haunted

JEDDAH: “Our Cut of Salt” is an extraordinary debut partly because it understands that the haunted-house story has always been most effective when it is, at heart, a story about people and the fears they carry with them.

Under Palestinian American writer Deena Helm’s pen, a haunted house in Haifa that once was home to a Palestinian family is not merely the site of a ghost story; it is itself a record of displacement, violence and belonging, as well as an indictment of military occupation.

Forthcoming from US publisher Tor’s horror imprint Tor Nightfire on Sept. 22, the gothic horror novel follows three generations of Palestinian women and the history embedded in their ancestral home, Dar Sayadi.

After Nuhad’s death, her granddaughter Marina in Chicago becomes determined to visit the house she has inherited that she only knows of through her grandmother’s stories. Her mother, Haifa — named for the city her family lost and carrying inherited trauma herself — reluctantly agrees to let her go to Palestine.

Nuhad had not returned to the house since the Nakba of 1948, but she continued to carry it in her heart until death. Rania, her childhood friend, becomes a guide and a bridge connecting Marina to her ancestry.

Helm’s characters feel remarkably full and vibrant even when they appear only briefly. The debut author’s measured prose moves deftly between the poetic and the clear-eyed. At times, her language is lyrical and atmospheric, giving the house and its haunting an almost dreamlike quality; at others, it becomes restrained and precise, allowing scenes to speak without being weighed down by narration.

In “Our Cut of Salt,” the supernatural elements expose the inadequacy of ordinary language to describe the psychological consequences of forced expulsion and Israeli military occupation.

Locals and cats alike avoid Dar Sayadi’s perimeter; strange sounds and screams sometimes emanate from within; and any Israeli settlers who occupy it either die or disappear. Even as they keep coming, the house “refuses” to become a sanctuary for the Israeli settlers.

More significantly, Dar Sayadi is a “painful, festering” wound, and as Marina digs into the family past, the illness — symbolizing the Israeli occupation — becomes increasingly physical.

By placing the supernatural alongside the very real horrors that have continued to reverberate since the Nakba of 1948, Helm takes the machinery of the American gothic haunted-house story — the ominous building, unexplained noises, apparitions, a family entering a space where it should not be — and turns it toward a history for which the word “haunting” is more than literal.

Within the architecture of Palestinian belonging, a house is never only walls, windows and a roof: It is also the place from which a family was expelled. Helm’s narrative is tightly wound around the understanding that to lose such a place is not merely to lose property.

A Palestinian home lost to colonization becomes an archive of domestic life, forever tethered to the family that once cared for it, that it continues to belong to. They are rooms in which children grew up, where meals were eaten, arguments took place, prayers were said.

Dar Sayadi’s “sickness,” anger and violation become a way of exposing the inhuman conditions that Israeli occupation has allowed to fester across generations, a violence that continues to reproduce itself in the present.

Beneath the apparitions and hauntings, “Our Cut of Salt” is about inheritance: what mothers transmit to daughters, what displacement severs, and how a place can remain an emotional time capsule even when generations have been physically separated from it.

Some locals claim the tunnel is haunted by the ghost of a murdered teenager.

Hidden at the bottom of the world is a tunnel which is shadowed in years of history. Thousands of cars travel through it daily, and as they do, they sound their horns.

The tunnel is a cacophony of beeping and tooting at all hours of the day and night – all thanks to a murder which has haunted the city since 1931. The Mount Victoria Tunnel is part of a well-used stretch of highway in Wellington, New Zealand.

According to legend, the reason drivers lean on their horns as they travel through the tunnel is in tribute to murdered teenager Phillis Symons.

Phillis was buried alive in dirt fill during the tunnel’s construction.

She was only 17 and was pregnant when her boyfriend George Coats, a worker on the construction of the tunnel, knocked her unconscious with a pipe.

George then dumped Phillis in the dirt fill. Her body was found hunched over, meaning she had tried to escape the soil.

George was sentenced to death for the murder, and was hanged in December 1931.

The tunnel was opened to the public in the same year.

Now, almost a hundred years later, the 632 metre long tunnel echoes constantly with the sound of car horns which residents believe either wards off spirits, or pays tribute to the memory of Phillis.

Some locals say the tunnel is haunted – others say the constant beeping is the only thing that haunts the road.

The tunnel is the subject of a £1.27billion (between NZD$2.9b and NZD$3.8b) infrastructure project which would see a second tunnel built alongside the first to try and alleviate the severe bottlenecks which occur in the tunnel.

The current one is only two lanes, and frequently closes due to crashes, causing traffic jams that can last hours.

According to RNZ, the project has been granted fast track approval – but as of last week there was still no expected start date.