You're welcome. For a very short time I was the live-in docent of his house..
You're gonna leave us hanging with this, Maeve? Your use of an ellipsis hints at more, no? The docent of a woman in Mr. Poe's house; I smell some good stories in there.
Ok. It was a strange place. Really unsafe neighborhood so that added tension.
Old dimensional lumber plank floors that creaked at will, although all had been carpeted and padded with footfall damping foam. Too many rooms to check -- many rooms were simply roped off. All doors and windows had bars.
Now I have lived in older houses. But none were this noisy. After the week-end and the two evening tours, when everyone was gone, the damn place sounded like the Horde was marching in formation.
I suppose that could have been the result of various tourists bringing cognac -- only the Poe Toaster's bottles are preserved or maybe it was my overheated mind...or maybe who knows?
Term ended and I quit.
I was very, very tired.
That does sound tiring, Maeve. I probably wouldn't have lasted the whole term.
Ever wonder about those people who live in notable haunted houses? If an unearthly voice told me to "Get out", I think I'd have a tendency to agree, not argue, and leave immediately.
But that's just me.
Joxie - interesting stuff on those links. "The worms go in; the worms go out." Now, where have I heard that before? <smile>
Last Edit: May 28, 2007 23:44:54 GMT -6 by Mini Mia
I had to post this....for a few reasons. Obviously, I fits in with the season, and I got a nifty new cap - way nifty - with an embroidered raven, and the phrase, "the taste is poetic". Now, how cool is that?
The third reason is something I just read in a book. I am not a huge fan of poetry; I read what I like, and like it strictly for the way the words sound together, or the feeling I get from those words. I have not studied poetry, its interpretation, or the great poets. I have not studied Edgar Allan Poe.
In this book - a book dealing with heroines - there is a reference to Poe. In discussing the Celtic battle queen, Morrigu -those from the Scrolls read of her as one of Bhen Rudha's ravens; the crone - and indeed, among the Celts she was usually seen as an aged crone descended from a ancient totem animal, the crow or raven. In Scandinavia and Germany, she was a death goddess; a Valkyrie. Athene, or Pallas Athene in Greece, and Minerva in Rome.
But Poe speaks of her as the Raven; sitting by the "pallid bust of Pallas, (Athene). She speaks in riddles and prophesied with a forked tongue - the Morrigu and Poe's Raven both. Maeve, I'm sure you've got more to add, disagree, or agree; I'm hoping for any of it.
I never made the connection; I never had reason to...but how cool, now that it's been pointed out to me.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. "'Tis some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door — Only this, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; — vainly I had tried to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Lenore — For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore — Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me — filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating "'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door — Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door; — This it is, and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you " — here I opened wide the door; — Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!" This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!" — Merely this, and nothing more.
Then into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon I heard again a tapping somewhat louder than before. "Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore — Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;— 'Tis the wind and nothing more!"
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore; Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door — Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door — Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, "Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven, Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore — Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!" Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no sublunary being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door — Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such name as "Nevermore."
But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour. Nothing further then he uttered — not a feather then he fluttered — Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before — On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
Wondering at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster Followed fast and followed faster so when Hope he would adjure — Stern Despair returned, instead of the sweet Hope he dared adjure — That sad answer, "Never — nevermore."
But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door; Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore."
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by Angels whose faint foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee Respite — respite and nepenthe, from thy memories of Lenore; Let me quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!" Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! — Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted — On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I implore — Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!" Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil — prophet still, if bird or devil! By that Heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore — Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore — Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
"Be that word our sign in parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting — "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" Quoth the raven "Nevermore."
And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon that is dreaming, And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore!
I never learn, do I? LMAO. I believe this same ghost made an appearance in a different setting at the old Whoosh board - in a dining room, maybe?
Just call me gullible. Gullible's Travels; I clicked on it then, and did the same here.
I keep the volume on mute on my computer, only turning it on when I've viewing something I know has sound and want to listen. Shoulda kept it mute for this: I had my mouse poised on the turny-uppy thingy, and jumped from the shock, so that my mouse jerked turning it up full volume.
Le always did the decorations. I only know enough html to update the links in the headers and footers. If I tried my hand at decorating and screwed it up, I might not be able to get back in to undo the damage, so I don't mess around with Le's code if I can help it.
Here's a link to some supposedly haunted places in Oklahoma. Many of these stories are the kind we told at sleep-over parties. But my sis has been to the Sacred Heart Cemetery, near Konawa, OK, and says it lives up to its spooky reputation.
