Dave has cursed our apartment with a poltergeist.
“Honey”, he says to me in the car yesterday, “this is the first time in my life that I feel I’m not really celebrating October.”
“What do you mean? I bought pumpkin candles, we decorated the house for fall, and we have a Halloween party to go to at the end of the month. What else do you need?”
He thought for a moment and said “more horror flicks, I guess”.
I don’t do scary movies. It isn’t so much a problem in the moment that I watch them – it’s the moments after. I can’t even watch stupid ones. I mean, I can. And I’ll even laugh and not jump in my seat and talk about how it’s no big deal. But truth be told, when the lights are all out and I hear things going bump in the night, I forget about the poor makeup and special effects and I completely let fall from my head the terrible storyline and the stupid acting. All I can think about is “Oh my bajeezus. Freddy is coming for me.”
C’mon, I have cats. They make terrible security guards.
I’ve started a deal with Dave where I’ll watch the occasional horror flick so long as he checks every nook and cranny in the house before bedtime and promises to escort me anywhere in the dark I very well please. He must tell me that I’m being silly and that my mind is playing tricks on me. He must do this infinitely until I stop voicing my concerns because I warned him what would happen if I had to watch a movie.
It appears that by Dave voicing his concern for an underwhelming amount of freakiness, we have been since blessed with our fair share. Last night as he was leaving for a show, I noticed our kitchen light flickering. Dave said it was no problem – we have plenty of light bulbs stowed away from that research bus we got on a few weeks ago. But this was no light-dying flicker. We left our apartment to an eerie, low hum accompanied by zaps and sparks; there was an electrical fire sprouting from the tentacles of cords on the pole outside.
Someone called it in and I went to the store to get ingredients to bake. It seemed like a good time for a cake.
But – rather predictably I suppose – when I came home the electricity was out on my street. With Dave at the show and me home alone, I got to walk through the creepy corridors of my apartment building in the pitch black. Pretty amusing given that I left a lamp on so I didn’t have to come home to a dark house.
After I lit every tea light we had and cracked an Emergency glow stick (my favorite part of power outages), I sat in my lemongrass/mulberry/cinnamon bun/pumpkin spice scented dining room and thanked God that my laptop was charged so I could at least write something as I waited.
I looked to the living room, where I threw the glow stick for good measure. It cast a creepy green glow throughout that made me think of Dave’s wish for October horror. As I tried to shake off the crazies, I noticed that my window was ever so slightly ajar and a high pitched whistle was whirring through the apartment.
I stayed calm. I thought I’d make a cake by candlelight and embrace the ways of the Amish, so I called my mom for a bit of direction. She promptly reminded me that I couldn’t use the mixer or the oven.
I told her my oven is gas but she totally won with the mixer.
So I sat. And stared. And breathed in the grassy/berry/pumpkiny/cinnamony air.
That’s when my window fell down.
Like, fell down. The entire bottom half of my two-part window completely came off its tracking and dove onto the dining room table, where I had a variety of candles lit for my comfort. I rushed to put it back in place, trying to ignore what this would could mean in the context of Dave’s eerie wish, the power outage, the green glow in my apartment, and the super creepy whistle that wouldn’t go away even once the window was yoinked.
What if I wasn’t there to fix it? What if I weren’t sitting right beside where it happened? It’d be like a creepy poltergeist flick where something inexplicably falls onto a bunch of lit candles and everything starts to slowly catch fire.
What it if I were pooping? I could have burned to death on the toilet.
The power returned to us precisely 2 minutes before Dave reentered the house – an odd timing indeed. This was just day one of his curse upon our apartment.
I still have 11 more days to try to survive. ♣