Ghosts of Chanterlands by Catherine Cavendish is a chilling, twisted tale of a girl seeking answers on a family estate haunted by ghosts of the past.
Let’s dive in!
My Thoughts on Ghosts of Chanterlands by Catherine Cavendish –
During the war, Pamela is sent to live with her aunts in their family home out in the country. Her mom thinks this will help to keep her safe, but little do they all know, she’s in far more danger than ever on the estate.
The unsettling atmosphere kicks in as soon as she arrives and is put in her uncle’s childhood bedroom. A room that had been closed off since his death as a child. Hearing someone coughing outside her door late at night, Pamela’s thrown into a series of nightmares where she struggles to discern what is real and what is in her imagination. To make things worse, one of her aunts is determined to tell her it’s all in her head, while the other flips-flops between letting on that she knows what’s happening and denying it.
The more Pamela uncovers in the house, the more intense the hauntings get. Soon, it’s not just a question of what’s real or not; it’s a matter of life and death.
The way I absolutely fell into this story. When my husband went to spend the day with family, I absolutely crushed this read. I was so hooked on this story that while reading at home alone, I heard a cough upstairs that was so clear that I thought my husband and kiddo were back home. When I checked their location and saw that they were not home, I immediately called them, and when they didn’t answer, I called my mom so I could have someone on the phone while I went to check the house! No one was here. Needless to say, this book got SO under my skin!
If that’s not a solid testament to how great this book is, I don’t know what could be!
My Favorite Passages from Ghosts of Chanterlands –
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed, wondering why we whispered but finding it appropriate somehow. This was a magical place. Here, anything could happen. Even fairies.
I awoke to the sound of a particularly vociferous blackbird, tuning up to take lead vocal in that day’s dawn chorus.
The wooden bench was worn and in need of Mr. Hodges’ tin of spare nails to repair the slats that were parting company from their moorings. The seat would take my weight but any hefty man contemplating a pleasant rest would soon find himself landing unceremoniously on the stone flags beneath.
But the only sound was Mr. Hodges knocking his hammer against the crowbar as he forced the lock open. Apart from that the attic was quiet. Too quiet. The sort of quiet that hangs like a shroud as opposed to the easy, natural peace produced by nothing being present. This was a deliberate quietness as if, strangely, something was at great pains to make it silent.
Next to it, whatever Lord Marmaduke had become blinked in and out, as if someone were switching a flashlight on and off. Each time he appeared, there was less of him, less hair, less skin, until the silks were shredded rags, faded and old, and the outstretched hands skeletal. A stench rose from the apparition, choking me. It shrouded itself in a thick, cloying mist that clung to my skin. I put my hands to my cheeks, and they came away coated in a gray, fatty residue that stank of the grave.
My Final Thoughts on Ghosts of Chanterlands –
I’ll always shout about Catherine’s work from the rooftops. Each one I read, I swear it’s my favorite… but then I revisit a past read or read her latest, and it’s the same case! My goodness, was this one wild. It got into my dreams, and it was present in my day-to-day as well. I was so nervous to see what was to come next that I hung on every page.
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