In this week’s instalment of “Author(ized) Accounts of the Paranormal and Unexplained,” Madeline Nixon, author of Feathers and Emergency Lullabies, will tell us the spooky, yet heartwarming story of a haunted Christmas tree…
Over the last several years, I’ve come to realize I’m a rather approachable person.
Not with the living, no. With the living, I have that good old resting bitch face. But apparently the dead don’t take that into account. And I know that might sound a bit odd. It’s got some major Sixth Sense vibes going on. But I’ve never been one to deny the sixth sense.
Ghosts like to reach out to me.
It’s a somewhat common occurrence in my life that I’ll feel a little tap on my shoulder or tug on my shirt. Most of the time, I have no idea who it is. Like when I was phantomly tapped at a graveyard in Ireland, or had my pant leg tugged and leg go immediately cold in the Children’s Vault under Edinburgh. But there’s one instance, specifically, where I know who it was.
My grandma passed away in February of 2022. And after a long year of signs in the form of a flock of robins appearing the day before her death, funeral files changing names, dimes hiding under glasses cases and sewing tables, and Wordle words that felt like they had meaning . . . Something else happened. When my grandpa sold their home, one that the family had lived in since the 1980s, he gave a lot of things to his children. One of the things he gave away was their fluffy artificial evergreen Christmas tree to my Christmas obsessed father. This would be tree number seventeen (yes, I know that is an extreme amount of Christmas trees shh).
When Christmas rolled around ten months after Grammy’s death, the tree joined a red and green themed tree in the basement, wearing all the ornaments my grandparents had collected over the years; souvenirs from trips, classic jewel toned glass blown balls, golden religious figures. It’s a tree that has such deep nostalgic feelings and memories for me. It stood majestically in the bay window of my grandparents’ living room, lit up for the neighbours to see; dwarfed by Christmas presents for aunts and uncles and cousins; where I would climb underneath the tree to fetch wedged away gifts in my fancy crushed velvet Christmas dresses as a child.
Now, it was in my home.
From the moment the tree went up, I felt it had a vibe. My family has multiple Christmas parties with neighbours, family, and friends, and so we bake a lot of cookies. We start late November and store them in the cold unfinished section of the basement until party days. One of the only empty spaces available for Christmas trees in our decked halls household was across from the stairs going down into the basement. And every time I brought down a Tupperware container full of the next batch of cookies, I’d have to pass my grandparents’ tree. Walking alongside the tree gave me the feeling I always get when I’m somewhere haunted: a gnawing, unsettled feeling in my stomach, a lightheaded, floaty feeling in my brain, a full body tingling. As soon as I was I front of it, I could feel it.
The tree had energy I got nowhere else in the house. But I liked it. I knew exactly what it was and who it belonged to. After a long, hard year of grief, this was comforting.
About a week before the first Christmas party we’d had in two years, I brought down a container full of chocolate Rice Krispies. They were unremarkable, a treat I make for every single Christmas party, and I’m sure I wouldn’t remember them if it had been my usual path past the tree’s energy. But it wasn’t.
Tapping my fingers against the side of the container and thinking about all the things I had to do to get ready for the party, I passed the tree. I rubbed at the goosebumps on my arm with my free hand as I headed into the curtained off section of the basement that my best friend, for no discernable reason, affectionately named the Demon Hole. Luckily, there are no demons in this story.
After taking my usual count of containers, satisfied with the amount we’d made, I turned off the light and headed back to the warm, well lit front room. My goosebumps had not dissipated, and maybe this should have been my heads up that this wasn’t an average night, but I shrugged it off.
Until I got right next to the tree and felt the most gentle, ginger touch on my shoulder. My breath caught in my throat and I closed my eyes, not out of fear, but in sheer disbelief. I’d had my signs from Grammy. I saw her in my dreams when I needed her most and got a robin tattooed on my ankle in her honour. I knew she was still here, watching over us, but this was the first physical moment I could claim.
“Hi Maddi,” I heard in what I still swear to this day was her voice.
