Scare D. Kat

This post is for Deb over at San Diego Momma for Prompt Tuesday, but also because it's October and I recently talked to a friend about me being a scaredy cat.  

Regular blog readers know that I live in an apartment equipped with strange little doors, which I like to call Gnome Doors, because "Doors to some unforeseen evil" is just too scary.  They are kind of creepy, those doors, but this story is not about them.  This story takes place a long, long time ago (cue wavy flashback lines)....

I lived in an old farmhouse in Kunkletown, Pennsylvania, with my friend Bruce, one of the funniest guys I knew and an aspiring filmmaker.  Bruce was adapting a Goosebumps-type book onto film, starring our landlord's daughter and several of our co-workers.  The plot, in brief:  Girl cheats on boyfriend, boyfriend drowns while the two are out on a lake late at night, girl is consumed with guilt and haunted by dead boyfriend.  I won't tell you the surprise ending as it doesn't come into play here.  Because the girl feels her dead boyfriend (played by our friend Matt) is haunting her, she consults her aunt, who happens to be a psychic.  I was the aunt. We were going to try to connect with the dead boy's spirit and tell him to move on.  

Okay, so we'd been filming all night long trying to get as many night shots in as possible.  We'd filmed the drowning scene on the pond next to our house using every one's car headlights to light the scene Ala Ed Wood.  We filmed a crucial climactic scene, and now at midnight/1ish, we were in the dining room of our old farmhouse filming the scene where the aunt tries to connect with the spirit. Everyone was tired.  John was asleep on a window bench.  Matt was heating up spaghetti in the kitchen.  Aaron was doing something to help  Bruce (microphone maybe) and Robin and I sat across from one another with a candle between us and a copy of the Necronomicon.  Not the real one, of course, since it doesn't exist, but a book of spells purported to be the Necronomicon.  

Bruce started filming and I started reading, in Latin, with surprisingly good inflection.  We were going for one take, two if necessary.  I continued to read; the house was deadly quiet, except for the sound of my voice in a rhythmic cadence and a slight hum from the microwave in the kitchen which we hoped wouldn't be picked up on the microphone ("we'll fix it in post").  Every one's breath was held as they listened.  Suddenly, as I was about to read the very last line of some random spell Bruce had chosen because it sounded good, all of the following happened at the exact same moment:

• Bruce shouted "Noooooo" while slamming his hand on the book to stop me from reading.
• the candle blew out
• John violently fell off the window bench
• The plate in the microwave exploded
• the electricity went out
• a loud crash came from the basement

Ah, the basement. Dank dens of no good--I hate basements.  This one--did I mention it was an old farmhouse?--had several rooms, including an old coal room from back in the day.  The lights didn't reach all the corners. And quite frankly, after we re-lit the candle and our heartbeats returned to normal, no one wanted to go down there to check the breaker.  We were sure that I had somehow conjured a demon while reading the spell, which is why Bruce stopped me from completely it.  So, we ALL went down to check the breaker, creeping down the stairs with every available flashlight and candle we could find like the Scooby gang.  And of course, we reset the breaker and everything was fine.  But the rest of the shoot was plagued with mishaps and for years we talked about "the day Laurie Ann conjured that demon."

More recently, like last night, I painted my nails with glow-in-the-dark polish and scared myself when I woke to pee and saw my hand on the pillow.

Innocuous in the daylight

Last-Minute Laurie Ann

That should be my new nickname. Why? Because I'm leaving on a jet plane to beautiful Pennsyltucky tomorrow and I still haven't packed. In fact, I'm still waiting for some shirts to dry. I have to dye my hair in the morning (the roots, they are scary). I have to gather my toiletries (no more than 3oz each and all in a quart-sized plastic bag). I have to decide which knitting projects to bring for that four-hour layover in Detroit. I have to charge the Kindle, the iPod, the phone, and remember to pack all the charging cords so I can charge when I'm there. I have to write down all the recipes* I need for my godson's graduation bash next Saturday. (His mother and I will be cooking, and drinking, and cooking, and probably a whole lot more drinking, for a good portion of Friday). I have to hide the good silver in case my creepy visitor, who is actually the Frau** (I got the dirt from Gladys Kravitz downstairs) decides to visit while I'm away and rob me blind. Come to think of it, I think I'll stow the computer at my friend's house. So much to do. Things are going swimmingly.

