Thursday, August 25, 2011


Last week/weekend/part of this week, I guess, I was in Maine for a wedding. For two nights I was there I stayed in an awesome, but scary as hell, old house along a river.

As soon as I walked in the door, I thought of this.

They were coming for me. The house was about 160 years old. Actually two old cape cods joined by a modern kitchen and living room, the house was a little bit spooky. And a lot scary.

This lady's eyes seemed to follow us everywhere we went.

I slept next to a typewriter that I was convinced would start typing away as I tried to dream of things other than giant damn monsters, dead girls climbing out of wells and Jack Nicholson frozen in a topiary.

No actual apparitions were seen, and I am not one to get freaked out easily, but the house flung off creepy vibes by the shit-ton. It also had doors that led to nowhere and small closets filled with old lace dresses and other weirdo things.

Even the outside was a bit sinister. The freakiness was compounded by the isolation of the area. Part Overlook, part Turn Of The Screw, part sort of interesting.

We all made it out alive. I think. Maybe I am living The Sixth Sense and haven't realized it yet. 


Nobel4Lit said...

Well, glad you didn't run into any ghosts. I'm ultra paranoid about that stuff, even if I'm a non-believer!

Abby said...

Next time we see each other remind me to tell you about the haunted house I lived in (very briefly!) when I was in Portland.

And let's get together soon!