if one did not watch out where one was going in her kitchen.)
All and all, though, the Pennybridges were a wonderful family; and here they were, moving into a new house – which is now a very old house – and thinking it the grandest thing that could ever happen.
How little they realized that every house has a history, no matter how new it is, and that every brick holds a tale.
It was the first of December, and their troubles were just about to begin.
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Chapter Two: The Trouble Begins
The house was built over five floors where the kitchen was in the basement. Cook, housekeeper and maid also had their sleeping quarters down there, while butler and Jeffries slept on the top floor. The children were on the second floor, Mr. and Mrs. Pennybridge had their suite on the first floor, which also held a drawing room, but it was used for more intimate occasions than a simple visit. Visitors were received on the ground floor, where there were rooms specifically designed for comfort and entertainment: a parlour, a dining room and a small music room, which was yet to be filled with instruments as Mr. Pennybridge was certain he would make bargains on his next trip overseas and no matter what Mrs. Pennybridge said he remained adamant on the subject, thus it would take at least a month before any music could be enjoyed in the house.
The home was decorated in splendour, Mr. Pennybridge would have nothing less, and the children fell instantly in love with the thick carpets which would silence every last step they took on them. They ran the entirety of the stairs, stretching like a long red tongue up, up or down, down. The windows were hung with heavy satin curtains in the folds of which the brothers and sister could lose themselves – or each other, whichever worked best; hide and seek suddenly got a new twist when bushes and trees were exchanged for armchairs and angled corners.
It was in one of these latter mentioned that the first strange thing happened.
They were playing, and Jennifer squeezed into the corner of the sitting room, between the window and the large armoire. She would be well hidden there and she was smiling widely, trying to keep the giggles down as she heard Jacob call out “Ready or not!” It was then, when she was pressing her hands against her mouth, her eyes sparkling with mirth, that she heard a soft sigh beside her. It was so soft that she would have ignored it and thought of it as nothing, if she hadn’t heard it once more.
“Huckleberry?” she asked, making sure she asked very quietly, for she didn’t want to give herself away.
“Huckleberry?” someone asked back.
It was a girl’s voice, but it was not her own, and suddenly her heart did a strange thing where it felt as though it was doing back-flips inside her chest. There was not supposed to be a girl in the house, apart from her. Mother would have told them if they were to have guests. Wouldn’t she?
“Who’s there?” Jennifer therefore asked, trying to sound bolder than she felt.
“Are you frightened now?” came the reply, but the voice carried such a sad note in it that Jennifer, for a moment, forgot that the question was actually a very good one.
The voice was coming from behind the curtain to her right.
“I am not afraid,” she said hesitantly, carefully reaching out a hand towards the curtain.
She felt as though her blood was boiling inside her, and her fingers were shaking as they grabbed hold of the heavy cloth. She decided to get it over with quickly, and in the next moment she pulled the curtain aside, exposing the spot behind it.
It was empty.
She stared and stared. She crawled out of her space and searched behind the other curtain as well. There was no one there. It was a mystery that was so abruptly upon her that she was very much intrigued by it, forgetting completely the fear she had felt but a few minutes ago.
“Found you!” Jacob called behind her back.
She disliked the triumph in his voice. He was always telling her boys were much better hiders, as well as seekers, and she had looked forward to proving him wrong. She was about to part her lips and say that it wasn’t fair and that she should have another go at hiding before having to seek; but she changed her mind and closed her mouth again. She had no explanation for the inexplicable occurrence and so she wanted to wait, or she would risk being laughed at, or worse, called a liar and a tease.
“Fine,” she therefore said. “I shall count.”
And with that they left the sitting room, not seeing the soft billow which went through the curtains, though all the windows were shut, and there was no draft, to be sure.
It was the second of December, and strange occurrences were afoot.
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Chapter Three: The Attic
Jennifer went back to the corner that same evening, letting the candle she was carrying light up the spot and wishing, fervently, for an answer to the riddle of to whom the voice belonged. Nothing appeared, however. No sign to lead her further in her search, no clue to aid in her solving the puzzle.
The following morning was a Sunday, which meant that the children attended mass to then proceed to their aunts townhouse for tea – which was a dreadful bore as they were not allowed to run or yell or disturb even the lowliest of porcelain figurine.
From there they went home for a lie down, something the children found terribly unnecessary.
Each week they found new and inventive ways of getting out of it; of course, these ways never got to be anything more than clever schemes construed in order to hide the fact that they had not “caught up on their rest” – as their mother put it – but had, in fact, done everything and anything to avoid rest altogether.
However, this Sunday was different, for it was the first Sunday they spent in their new home, near the top floor, away from the hustle and bustle, away from prying eyes. And it was ever more different for none had time to spare that afternoon to act as guard outside the children’s door. A party was being prepared for that very evening, and all attention was focused on the organisation of the mentioned event. The children thus lay, quite forgotten, in their beds, and as they all were very bright children it did not take them very long to realize this.
Jacob was the one to slide out from under his covers and creep up to the door. He peeked through the slit.
“There is no one there,” he whispered to his brother and sister, who immediately threw their covers off and tiptoed to join him.
“I declare we have but one thing to do,” Jennifer said in a profound sort of tone.
“What is that?” Huckleberry asked.
