It’s Sunday and that means it’s time for our weekly Sins of the Past interview. Today we talk to Kristin Roahrig, author of the story, Melusina. Tell us a little bit about yourself, Kristin.
Generally my days are spent either chasing toddlers or dusting off old records in the archives of a courthouse.
Who are your favorite authors?
I have a small list which includes Leo Tolstoy, Elizabeth Hand, and Nathaniel Hawthorne to name a few.
Tell us a bit about your story, Melusina?
The story is a mixture of revenge and a ghost tale. It centers around a Swiss soldier in Paris during the tumultuous days of the French Revolution.
If you could travel back in time to any place and period in the past where and when would you go?
Either England or Italy during the Renaissance era.
What attracts you to writing horror?
I enjoy the subtle unexpectedness to be found in many horror stories.
What are you currently reading?
Samurai-The Last Warrior by John Man
What do you like to do to relax?
I do either meditation or practice playing my cello.
What are you currently working on?
I am currently working on a young adult novel, Afflicted. The novel is about the Salem Witch Trials. The story is inspired by events in my family history where one of my ancestors was a juryman of the trials.
Read an excerpt from Melusina:
I had just shot a rabbit dead when I first saw her. I was ten years old, struggling to fit most of the animal into a sack, its hind feet dangling out. A river rushed nearby. The sky showed only winter, but the air and bright colors promisedspring. The dry leaves left from last autumn crackled under my feet while I breathed in the air that smelled faintly of burning logs and the recent discharge of gunpowder from the rifle Father had lent me.
To take my kill home I needed to find a place to cross the river. The waters swelled with snow melting in the mountains, and today they rushed past me with no rhythm.
I spotted a section of the river where the water appeared green. Near the edge I could make out sand lines overlapping each other, and the dark water showed the mountains in a fuzzy image. They were mirrors of a landscape I already knew too well in the limited world in which I lived.
The wind began to blow along the ground through the leaves around me. The sky changed to a pale violet, unusual for an afternoon. I continued on my way, the rabbit’s feet hitting against my back with each step I took. A strong wind came out of nowhere and stung my face.
Jerking away from the blast, I saw the figure of a woman walking ahead in the distance.She was on the other side of the river and moved in a stooped manner. I didn’t recognize her, and would have thought her just a passing traveler or beggar, only our region in Switzerland seldom received either. Our town was too far from any important destination for a traveler to pass through, and the roads, difficult even in the summer, were impossible in winter. I crossed the river, paying little attention to the stranger ahead. But whenever I happened to notice her, the woman was always the same distance away. If I walked faster, the stranger would not be any nearer than before. If I stopped and stood still for a few moments, she would be no further ahead. Her pace never quickened or slackened.
I ran ahead, only to find her no closer than before.
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