November 04, 2003
Emperor David here. I have been making a list all week of things I need to accomplish. You know: usurp Faustus, install my boyfriend as liege lord over Upside-down Hippopotamus, train Goblin as elite bodyguard . . . that sort of thing. In my imperial ambition, at least, things are going rather smoothly. It is the rest of my life that is overwhelming.
Drop off laundry, pick up laundry, go to the grocery store, go to the grocery store to get everything I forgot the first time, send invoices, pay bills, vote, write six pages of this, write three pages of that. These are the things that vex me. These are the things I can never seem to get done, the things that I transfer, unaltered, from one day of my to-do list to the next. They mount and compound, and before long, I am drowning.
But instead of worrying about them (or, god forbid, doing them), I will tell you a story. Gather close to your computer monitors, my precious angels, and read a true tale of suspense and terror.
Picture it: Towson, Maryland, a couple of years ago. My ex-boyfriend, Michael, and I took a visiting friend to visit one of the country’s smallest National Parks, the grounds of an old plantation. Though situated just yards from the Baltimore Beltway at the end of a residential road, to visit there is like entering another world.
We took the tour of the manor house and then walked the grounds, eventually arriving at a cramped little building that had once housed slaves. A park ranger was stationed inside to answer questions, and as the only visitors at that moment, we got into a fascinating discussion about local history, a conversation from which I was quickly distracted.
I felt a strange energy in my hands, as if a static charge were dancing along my fingers and palms, shooting up my forearms. Along with that came another sensation, as if someone was tapping on my hands and ears. I paused and listened carefully because I felt very strongly as if someone wanted to tell me something, but the other conversation in the room was too loud. When we stepped outside into the sun, I noticed that every hair on my arms was standing straight up, a phenomenon that persisted, along with the strange voltage in my hands, until we were halfway back to the car. No one else had witnessed anything unusual, although I did call their attention to the fact that my hair was standing on end.
I have had other supernatural encounters, and this was probably not even the strangest (that distinction would probably go to the ghost of Lizzie Borden’s step-mother making up a bed with me and Rob in it), but it is on my mind today. I am just getting around to watching all of the “ghost hunting” shows TiVo recorded during Halloween week, and it seems as if a large number of them involve the spirits of American slaves, so it seems that what I felt was not so much otherworldly as trendy.
Possibly, industrious souls that they are, the slaves were trying to tell me to do my chores, something I was not any better at then than I am now. But somehow, I am hoping for a more momentous Message From Beyond than, “Don’t forget to buy toothpaste.”
Posted by Faustus, MD at 03:44 PM
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Comments
1) zenchick said (on 11/ 4/03 at 09:08 PM):
David...are you from Baltimore??? (I live there...here?)
2) David said (on 11/ 4/03 at 09:29 PM):
Zenchick: Yes, I'm from Baltimore, but I don't live there now. I keep escaping and getting sucked back in.
3) Mandy said (on 11/ 4/03 at 10:19 PM):
I grew up in an 1850's farmhouse in Arkansas. It was quite haunted. I'm not sure if there were ever slaves there, although the combination of 1800's, farm, and Arkansas probably points to yes. We did have a creepy "house graveyard" on the property. One girl got so scared there that she hyperventilated.
4) Crash said (on 11/ 5/03 at 01:28 AM):
David, remind me to tell you my ghost story the next time we get together. I don't want to post about it, but it is interesting.
5) Brian, the 646 Guy said (on 11/ 5/03 at 07:26 AM):
I would make the comment about ALL of your hair standing on end but I won't go there....
6) orbicon said (on 11/ 5/03 at 08:32 AM):
I just moved into a new apartment. Found out yesterday that is was vacated by death. Elderly couple died within months of each other. I keep smelling oatmeal cookies and poodles in the middle of the night. I wonder if that means anything?
7) Crash said (on 11/ 5/03 at 10:10 AM):
If there are oatmeal cookies and poodles in your bed, then no, it doesn't mean anything. Except that you're kinky.
8) Wayne said (on 11/ 6/03 at 11:41 AM):
I live in a senior apartment. Every once in 2-3 months, we'd see Death Noticed. Talking about Haunted Apartments... Hrm, weird, how come my bathtub has been leaking lately.. and that noise coming out from the ceiling....
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