My haunted historical fiction place

This post is an invitation to come with me to a special place.

I have a place that makes me want to tell my stories. This place feels like witches are hiding between the trees, and alchemists are challenging the world behind those glowing windows in the far. It feels haunted, fallen out of time, and a bit terrifying at times. The good kind of terrifying. The kind that invites the head to come up with stories.

This is my historical fiction place.

I found it in the pandemic, when all I ever did was taking long walks. It is the field behind my house that ends in the south. This I know, because I learned to navigate through stars there on that field.

There I got lost one night in April 2020, when I was terribly drunk. There I listened to music and screamed, until I had the idea of writing the witching novel. There I found Cassiopeia, the northern star! And probably demons observing me from between those trees, or within the hay cubes.

Up until today, my favourite place to watch the sunset is there in the middle of the field. I can hear the cows in the distance, the one or the other cat is visiting. I am the weird person standing there in then middle of nowhere, overdressed in a corset and massive boots, scaring the farmers, but at least the cats are visiting.

And it just looks so haunted!