Ooooo, Siren. I love that kind of stuff! Reading about it anyway....I'm not sure I'd want to be out on a highway at night, and have a car following me, speeding, or stopping, (I wouldn't be stopping!), whenever I did - or walk around a grave three times just so I could have a pain in the neck, (I've got kids and cats for that purpose).
This Saturday night, horse-drawn carriages travel the streets, while passengers listen as a narrator tells ghost stories of the various haunted places in town. I don't know that we have many; I only know of one: The Painted Lady. She is a Victorian house, repainted her original colors - purple, yellow, and green, with a big key-hole-like shaped window in front. In the front hall mirror, one can at times see a reflection of a woman, and hear ghostly noises coming from the dumb-waiter. Last I heard, the owners turned it into a summer rental, and it's my understanding, have no repeat customers.
"just so I could have a pain in the neck, (I've got kids and cats for that purpose)" - LOL!
"In the front hall mirror, one can at times see a reflection of a woman..." Now, that's just creepy! *shiver*
Here's something that has always fascinated me / made me nervous: abandoned places, like amusement parks, malls, theaters, etc. Folks who go into these off-limits places call it "urban exploring". Thanks to the internet, I can poke around in these without risking my neck.
www.deadmalls.com - as the name implies, this is a site for dead and dying shopping malls
Hhmmm, Joxie. I'm not quite ready to click on that link yet, still reeling from that last ghostly experience you posted. <snicker>
Now Siren, thanks for those non-shocking, non-scare-the-pants-offa-me, but slightly creepy links.
Abandoned amusement parks are creepy; abandoned hospitals, creepier. There is a "new" hotel opening here; I've seen fliers in shops all over town. It is a completely refurbished building...what was once the old hospital, and when I first moved here, it had been abandoned for a number of years. I think staying in the inn would make me nervous - a hotel that was once a hospital; I'd feel as if there'd be too much of a possibility for dearly departed souls not to be so departed. The name of the place would do nothing to calm anxious feelings; it's called The Asylum, and all I can think of with a name like that is 'you can check in, but you can never leave'. For a photo of what the place used to look like: www.theasyluminn.com/
I do have that same fascination as you though, with abandoned places. The fascination stemmed from my dad's fascination and trips he used to take us on while we were camping. Michigan, it seems, as an inordinate number of dirt roads, according to Hubs who claims so, and adds to his claim that this is the only state where half-a-million dollar homes sit on gravel roads. I'm not sure about that, but we do have a lot of unpaved roads.
When we were kids, Dad loved to explore these roads, and any abandoned building that we ran across while traversing them....and we never failed to find a house or barn, in different stages of ill-repair surrounded by absolutely nothing, out in the middle of nowhere. Dad always went first, and we'd eagerly follow once he deemed it safe to enter.....
....until I heard my parents and my aunt talking - the aunt who ran motel up near Mackinaw. Aunt Dorothy was an eccentric and one of my favorite aunts. She was literally left at the altar on her wedding day, because the groom-to-be-that-wasn't was going off to war, and didn't want his wife to be widowed at such an early age. And she would have been - the man she was to marry never returned; he died over in Europe....or so one of the stories go. There are other less romantic stories, but this one is the one I like best. Regardless of the circumstances surrounding her would-have-been wedding, she remained unmarried until the day she died at eighty-something years old. Never a spinster; always an adventuress.
Aunt Dorothy had many stories. The one I heard that I wasn't supposed to hear regarded an exploration of hers and a friend's of an abandoned barn, in which they discovered a corpse freshly hung from the rafters in the hay-loft.
After that my fascination didn't wane, but there was a new added feeling - apprehensive fear. I wasn't just a kid exploring an old building anymore, hoping to find a trinket of days gone by; there was always an odd feeling of "why is the house empty, and what really happened here" anxiousness attached.
Kind of the same kind of questioning that runs through your mind looking at old gravestones and wondering what lies beneath the names and dates written on them, (aside from the body in the coffin).
More on that fascination of mine later: I love old cemetaries.
Tonight was the Ghost Tour of our town; my neighbor and I took our children, prepared to be spooked while riding in the horse-drawn carriage. HA! It was a riot, start to finish.
