Story Writing | Supernatural

_{Pixabay CCO}

Hey, Steemheads. It’s almost the end of the week and I’m excited. Weekend always does that for me. This post isn’t about the fun though. Today, I want to talk about writing a supernatural fiction. Supernatural is a branch of genre fiction. It involves things that cannot be proven by scientific research or evidence. The most common examples are stories about witches, werewolves, vampires, gods etc. They kind of explore a hidden part of nature and cannot be explained by any law. That’s what makes it different from science fiction.

_{Supernatural means anything out of the ordinary world--something unexplained by natural or scientific law. This is not to be confused with science fiction, which allows for seemingly extraordinary events. The difference is that science fiction is based on a scientific theory, however improbable. The supernatural genre includes ghosts, vampires, werewolves, demons or even comic book characters with supernatural powers.}

You can tell a supernatural story just the way you write your normal literary fiction. All you have to do is look into the story you want to explore. How large or small will your plot be? From whose point of view will you tell the story? One important thing you need to have in mind is that you have to make the supernatural aspect your point of focus. It’s supernatural after all, so it should be the integral part of the story. Remember it’s still your story. Just relax and spin it all you like.

Here are a few tips on how to go about it:

Tell a new story.

Supernatural stories are mostly always alike. Why tell a story that has been told before? Explore the genre. If you must retell a story, add a new and fresh twist to it. Turn it into a new story, not the same old one with little changes.

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Stick to the original plot.

Say you are writing a story about a twenty year old witch who lives in the developed world and has access to technology, try as much as possible to stick to it. The witch cannot wake up one day and begin to lurk in the dark. That’s what I call character assassination. Make it as original as possible.

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No useless characters.

Don’t mention a dog and abandon it. Give it something to do, something that involves more than sitting at the feet of its owner. You can even spin the story with something the dog does.

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Don’t forget about mood.

Supernatural stories feed on dread. That feeling that something terribly good or bad is about to happen. Give it to your readers. Let them feel what the character is feeling. Make them scared even. That’s way, your work is fully done.

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Suspense.

Pace your story and make your readers wait for it. Also, try not to tell everything at the beginning else you put pressure on yourself to continually produce better scenes or scares, depending on how you want the story to go. Just remember to make it intense. Readers love that.

Supernatural stories are like miracles. Don’t overdo it or you lose your readers.

Here is a story I wrote. It has a little touch of supernatural. I worked with this prompt:
"The house stood on a slight rise just on the edge of the village" - Hitchhikers Guide to Galaxy.

Enjoy!

_{The streets of Small Valley had changed, at least since the last time I was there. The edges of the roads had become wider and smoother. I used to run up and down the narrow streets as a child, with my younger brother. We would pick and inhale wide flowers, which had taller trees standing in their place now. We also picked stones and against Father's warning, threw them inside a small well in front of the old brick house.}

_{The well had claimed my brother's life when he was ten. I was fifteen and we were out playing as usual when it happened. I was busy picking stones and didn't notice when he climbed the front steps of the house.}

_{"Look, Joseph," he called out.}

_{I turned.}

_{"What are you doing? Come down now!"}

_{"I just want to dive into the water from here. Have you ever wondered why Father wouldn't let us swim here, or why the water doesn't change colour?"}

_{"It doesn't matter. You can't even swim."}

_{"I've been practicing. The water isn't deep anyway," he said and disappeared inside the well.}

_{I waited for him to come up, but he never did. His body was never found.}

_{Father refused to speak of it. He sent me away to live with his sister when I wouldn't stop asking questions.}

_{Unlike the streets, the house had not changed. The little rise beneath the foundation was just the way I remembered. The now level ground made it more conspicuous. The well sat at exactly the same spot and the water was still as dark as night. A single branched tree now stood besides the well. I would later learn that it started growing the day my brother disappeared.}

_{Walking the lonely path which led to my father's compound had become a habit since I returned eleven days ago. One of the reasons I decided to come back was because of the dreams. They came to me every five years and would go on for five days. I first dreamed of it the day I left Small Valley. That year, I thought it was the pain of losing my brother. But they came back after five years. Besides the screams and pain that always came with the dreams, one thing was constant; a woman standing in a pool of fire holding a child. And she would vanish before I could see her face.}

_{The second reason I came back was to find out what happened to my brother and why I've lived for a hundred years without aging, after I turned twenty.}

_{Today, however, wasn't as lonely as the other days. I finally walked up to Father's grave when I saw a young woman. At first, I thought she was one of the girls from the village, but a closer look revealed she was older and oddly familiar.}

_{I stared at her. Her ankle length gown was rumpled. The blue dahlia she clutched to her midriff was so dark it was almost black.}

_{"Who are you?" I asked.}

_{"I know you have a lot of questions," she dropped the flowers on the grave. "Come with me."}

_{I followed her to a small house at the end of the path. Inside, fire burned under a small pot by the window. Two stools sat side by side. She sat on the one closest to the pot and stirred its content.}

_{"Tell me about your dreams," she said.}

_{I said nothing. She continued to stir.}

_{"The first thing you have to do is cut down the tree by the well."}

_"Why?"

_{"The tree binds your brother's spirit to yours. It's the reason you don't age and the first step to breaking the bond and the curse"}

_{I looked up then. I knew the story too well. Father used to tell us a story about a cursed witch who was burned together with her five year old child. The fire refused to go out till the fifth day. I never thought it had anything to do with my dreams or that they came every five years, until now.}

_{"What happened to my brother?"}

_{"Your brother was the chosen one. He had to die so you could embrace your true self."}

_{She stood and brought down the pot.}

_{"Before I died, I thought I could use my magic to create my own world," she paused. "You've dreamt of me."}

_{It was beginning to come together, slowly. Her hair, the gown, the house.}

_{"You're the witch?" My heart thudded painfully. "How?"}

_{"When my family found out about my powers, they disowned me. I already had my child then. It's a taboo to have a child out of wedlock, so my coven burned me at stake when they learned about it. I've been roaming the earth ever since."}

_{I stared blankly.}

_{"I don't expect you to understand my choices. The child was safe. I used all the magic I had to protect him."}

_{She poured the content of the pot inside a small wooden bowl.}

_{"After you cut the tree, pour this inside the well. The rest will take care of itself."}

_{I took the bowl and left.}

_{What she didn't tell me was never to climb the steps of the old brick house. And that was exactly what I did. Not only did I climb the steps, I opened the front door.}

_{The only thing I saw was my brother's ten year old face laughing at me before something pushed me into the well. The last thing I heard was my own screams as I fell into oblivion.}

_{I would later find out, after I woke on the other side, that the man who raised me wasn't my real father. My brother was his son. The witch was my real mother. She drowned ten year old boys in the well every five years to keep me safe and alive. The brick house was where we lived and my death was our reunion.}

_{Pixabay CCO}

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Thanks for reading!
What are your thoughts?