The Thin Place

We looked out of the window at the torrential rain. We’d booked tickets for the Castle’s Halloween event. The Castle was famous for being haunted by the ghost of its last court jester and made the most of this reputation every October, hosting a fair, craft workshops for children and, at night, putting on more immersive – and scarier – shows for adults. This year, in response to the coronavirus, the whole event was taking place outdoors – costumed parades, clowning, fire displays, scary scenes hidden in the woods, that kind of thing. It was only midday, but already the day felt dark. I listened to the hiss of the downpour and imagined us all settling down with a film, steam rising from mugs of hot chocolate or milky coffee. I was on the verge of cancelling the trip when our eldest spoke.

“I’m not going outside in that,” she said. A sentiment and turn of phrase that she’d picked up from her father.

“Yes you are,” I said, realising in an