The spectral Arctic: Michelle Paver's Dark Matter

    In one of my periodicals, there's a paper by someone who's worked out that what we know of the universe is only a tiny percentage of what actually exists. He says what's left can't be seen or detected, but it's there; he calls it 'dark matter'. Of course, no one believes him; but I find the idea unsettling. Or rather, not the idea itself, that's merely an odd notion about outer space. What I don't like is the feeling I sometimes get that other things might exist around us, of which we know nothing.

     In a month, on the 16th of October, we'll see the sun for the last time. According to the books, there'll still be some light for a few weeks after that, because at noon, the sun won't be all that far below the horizon. They call it the 'midday dawn'. After that, nothing.

Dark Matter by Michelle Paver (2010) 

Wonderful story, beautifully told. This should be a must-read for those who want more tales like Blackwood's "The Wendigo" or Quiller-Couch's "The Seventh Man."

❖

30th October

      I read that chapter on folklore. I wish I hadn't.

     Most of it wasn't even about Spitsbergen, not specifically. It was just a rather dreary account of Scandinavian beliefs, some of which I recognise from old English customs. The idea that seabirds bring good luck when you're out fishing. And scattering salt to ward off witches; Mother used to do that when she ate a boiled egg, a pinch of salt over her shoulder. I'd forgotten.

     It says that 'some places in Spitsbergen' – it doesn't say which – are haunted by draugs.A draug is the unquiet spirit of a drowned man who lurks in the shallows, waiting to drag the unwary to their doom. When a corpse is washed up, there is always a dilemma. If you bury it, are you cheating the sea of its due? If you do not, will you be haunted by the draug?

     I like the 'when'. How often is a corpse washed up here, anyway?

     And then there's this. Those who know the islands maintain that the beginning of the polar night is a time for particular care. Some say that seven weeks before Yule, the graves of Spitsbergen open.

     Seven weeks from Christmas. That's October the 31st. Hallowe'en.

     But Jack, so what?

     When I was a boy, Father gave me a book called Folk Tales from the North. Most of the stories were about witches and trolls and ghosts playing havoc on All Hallows' Eve – which, when you think about it, is completely understandable, a natural response to living in the north. Of course you'd believe in things like that when you're facing a long dark winter, and the whole world feels dead.

     But what you've got to remember is that there's nothing new in any of this. Nothing you didn't already know.

     The 31st of October is tomorrow.

Jay

9 November 2021