Nothing is more common form in old-fashioned books than the description of the winter fireside, where the aged grandam narrates to the circle of children that hangs on her lips story after story of ghosts and fairies, and inspires her audience with a pleasing terror. But we are never allowed to know what the stories were. We hear, indeed, of sheeted spectres with saucer eyes, and—still more intriguing—of “Rawhead and Bloody Bones” (an expression which the Oxford Dictionary traces back to 1550), but the context of these striking images eludes us.

Here, then, is a problem which has long obsessed me; but I see no means of solving it finally. The aged grandams are gone, and the collectors of folklore began their work in England too late to save most of the actual stories which the grandams told. Yet such things do not easily die quite out, and imagination, working on scattered hints, may be able to devise a picture of an evening’s entertainment… From M.R. James “An Evening’s Entertainment,” 1925.

Tonight is the first session of my Winter Hauntings ghost story workshop at Carteret Community College. This evening is all about the deep-rooted tradition of ghost stories, and we’ll begin with a personal, reflective exercise that encourages writers to think about the first real ghost story they ever heard. During genre study, we’ll identify common elements and tropes used in ghost stories, play with them, and then study a masterful use of ghostly tropes in M.R. James’ “Oh, Whistle, and I’ll Come to You, My Lad.”

“Oh, Whistle, and I’ll Come to You, My Lad” is one of my favorite M.R. James stories. From the very first sentence, you get a feel for his playful style, but don’t let that fool you. He’s just goading you along, making you feel in cahoots with him, superior to poor Professor Parkins, so that you’ll be caught off guard when he begins to manifest those unsettling elements he’s famous for – shrouded figures, uncanny artwork, a room at an inn that isn’t quite right.

Three tactics to steal from M.R. James

Tell the story like you’re telling a story.

I don’t know who the narrator of “Oh, Whistle, and I’ll Come to You, My Lad” is, but I would hang out with him in a bar. That’s how he tells the story: like someone you know, who knows you, and who knows you will totally get what he’s talking about when he describes Parkins as “something of an old woman—rather hen-like, perhaps, in his little ways; totally destitute, alas! of the sense of humour, but at the same time dauntless and sincere in his convictions.” The narrator is friendly, funny, gossipy, mostly sympathetic to his protagonist, and always reminding you that he’s telling you a story, which makes the story feel more authentic. He wins your trust with his casual (for a Victorian gentleman) style.

Choose a reasonable, rational victim.

Parkins, a Professor of Ontagraphy, is first and foremost a scientist. He may be destitute of humor, but he is honest to a fault and committed to accuracy. Not only does he not believe in ghosts, he’s offended by the mere mention of them. That moves the plot along on several points. First, someone who doesn’t believe in the supernatural will have to go into that dark cellar. They don’t get a scaredy cat pass like the rest of us weirdos. Second, a rational character allows you to prolong the suspense because they will spend some amount of time attempting to explain away the problem as it slowly gets worse. Finally, it’s more fun to see a confident know-it-all get his come-uppance.

For another of my favorite reasonable, rational victims in horror, read How The Wicker Man Lights a Match to Horror Tropes.

Make everyday objects and experiences unfamiliar.

Two words: bed linens. James revolutionized the sheet ghost in a scene that still gives me shivers after multiple readings. If you want to know how, you’ll have to read the story.

Links

You can read the full text of “Oh, Whistle, and I’ll Come to You, My Lad” here.

You can listen to the story here.

You can watch a film based on the story here.