Oooohh.... scary shit


Another one of Betsy's college friends, Renae, is in town this weekend, so we've been doing the touristy stuff down here in Savannah that we've never got around to before for some reason. Last night we went on one of the two dozen or so "Ghost Tours" offered in town. This basically consists of following a guide dressed up in period garb around a few blocks, dodging cockroaches and the occassionally mentally handicapped fratboy on ecstacy, while listening to the guide's variation on descriptions of gruesome deaths and frightneing(ly expensive) old houses. Our guide said her day job was as a plumbers assistant. Betsy remarked that she looked more like a stripper. Being the classy guy that I am, I withheld comment. Aw, who am I kidding, she did have a nice rack.

Anyway, we started at Columbia square, and the whole tour group (all three of us) walked from 'haunted' house to 'haunted' hotel to 'haunted' graveyard, etc. Stories were told of suicide and lots and lots of fevered, burnt and otherwise deceased children. Which leads me to a conclusion - the school building we live in (circa 1942) must be haunted, after all, everything else in Savannah apparently is. Why, over the last two days, my deodorant has mysteriously fallen from the shelf it was perched securely upon not once, not twice, but thrice! Pushed, as if by an invisible hand. I can only assume that this is the work of 'haints' and right after this I'm going to paint the threshold to our condo turquoise. The spirit, I suspect, is that tormented youth, cut down early in life as the result of a tragic paste-eating incident within the spooky halls of the Charles Herty School sometime in the 1950's.