How to remain puzzled and now a bit more spooked? Well, here’s what happens sometimes.

You’ll remember my puzzling, and mildly spooky, telephone call from Mississauga. The Toronto dormitory town, home of Pearson International Airport, and scene of my entirely fictitious double murder story. I was still pondering this mystery when one of my wilder-eyed friends came up with a theory that’s really spooky and bizarre.

She reckons it might be David, the one who got his head blown off, not David the shooter, manifesting himself from beyond the grave. We have a couple of issues here, don’t we? Not least being that neither David, neither shooter nor shootee, ever existed except in my  admittedly fevered mind.

But it’s got some legs as a concept, doesn’t it? An author being haunted by a character created and killed off because the narrative required it? By telephone? From a non-existent number?

I have to say that if all the characters I’ve killed off (and non-writers won’t understand how much that hurts sometimes) returned to haunt me by phone, I’d need two batteries for my handset, and be forced to put it on silent if I were vainly trying to sleep. My phone would be ringing off the hook.

If my correspondent is right, that David was trying to maintain contact, it’s bloody typical that it’s a male adulterer on my case. Why can’t Charlie be ringing me? My favourite creation of all time, not a no-hoper philanderer, the one who really hurt when I killed her off. She had to go, because I couldn’t face the idea of a sequel to ‘Hurricane Charlie.’ But now

There may be some more miles in her. She’ll be eight years older, for a start, though it seems unlikely that she’ll have mellowed with age, she’d still likely be the same irascible termagant. And I suspect she’d be truly pissed off with me for Rick, the love of her life, copping off with Constance, her close friend, in the months following Charlie’s death.

This could be a complex plotline, couldn’t it? I need to do some thinking about how I might interact with somebody who never existed except in my head. But definitely some legs here. And if they’re Charlie’s legs, I’m all for it. She had great legs. I know, because I borrowed them off somebody I actually knew. Still know, as it happens.😊