*Speaking of recipes, I wanted to make my mother's famous macaroni salad for the party. It's Legen--wait for it--dary. I was planning on making her potato salad, too. Guess what? Apparently Joanie never wrote those down. It was all in her head. I could wing it from memory. I know the macaroni salad had sliced green olives, which was my favorite part. But I think I'll see if my sister or brother wrote it down at some point. I'm almost sure Katie did.

**Speaking of creepy intruder of the old German woman kind, Gladys told me that Frau was the one who moved the mug (well, she didn't know that part, but told me she was up here). Yesterday I came home to find the hall light on. Since I never use that light, I assumed it was Frau (although still a little creeped out). Gladys told me the building codes inspector came, but didn't get to see my apartment since I wasn't home. She saw Gladys' though and made all kinds of notes about the mold, the leaks, the heater that doesn't work, the ceiling that's about to collapse, the faulty wiring...I could go on. It's a death trap (it's a suicide rap, we've gotta get out while we're young, 'cause tramps like us, baby we were born to ruuuuuun.) Anywho, the inspector was mad and told Gladys she's filing this and sending Frau a letter. She'll be back in three weeks. So, anyway, Frau came upstairs with a plumber (A Real One!!) to see what needs to be fixed before the inspector comes back. Woo Hoo!

Doesn't matter; I got a raise. I'm going to save the increase amount and move the hell out of this craptastic abode soon enough.

Positively Creeptastic!

So, remember back in February when I posted about someone opening the gnome door? Well, not to be all Goldilocks & the Three Bears, but someone's been in my bathroom.

Here's the sitch: I came home yesterday and the welcome mat was askew. I'm the kind of gal who likes her welcome mat to be straight so I would never have left it askew. I blamed it on the mail carrier, straightened it, and thought nothing of it. I went about my business of making dinner, popping a movie in the DVD player, and relaxing. Around 9ish, I paused the movie to go pee. It was at this time that I noticed a makeup brush on the floor. Now, I didn't put make up on yesterday, so the brush should have been nestled in the mug on the windowsill with the other brushes. I looked up at the windowsill and....THE MUG HAD BEEN MOVED!!! (cue the creepy music now) It was about 4 inches away from its original position, and I had the dust ring to prove it, which I wiped up because nothing points out ones slovenly ways like a moved mug. Also, the window had been opened and the weather stripping removed, but not disposed of-- it was left in a wad between the window and the screen. Curious.

Sufficiently creeped out, I started investigating the whole apartment. What else had been touched? Armed with my closest weapon (a butter knife), I opened the closet in the bathroom. It looked kind of empty, well, emptier than usual. I tried thinking about what had been in the closet, but for the life of me I can't remember anything specific. Maybe I HAD moved the coats from the bar to the hooks last time I was in here. I don't remember. I feel like someone is trying to "Gaslight" me.

I checked the bedroom closet, too, but saw no signs of disturbance. Still, I was uneasy. You see those news stories about women whose building managers are coming in and wearing their panties and such. Not that I suspect the Frau--her knees are really bad these days and if she climbed the stairs to my apartment, it wouldn't be to mess around in my bathroom. She'd have fixed the leaky sink that I asked her to fix nine days ago. I know her son comes over and does stuff sometimes (according to Gladys Kravitz downstairs), but I've never seen him and if it was him, why isn't anything fixed?

Now, before you all start yelling "Change your locks!" and "MOVE"*--I don't have the money to change my locks right now, and even if I do, I still have to give The Frau the key in case of emergencies. Moving? I'd love to. Does anyone know a sympathetic landlord in a not-too-bad part of town who would let me make installment payments on my security deposit? Because that's the only way I'd be able to do it. Needless to say, I didn't get much sleep last night and I'm a bundle of crankiness today.

And hey, if you see any videos of me on the Internet, let me know. I mean, I checked for hidden cameras, but they're so tiny and easily hidden these days.

*I also can't report it to the police because there's no sign of forced entry, I can't say if anything was taken, and I can't really prove that anyone was in there other than my knowing that the mug hasn't been moved in months.