I am more than thankful for all our generous hosts -- churches, schools, community centers, camp grounds, etc. All of the places have been great and made me feel right at home right when I step in the door -- except for one. There was a little too much clutter, old lady curtains, ants everywhere; in short, the aura was just off. It felt like the strange setting to a bad horror flick.
A tripmate kept talking about the ghost stories of the area where we were staying which he allegedly would know about since his uncle lives nearby. Being myself, I believe every single word he says and while not very detailed, it still creeps me out a little more about where I am sleeping.
I returned home late one night from a great fish dinner to what I thought would be a room full of sleeping bikers. Instead, I find three of my room mates panicking over an old bright pink and flowerly little girl's dressing hanging from the ceiling fan. Naturally, I join in the chaos, tell everyone else I see when I go to brush my teeth, and semi-convince myself that this is all related to those ghost stories.
Still freaking out by bed time, I sleep smack against the wall and seriously consider crawling into someone else's bed for the night or sleeping in the support van outside. Luckily, I was dead asleep (as usual) before I could act on any of these genius protection plans.
I find out the next day, after wrongly blaming an innocent trip mate, that it was indeed my three room mates who placed the dress there.
Morals of the story: (1) I am so gullible and (2) life on the road is exciting.
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