Spooky...
About two days ago, I was talking to my mom about the house. Her first question, of course, was whether or not we had sensed any supernatural beings within the old walls yet. I assured her that we were, as of this point, ghost-free. The comment below was posted anonomously, but it gives us a) reassurance that we are indeed living with a spectre and b) the knowledge that he comes in peace AND had wireless installed in the house already. Awesome! Whomever wrote this (I still think it was Mom) obviously put time and effort into it and deserves to have it posted. Enjoy...
Well, actually, its not the house as much as the plot of land that the structure is built upon (and once quarter of your neighbor's abode). You see, back some time in the 1670's, the exact date has escaped me after these few centuries, I and my kin were engaged in a bit a of a tussle with the local indigenous people regarding the best use of this land. They believed it was best suited for the growing of community vegetables, some of which were promised to us to keep us alive through the long and grueling New England winters. I thought it would make for the perfect place to erect my future estate's ballroom. And in all fairness, we had the ones with the muskets.
It was during my last encounter with the natives that, as the Bard had put, I was shuffled off this mortal coil. After we had "cleared" out this minor infestation, I was accosted by the medicine man, or shaman, or witch doctor, or whatever the bloody hell these savages called this man. Apparently, we had "removed" his family and he was come seeking revenge. While my men were able to deal with him swiftly, he managed to utter quite a curse before he passed on. Our guide was able to sum up the hex as such, "For the blood you spilled here, you should be rewarded with dancing here for eternity."
I see now that the idea of dancing was a purely poetic stab at my ballroom.
Eternity appears to be rather accurate.
Shortly thereafter I succumb to a virulent paralysis that devoured first the function of my legs, then progressed over the course of a full year up my torso before ultimately stopping my heart.
Since that time I have been milling futilely on this plot. As a man who has delved into the heart of Africa, seen and tasted the wonders of the Orient, and sailed across the ocean, my existence here is proving disasterously boring. Even my only pleasure for these many years, alarming and frightening the still living, provides me no entertainment. I see no further reason why I should continue this practice. Therefore, I have decided that you will be the first living specimens that I will co-habitat with peacefully. Please do not be alarmed. I fancy the kitchen, as I enjoy pretending to eat. It may not be uncommon for you to see food you've prepared float before dropping suddenly to the floor. Take comfort knowing this phenomenon is just an old ghost trying to taste once more some warm buttery bread, or perhaps a berry jam.
Alas, I must conclude this missive. The chipmunks out back appear to be engaged in a sort of domestic spat, something that will surely grant me a few hours reprieve from the crushing boredom. I look forward to boarding with you and will surely write again.
Yours in eternity, forever,
R.B. Fellowbottom, III
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