In its first year, to say that it was disorganized at the starting point is grossly understating things. Three places were given as points to gather more information about the event: one stated no advance tickets or reservations were being taken; another sold tickets weeks in advance, and a third sold tickets but did not number them, so what happened when all these people showed up at the scheduled time was a mob of chaos. They were extremely over-booked for the two carriage tours, and those without tickets, (like our group because we called the first place that stated no advance bookings were allowed), out-numbered what the people running the thing deemed possible to safely walk the tour without the town having a fit because the streets were packed with pedestrians blocking traffic.
It was decided they'd add another late carriage tour, and groups of twenty-five would be a safe number to walk along side. We decided to walk; it was a beautiful night for it, and did not want to wait 'til ten o'clock with five children just to ride the last carriage. Actually, I think I enjoyed it more walking than I would have in the carriage - more up close and personal to the ghouls that roamed the streets that were part of the tour...and there were lots of them following us, or popping out between buildings, and around corners.
History with a lot of embellishment. LX and I were cracking up; I think BP believed a little more than she should have....thinking the ghosts, apparitions, and shadows staged in the windows of various buildings were real. But that is part of the fun. And who knows...maybe they were real.
The Painted Lady was on the tour; I learned that it was originally a girls boarding house, and the woman appearing in the front hall mirror was the boarding house mistress who died there and is believed to continue to watch over those "boarding" in the house.
The Asylum - the old hospital in the link I posted yesterday was a stop also. As lights flashed in the upper windows, and ghostly figures walked past, the narrator - a ghost herself with an interesting accent that could be from beyond the grave, or a somewhat fake-sounding British accent; we couldn't decide which, and I wonder why they imported a British ghost to a small town in Michigan for the event - told the tale of unexplained sounds of running water in rooms without water, and wet footsteps on the newly refurbished hardwood floors.
Clementine's, the town's most popular restaurant has a ghost of a ship's captain who mysteriously disappeared, residing in its turret; the day-spa's spiral iron staircase where I used to follow my Boy Roy, my masseuse up to the massage rooms, is haunted by a benevolent woman who used to work there when that end of the street was known as "Rotten Row"; saloons bustling with sailors and the ladies of the evening who serviced them. The art gallery used to be the butcher's....where years later, under the floor boards, a 'picture of the butcher was found...alone, with nothing else', and that is really fun to say with a fake ghostly British accent imitating a fake ghostly British accent. As was watching the silhouette of the "butcher in the picture", (say it - it's fun), through the window across the upper lit room with a cleaver raised. Apparently, the picture of the butcher should have been left alone, under the floorboards.
Hale's Department Store. Couldn't hear what was up at Hale's because of the commotion caused by the ghosts seen walking through it in the dark, as people pressed their noses against the windows. The Hale family though - were those 'some important people in town' I pointed out to Scrappy in the cemetery having no idea that the time that they were the town's founders, and that our main street, which is not Main Street, but Phoenix Street, was named because the Mrs. missed her home town.
A riot: a chaotic, but fun evening, and a beautiful night to walk among the ghosts.
"Never a spinster; always an adventuress." Oh, I like that, Gams! I'm our family's "maiden aunt". I shall endeavor to live in the tradition of your dear Aunt Dorothy.
Your dad and I would get along. When I lived out of state, I spent many weekends exploring the countryside, following country roads. If you follow those little dirt road around here, very often they lead to an oil well. But in certain areas, down by the river, exploring roads and paths could get you shot by marijuana farmers. No, I'm not kidding.
I love the idea of your Ghost Walk! What fun that would be. Many of our historic business are gone, now. But there are plenty of great old homes that would be perfect for such an event.
And I'm glad to know that there's another Whooshite who likes abandoned places, as I do. From all the sites on the internet devoted to this subject, there must be many of us.
Joxie....is that a slightly-evil twisted grin I see on your face? Scared the sh!t outta me that last time I clicked on one of your links. Someone else go first. I'll close my eyes, and tell me when the scary part is over.
The first link is a "how to" site for making your own costumes. It's not just for Halloween, but I thought it might be a good site for Xena fans to share their "how to" for making Xena costumes, or maybe they have already and those seeking such input might find the info there.
The third link is a MySpace graveyard for profiles of those who have died. Loved ones can visit it and share happy memories with each other. I at first thought it morbid, but then thought it's better than hanging out at the cemetery.
The other two links are paranormal type sites; supposedly "real" videos of ghosts and such.
Last Edit: Aug 22, 2009 1:51:35 GMT -6 by Mini Mia