“Explore the one part of this place which remains unexplored,” Jennifer replied.
She looked from one brother to the next; they looked back, then at each other before they nodded in agreement.
Without further ado they left the room for the attic.
A narrow staircase led to the narrow, black-painted door sitting at the top of it, as if waiting in stillness for someone to come and disturb it. The children crowded together, practically forging into one being as they placed one foot in front of the other, avoiding any squeak the wood might groan out, by moving very slowly and pausing on every step, their weight shifting the wood carefully and thus preventing any loud noise. It was one of the rare moments when they found themselves actually cringing at any hint of sound being made.
Once they reached the narrow landing without any mishaps or voices calling their names from downstairs, demanding to know what they thought they were up to, they sighed in joined relief, promptly splitting one into three once more.
They all fastened their gaze on the door.
“So,” Huckleberry said, breaking the hush, “the famous attic, where Blueberry Buck and the Rascal faced the tyrant king.”
“I thought they faced him on the outskirts of the Hallabaloo Desert,” Jacob whispered and Huckleberry smiled.
“That was before,” he replied meaningfully.
Jennifer barely heard their debate, for she was listening to something else and she raised one hand as a sign for her brothers to be quiet.
“What is it?” Huckleberry whispered, but in that instant he heard it for himself.
The tiny hairs on the children’s necks and arms stood up as they listened to the creaking of slowly moving footsteps. It might not have been such an alarming sound, had it come from the hallway below them, but it came from no such comforting place. It was coming from behind the door before which they stood. A door which, as far as they knew, had stayed locked and undisturbed since they arrived at the house.
Jennifer drew a small, trembling breath, and before she could tell it not to, her arm had begun to reach out for the doorknob.
She could sense how her brother’s became rigid beside her at the movement, but she couldn’t help it, she needed to know.
When her fingers were hovering close enough to grace the knob, it suddenly turned on its own with a low click and the door groaned itself open, showing nothing but utter darkness beyond it.
The children drew a breath of fright, had one look at one another, and turned, bustling down the stairs, almost tripping on the last few steps, but regaining their balance and rushing into the safety of their shared bedroom.
They closed the door behind them with a bang and all jumped into Jacob’s bed, pulling the covers over their heads.
All remained still.
Nothing was coming after them.
When Mrs. Pennybridge, an hour later, entered the nursery, she found her children all asleep in a heap of limbs and she smiled to herself, unaware of what had left them spent of their usual energy, but sending praise to the heavens for it, as she wanted them on their good behaviour for that evening’s activities.
She woke them gently, and received long hugs from all three of them.
“My,” she smiled. “What has gotten into you?”
“Mama,” Jennifer said hesitantly. “Was Jeffries retrieving something in the attic earlier? We thought we heard feet walking about up there.”
Mrs. Pennybridge shook her head.
“Oh,” Jennifer said, forcing a smile onto her lips as she tried to sound unworried. “It must have been of our own imagination, then.”
“Yes, it must have,” Mrs. Pennybridge replied, smiling back.
She did not notice her children exchanging a long glance, silently promising on another not to set one foot near the attic again as long as they lived.
It was the third of December, and they were about to get an unexpected addition to the household.
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icedsapphire reviewed Version 1 -
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Before you get angry with me, I’m going to say I didn’t hate your piece. However I feel that there is a lot of work you need to do with it yet. So here are some items that I found, that need some spit and polish.
Query letter errors:
“who could guide me and advice me”-advise
“I have previously been published in a short-story compilation.”-you would do better to tell which one.
“I would enjoy working with an editor with knowledge of what young readers enjoy”-instead of “editor with knowledge” try “editor that has knowledge”
” A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens, Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie and the Narnia Chronicles by C.S. Lewis.”-I think 6 year olds might be a bit young for the stories listed here. While yes, they do enjoy the tales in the watered down Disney movie format, the actual stories themselves are a it above their heads. You’d probably do better listing a 9-12 year old bracket.
The other issue I had with your query letter, I believe that the agents requested no synopsis of the stories submitted. You spoil too much, as we already know they will win. It might make someone wonder if they should even bother reading your piece.
Story Errors:
“It is a handsome building, and back then…”-it is a handsome building…watch your tenses. Your story takes place in the past, keep it there. “it was a handsome…”
“I do feel like tasting a fine cigar, but…” -watch out. smoking in a childrens story might get the parents to boycott your book. I could care less, but kids won’t be enjoying your story….
“following -—-- Street”-did you intend on naming a street here and just forgot?
-crazy stuff happening while kids play hide and seek. Dangerous border on already been done you are treading here.
“I declare we have but one thing to do….place which remains unexplored”-this dialogue (like the rest f your dialogue) feels forced. It’s like you are trying for an old world style and coming up a bit short.
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alysonm reviewed Version 1 -
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Although I think that the story is well written, I found it somewhat boring in the beginning, the first chapter specifically.
I wonder how it would be written from just one characters point of view, say Jennifer’s point of view? And perhaps, switching between chapters between each child’s point of view using the first person, instead of the third person, because I felt like i was just an observer of the story looking down upon the family, and I wanted to be closer to the action, I wanted to be next to that ghost, not just see Jennifer next to that ghost. Does that make sense?
Overall, it was well written.
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