(I'm kinda drunk)
I've had some freaky things happen during times I've lived in freaky places. For example, when I was in college, I lived in a motel-cum-sortof-triplex. My landlord's old-school Ukrainian dad and I became good friends, and while we explored the broken-down bungalows around the property, we found the evidence that the property and its buildings had once been a swingers' resort in the 40's and 50's. While we couldn't actually pinpoint what happened, through newspaper clippings and local word-of-mouth, we figured out that some tragedy occurred, and it had something to do with the broken-down and rotted dock on the river about a half mile path behind the "house".
Rewind a little to when my mom drove across the state to help me move in: I went to class, and she began exploring the property. No way I could blame her: I lived in the mountains, away from anything that wasn't outside of a thirty-mile radius, on a beautiful whitewater river that made the most wondrous rushing noises.
My commute to school was long, but it was worth it every day: the sunset in the fall- the oranges and reds... and the indescribable harvest moon; the frozen cliffs, their beauty in the white ice that flanked them, but also in the falling water that couldn't be deterred; the reds and purples and yellows of spring as I drove up and down the mountain...
... but I digress.
One of the things my mom found was a cemetery, up on a hill, dating back to 1616. Most of the gravestones, at least the discernible ones, bore a distinct, and what we found out later, very local name.
... but this cemetery was so far from anywhere anyone would even know where to go. We took rubbings and photos, and went on our merry way.
As I got to know my landlord, he started to trust me with details, like the fact that he had lived there for ten years until his landlord died there and left the place to him. Turns out, several old dudes had died there. Andy (my landlord) was a paramedic, so I think his living there might have been by design.
The point of all of this is that I had some really weird experiences, even to the point where money went missing, and strange things happened when groups of us were hanging out, like one chick put her smoke in the ashtray and when she went to grab it, it wasn't there. My very mellow cat would freak out regularly and I had an incident in which I felt like something grabbed my foot.
If I had an answer for any of the things that happened, they'd be nothing more than gaps answers. Just knowing the history of where I was living could have easily made something supernatural in my mind. Ghosts? No ghosts? Does it really matter?
/drunk
I've had some freaky things happen during times I've lived in freaky places. For example, when I was in college, I lived in a motel-cum-sortof-triplex. My landlord's old-school Ukrainian dad and I became good friends, and while we explored the broken-down bungalows around the property, we found the evidence that the property and its buildings had once been a swingers' resort in the 40's and 50's. While we couldn't actually pinpoint what happened, through newspaper clippings and local word-of-mouth, we figured out that some tragedy occurred, and it had something to do with the broken-down and rotted dock on the river about a half mile path behind the "house".
Rewind a little to when my mom drove across the state to help me move in: I went to class, and she began exploring the property. No way I could blame her: I lived in the mountains, away from anything that wasn't outside of a thirty-mile radius, on a beautiful whitewater river that made the most wondrous rushing noises.
My commute to school was long, but it was worth it every day: the sunset in the fall- the oranges and reds... and the indescribable harvest moon; the frozen cliffs, their beauty in the white ice that flanked them, but also in the falling water that couldn't be deterred; the reds and purples and yellows of spring as I drove up and down the mountain...
... but I digress.
One of the things my mom found was a cemetery, up on a hill, dating back to 1616. Most of the gravestones, at least the discernible ones, bore a distinct, and what we found out later, very local name.
... but this cemetery was so far from anywhere anyone would even know where to go. We took rubbings and photos, and went on our merry way.
As I got to know my landlord, he started to trust me with details, like the fact that he had lived there for ten years until his landlord died there and left the place to him. Turns out, several old dudes had died there. Andy (my landlord) was a paramedic, so I think his living there might have been by design.
The point of all of this is that I had some really weird experiences, even to the point where money went missing, and strange things happened when groups of us were hanging out, like one chick put her smoke in the ashtray and when she went to grab it, it wasn't there. My very mellow cat would freak out regularly and I had an incident in which I felt like something grabbed my foot.
If I had an answer for any of the things that happened, they'd be nothing more than gaps answers. Just knowing the history of where I was living could have easily made something supernatural in my mind. Ghosts? No ghosts? Does it really matter?
/drunk
Nolite te bastardes carborundorum.
