Former Flame Fridays - Sarah R. New

11/22/24

You were featured in volume 777, what has happened since?

Honestly, not a lot! I’ve been in a weird creative space recently, with lots of ideas but hardly any writing happening! I’ve been playing around with writing some film analysis essays, however, and so I’ve written a couple of chapters for this non-fiction project, which is really making me want to get my Master's.

‘Free recovery, await rescue’ the florescent yellow sign read. Reading it for the 70th time this hour, Hilda scoffed.

This was not the life Hilda Vale had been made for. She had been meant to be an actress.

She had had such a bright start. She was young, she knew how to market herself and she was beautiful, she knew that. Long brunette hair, almond shaped eyes, a near constant smirk on her lips, she was confident and assured in her abilities. The film industry was sure to fall at her feet.

But it didn’t happen that way. She had started well, had a few film credits to her name, but Britain seemed too small for her. She had moved to America in an attempt to break Hollywood, but the big break never came. She wasn’t a stand out, she was told. She wasn’t quite what they were looking for. And then the death knoll. She wasn’t likable. She was Hilda Vale. It didn’t matter if she was likable, she was a star! But it didn’t matter in the end. She failed, and she ran back to the U.K. with her tail between her legs.

And now she was sitting on the hard shoulder of the M3, God knows where, with her little Nissan Micra finally dead and the AA not responding. To top it all off, her phone had run out of battery. She was better than this. She was made for better than this.  

Hilda stood up, a sudden fury blazing underneath her skin. She was done with this. She had seen a sign a mile or so back, saying there was a service station in 4 miles. She’d walk there, she decided. What was there to lose? 

She refused to admit that she was scared. What was there to be scared about, she said to herself. She was Hilda Vale. She was unstoppable.

Hilda started walking. She walked and walked, her only light coming from the stars. It was dark, and no cars were passing her at all, and it seemed to be getting colder and colder as she walked. She wrapped her arms around herself, realising she could see her breath as she breathed. It was August, this wasn’t right. She sped up, just hoping to get to the service station as soon as possible. 

Why were there no cars? She thought to herself as she walked briskly. This is very strange.

After what she estimated was another mile, she finally saw headlights on the road, coming from behind her. Without thinking, she turned around, sticking her hand out at the oncoming vehicle.

“Please!” She shouted. “Please stop!” For a second she thought the car would slow down, but as it got closer and closer, she realised it was speeding at her. Her eyes widening in fear, she tried to run but was stuck to the ground. Before she knew it, she was in the air, before hitting the ground with a sickening thud.

Pain. There was so much pain. She couldn’t move, but she could feel the breaks in her limbs, the blood gushing from her head, the tiredness starting to creep over her. She was going to die here, and she was so angry about it. This wasn’t supposed to be the end of Hilda Vale.

She watched the car skid in a panic, hitting a nearby tree. She saw the smoke, and she saw the fire start, and she heard the man’s agonised scream as he was burned alive. That made her smile. 

She wouldn’t have helped him even if she could. He got nowhere near what he deserved for what he did to her.

Hilda Vale closed her eyes…

…and awoke with no pain.

What/who inspired Free Recovery, Await Rescue? How does it fit into your style/body of work?

Free Recovery, Await Rescue came to my mind after being stuck on the motorway and seeing a sign with that phrase on. Hilda Vale just emerged in my brain, fully formed! I love writing female protagonists, and I’ve always been fascinated with dark narratives and death, which I think the piece shows.

Why Troublemaker Firestarter? What compels you to submit your work? Why be a writer at the end of the world?

I’ve admired Troublemaker Firestarter for a while, and it seemed like the perfect place for this piece! I’ve always written - I wrote my first story at the age of six - and it was never a choice for me, I had to write, it’s who I am. I have struggled with anxiety and self-esteem issues for all of my life, and it’s only been in the last 18 months that I decided to start trying to make my childhood dreams come true.

Who are your current favorite writers?

I love Villimey Mist, Daphne Du Maurier, Karina Lickorish Quinn, Roselle Lim and Natalie Haynes! I have a massive TBR, and I’m hoping to find some new favourites in there!

Are you a troublemaker, a firestarter, a heartbreaker, a lucky duck, a devil, a terror, or sad and horny?

Honestly, probably not any of those! I like to think I’m a terror or an agent of chaos, but I’m way too anxious for that. I’m probably closest to sad and horny but in an asexual way.

Where can people find you 😈?

I’m on twitter, instagram and bluesky at aldbera, or my website is sarahrnew.wordpress.com.

She sat up. Her limbs were healed. She had no cuts, in fact, she felt perfect. She felt …healthy, better than she ever had. She stood, looking around. She was still on the road where she had been knocked down, but the road wasn’t as scary now. 

Turning back, she realised she wasn’t alone, but that someone was standing with her. She turned to see a figure, flitting through different appearances every second, not stopping on one. She was a South Indian girl with a blunt bob, then an elderly man with a long white beard, then a middle-aged Japanese man. They kept moving through identities, never stopping. 

“It is time to leave.” They spoke, their voice deep and otherworldly. Hilda realised that she was dead, and suddenly, she was livid. She wasn’t done yet. She had so much yet to achieve. She wasn’t done.

“I don’t want to leave.” She snapped, trying to be assertive. She refused to be moved on. She was determined to do this on her own terms.

“You cannot stay.” The voice droned. Hilda thought that she was supposed to feel scared, but she didn’t.

“Why not? What if I choose to stay?” She asked.

“There is no place for you here. You will be stuck.” The voice answered. Their multiple personas showed no emotion as Hilda thought. She had an idea. 

“So if I’m stuck here, I’m like a ghost right? People would be able to sense me?” She asked, excitement flaring in her belly.

“Yes, but you will never be able to leave, never be able to move on. You will be stuck.” The voice reiterated emotionlessly. Hilda hardly heard them though. All she could think about was the recent boom in paranormal horror films…

“I’m going to stay.” She announced, a wide smile on her face. If she couldn’t be a star in life, she would make sure to inspire some of the greatest ghost stories ever.

Hilda Vale would be famous yet.

What would you want the lovely readers of Substack to do?

If I could give any advice, I would urge everyone to travel. I feel like my confidence grew so much when I started to travel, and I’ve seen so much more of the world that I ever thought I could. Got no one to go with? Go by yourself! If you’re travelling internationally, or even just to the next town, any type of travel can be a transformative experience.