Last week I took a girls’ trip to Savannah with my Exotic Friends, AKA my book club.
See how beautiful the ocean looks in the middle of a monsoon?
This is pretty much how it looked for four days straight; the clouds parting literally only as we were on our way to the airport.
This weather might have been a huge bummer to most, however, laying around a beach house in my sweats drinking wine eating enough fun sized Snickers to render one blind was EXACTLY what I needed. The only down side was that I de-furred myself for nothing and razor burn waits for no woman.
I called my Mom a few days before I left to make final arrangements for my parents to pick up the girls.
“So who are you going on this trip with again?”
“My book club. I can’t wait – they are awesome. They’re all doctors, from all parts of the world – most of us are from different countries with different religions so our conversations are so enlightening.”
“Ummm, but they’re all… English, right?”
“What do you mean, English?”
“Well, you know, like, born and raised in the United States?”
“No, that’s what makes getting together with them so interesting. They grew up all over the place. India, Egypt, Nigeria, Pakistan…”
My Mom’s head made a slight rattling sound as it hit the floor.
I thought about emailing her a picture of me in a burga but I wasn’t sure if she was paid up on her life insurance and funerals can be expensive these days so I just sent her this:
Anyhoo, Savannah is uber haunted so we decided to take a tour of the Sorrel Weed house, one of the most haunted buildings in the United States, second only to our upstairs bathroom after Nick overdoes it on the protein bars. Actually, my friend Tracy and I decided to sign everyone up for a tour. On our way there everyone kept asking me for details of exactly it was we were going to be doing and I just told them it’s relatively safe and there is only a slight chance of death but none of them are virgins so at least they don’t have to worry about being bothered by terrorists in heaven.
Tracy and I are big fans of the afterlife; we both had ghost experiences when we were little. So we looked at this as an opportunity to get some questions answered, like why ghosts don’t make themselves useful and clean my floors. Our group toured the empty house, upstairs first – then down to the basement. I learned from watching countless hours of ghost shows you take three pictures in a row to catch the apparitions. Here’s what I got; I’m pretty sure it was Michael Jackson.
Roll your eyes and call them bugs if you want, but how do you explain this:
The group began to exit the basement into the courtyard when Tracy and I, in the back of the group, heard a creaking/knocking noise over in the dark corner.
“Did you hear that?” I asked and came to a halt.
“Yeah,” She whispered, grabbing my arm.
We both just froze, unsure if we wanted to find out what made the noise.
“THANK YOU FOR LETTING US VISIT YOUR HOME,” Tracy announced to the empty, pitch black room. “MAY YOU REST IN PEACE.”
She looked expectantly at me.
“OH RIGHT – THANKS. YOU HAVE A LOVELY CELLAR. AND REST IN PEACE. HERE. RIGHT HERE. PLEASE DON’T FOLLOW US HOME.”
Still, we just stood there.
“Let’s try to make contact,” The three glasses of wine I had at dinner said.
“Yeah. Let’s do something like they do on Ghost Hunters.”
Tracy squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. “If you are here with us, give us a sign. She gestured toward a small foot lamp at the bottom of the stairs. “Do something with that light.”
The light blinked off and on.
Cue. The. Crazy.
My arms flailed to the side and my hands made contact with Tracy’s teeth and hair as I tried to throw her toward the stairs to appease the demon. Tracy mistook my intent to use her as a human sacrifice as a friendly gesture and she grabbed my hand and we ran – we FLEW – hand in hand, bug eyed, screaming at the top of our lungs, out the door, through the courtyard, past our tour group and under our seats on the bus.
“That was really cool,” Tracy said as she laid in the fetal position and sucked her thumb under the bus seat.
Little did I know the truly scary part would come when I came home and saw what the house looked like after four days of not being cleaned.