Clear and unwavering, full of the love she gave to everyone when she was alive. I let myself bask in the moment, in the energy, in the touch, for a few beats of a minute. I opened my eyes, hoping to see her. She wasn’t there but this was enough.
I smiled and reached out to an angel that was gently swaying in some phantom breeze on the tree.
“Merry Christmas, Grammy,” I said.
Author Interview
The Night Librarian: That is such a sweet story! I got chills, but the warm and fuzzy kind. Tell us, who has been the biggest influence on your writing and your writing career?
Maddi: I have the cliché English teacher story. My ninth grade English teacher, Ms. Gonsalves, was the first person who very seriously told me that this was an avenue I could pursue. We had to write a short story continuing another from our short story unit and I chose “Lamb to the Slaughter,” which is one of those short stories that really sticks with you for all the messed up reasons. And somehow, despite the creepy content, she liked it. She encouraged me, and that led me to take Writer’s Craft in grade twelve where I encountered another fabulous English teacher. Ms. Salvo always had the most praise for my paranormal themed stories that year. She was thrilled when I got into the professional writing program. I thanked both of them in the acknowledgments of my first book, Feathers.
Around the same time I was discovering this writing talent, I also discovered Kelley Armstrong. I was so wowed by the fact that she was this popular writer with so many books and she lived only about an hour away from me. It was this revelation for me, like, “You’re telling me I could write my weird paranormal books and be recognized for them?” This was huge for a Canadian girl whose experience of CanLit was Margaret Atwood and Michael Ondaatje, who are both great, but not what I was writing. Finding Kelley Armstrong’s books set me on the writing path I’m on today, and obviously, got me to that Scottish castle 14 years later.
The Night Librarian: Ah, yes, the writing retreat in a castle you met our first Author(ized) Account, Helen Power. Are you working on a new project? What can you tell us about it?
Maddi: I’m always working on something. I can’t sit still when it comes to writing. My brain is too active with ideas.
I have two main projects on the go right now. The first is a romantic comedy that I would describe as The Ex Talk crossed with Ghost Hunters. I am ridiculously excited about these characters, two ghost hunters forced to fake date to drive up ratings on their TV show. It’s been slow going the last few months. I’m in the homestretch of the manuscript, but publishing is exhausting and I haven’t written that last little bit. May the ghosts bless me with some writing inspiration.
My other project is a sequel, of sorts, to Feathers. I’ve had a ridiculous amount of ghostly encounters happen since its publication so it’s time for a book compiling more of my experiences! I’m currently trying to find a home for that little book. Once again asking the ghosts for luck as I go through querying.
The Night Librarian: That’s right, you’ve recently published a romance novel, Emergency Lullabies! What inspired the shift from writing ghost stories to writing romance?
Maddi: I think it comes down to the fact that I had an idea and I ran with it. I wasn’t actively choosing to stray away from the original genre I published in, I just happen to love romance and had an idea that was gnawing at me. I also love horror, mystery, thrillers, paranormal, and historical fiction, all of which I’ve written in before. Authors get pigeonholed a lot of the time, which is why you see variations on their name or pseudonyms pop up when they publish in a genre their readers aren’t familiar with them in. Ultimately, I just write whatever I feel I need to write in that moment. And as I’m heading into NaNoWriMo 2023, I’m low key wanting to write a thriller inspired by Jill Duggar’s memoir.
Madeline Nixon has been a dog walker, a nanny, a baker, a shoe saleswoman, a chocolatier, and an editor, but the title she’s most fond of is author. She’s published Feathers, a nonfiction short story collection about her paranormal experiences, and fourteen educational children’s books. Her debut romance novel, Emergency Lullabies, was released this fall. When she’s not writing, you can find her hunting ghosts, planning elaborate theme parties, and baking whatever recipe looks the best on Pinterest. She lives in a suburb outside of Toronto.
Follow Madeline: Website | Newsletter | Facebook | Instagram | Twitter/X | TikTok
Feathers is a series of short stories about the Madeline’s experiences with the paranormal. From imaginary friends, to haunted antiques, to UFOs, to backyard seances . . . Feathers is a testament to what it’s like growing up with ghosts.
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