Skeleton Creek

Imagine a group of friends huddled together, lit by the gentle flicker of candlelight as they listen to the suspenseful words of a ghost story. Now imagine them bathed in the soft glow of a computer screen as they watch the startling images of a ghost video. Which experience is more spine-tingling fun?

You don’t have to pick. Patrick Carman’s Skeleton Creek fuses the ghost story and ghost video into an encounter more frightening and entertaining than either can be alone.

Book One in the series begins with words in a diary format. In fact, the novel itself is crafted to look like a blue composition notebook with “SKELETON CREEK” scrawled as the title and “RYAN’S JOURNAL” written in red marker on what appears to be masking tape. A collage of white skulls has replaced the typical marbled pattern of most composition notebooks. In actuality, the novel has a nicely bound hardback cover.

The sense of authenticity, first created by the cover, is the hallmark of the story. When you leaf through the pages you will see the journal format continues with lined pages and a hand-written style font. Anything other than Ryan’s words or drawings appears to have been taped into the book—this includes printed emails and other documents, scanned images and even the publishing information. The “paper” of these additional materials appears to be a different color and texture than that of the journal itself and each category has its own unique font. Of course, even a small child can see that this is all just an illusion created by the printer, but it enhances the audience’s ability to suspend their disbelief.

The ghost videos are produced by Ryan’s friend and co-conspirator, Sarah. In Romeo-and-Juliet fashion, the two are being kept apart and therefore forced to communicate secretly through email and Sarah’s video messages. Ryan is also injured and basically housebound, but in spite of their challenges, the two manage to investigate strange occurrences at an abandoned worksite called the Dredge.

Sarah’s videos are also designed to appear authentically “homemade.” They are shot from one camera’s perspective and most are edited using basic techniques. Sarah pans and zooms like a typical amateur videographer, and when she is moving, the shot has that familiar handheld shake which my mom calls “Frankenstein walking.” That term is certainly appropriate for this ghost story.

Of course, there are clues that the videos are professionally done. The sound and lighting is much better than most amateurs achieve. There is also a rather annoying flicker added to the video. I think it has dual purposes: first, to make it seem more authentic (not seamless) and second to build tension (the “trackiness” does not seem to happen randomly). I have never seen such a flicker on any homemade videos—certainly not on digital film like Sarah is using.

The web site where you watch the videos is also too intricate and polished to feel like a typical teenager’s personal site. The site is fascinating, frightening and easy-to-use, however, and I would trade that for authentic amateur any day of the week. You can check it out: SarahFincher.com. Of course, you can’t watch Sarah’s spooky videos without the passwords hidden in Ryan’s journal, but the eerie site offers some other points of interest.

Overall, the well-crafted authenticity allows readers/viewers to dive deeply into story, immersing themselves in tension and fear. Ryan’s words provide the background, details and suspense that Sarah’s films can explode into terror and shock. Some of her video simply tells what she has figured out on her own, but the footage recorded at the Dredge offers a few fun surprises.

Certainly this story can be enjoyed alone, but I highly recommend that you share the experience one dark night with a few of your closest friends. Ones you like to scream and laugh with. And remember, this is just Book One.