Before beginning this most spectacular story, we must set the stage. The stage is my super cute lofty apartment with vaulted mile high ceilings, tons of skylights, and adorable French doors leading to the bedroom. If it was located in Boston proper, we’d never be able to afford it, which is why we live in the outskirts of Suburbia. Please enjoy the included grainy photo that appears to have been taken using a low budget security camera at a 7-11.
Last night, circa 3 am, I snuffled awake from my golden slumber and instead of rolling over, burrowing, and going back to sleep, I was distracted by the large overhead light shining through my adorable French doors. Two things appeared out of place:
1) The light. In my eyes. When I should be sleeping.
2) The absence of Beau sleeping next to me.
In my usual fashion, I assumed that there had been a massive emergency and that Beau had fled the house in his Knight in Shining Armor fashion to save the day (like the time he rescued my sister from sleeping on a bench at Logan airport). I then ran around in little circles calling “Beauuuu!” and panicking mostly because I was confused not only by the situation but also by my lack of vision. My glasses weren’t where they should have been and I’m nearly blind without them.
I ran from couch to bathroom to hallway and finally to 2nd bedroom where I found Beau curled up in a cute little ball on the bed.
Dangerous: What are you doing in here?
Beau: I couldn’t sleep. I was tossing and turning and didn’t want to wake you up.
Dangerous: Well, thanks, but did you have to turn on all the lights to come in here?
Beau: I didn’t turn on any lights.
For a split second we looked at each other before slowly craning our necks to peer out the doorway into the blazing daylight of the sitting room. This is when I whimpered and Beau flew out the door to look in the closets for ax murderers and boogey men. Strangely enough, the doors were all secured, there were no serial killers hiding in the laundry basket, and the windows appeared intact (besides, we’re on the 3rd floor and the house is covered in ice. Ain’t nobody climbing up there).
What else could we do but turn off the light and the ominously rotating fan and go back to bed. In the same room obviously. With the bedroom door tightly shut. And the bureau in front of it.
This morning we dragged ourselves from bed and spent several minutes attempting to debunk the light/fan phenomena ala the Ghost Hunters (if you haven’t seen this SciFi show, you should immediately go watch it in a dark room by yourself and get all spooked). We concluded from our research that the fan and light are irrevocably controlled by two separate switches. There is no way to press one of these buttons to control the entire mechanism. In addition, Beau was not half asleep when he moved from one room to the other. Being the clever girl that I am, I accused him of turning on the light in a sleepy stupor. He reminded me of what he had said on the Night of the Incident which was that he was wide awake and tossing. Thus the leaving the room for another bed.
Shortly after making this discovery we sojourned to the bedroom where I selected today’s mediocre ensemble (I really have nothing to wear) and Beau made faces at the mirror. We were discussing our findings when something crashed in the bathroom. I assumed it was the cheap suction cup hook that holds my shower poof. Upon further investigation I found that it was actually a low flat container of body butter (mmm mmm Body Shop). Physics says this shouldn’t have lost its balance and fallen off my sink, but the ever rebellious Body Shop apparently defies gravity.
Or, much more likely, we have a ghost. A ghost who turns on lights, throws lotion, and steals glasses. If it were a dog, I would have rubbed its nose in the mess by now.
Last night, circa 3 am, I snuffled awake from my golden slumber and instead of rolling over, burrowing, and going back to sleep, I was distracted by the large overhead light shining through my adorable French doors. Two things appeared out of place:
1) The light. In my eyes. When I should be sleeping.
2) The absence of Beau sleeping next to me.
In my usual fashion, I assumed that there had been a massive emergency and that Beau had fled the house in his Knight in Shining Armor fashion to save the day (like the time he rescued my sister from sleeping on a bench at Logan airport). I then ran around in little circles calling “Beauuuu!” and panicking mostly because I was confused not only by the situation but also by my lack of vision. My glasses weren’t where they should have been and I’m nearly blind without them.
I ran from couch to bathroom to hallway and finally to 2nd bedroom where I found Beau curled up in a cute little ball on the bed.
Dangerous: What are you doing in here?
Beau: I couldn’t sleep. I was tossing and turning and didn’t want to wake you up.
Dangerous: Well, thanks, but did you have to turn on all the lights to come in here?
Beau: I didn’t turn on any lights.
For a split second we looked at each other before slowly craning our necks to peer out the doorway into the blazing daylight of the sitting room. This is when I whimpered and Beau flew out the door to look in the closets for ax murderers and boogey men. Strangely enough, the doors were all secured, there were no serial killers hiding in the laundry basket, and the windows appeared intact (besides, we’re on the 3rd floor and the house is covered in ice. Ain’t nobody climbing up there).
What else could we do but turn off the light and the ominously rotating fan and go back to bed. In the same room obviously. With the bedroom door tightly shut. And the bureau in front of it.
This morning we dragged ourselves from bed and spent several minutes attempting to debunk the light/fan phenomena ala the Ghost Hunters (if you haven’t seen this SciFi show, you should immediately go watch it in a dark room by yourself and get all spooked). We concluded from our research that the fan and light are irrevocably controlled by two separate switches. There is no way to press one of these buttons to control the entire mechanism. In addition, Beau was not half asleep when he moved from one room to the other. Being the clever girl that I am, I accused him of turning on the light in a sleepy stupor. He reminded me of what he had said on the Night of the Incident which was that he was wide awake and tossing. Thus the leaving the room for another bed.
Shortly after making this discovery we sojourned to the bedroom where I selected today’s mediocre ensemble (I really have nothing to wear) and Beau made faces at the mirror. We were discussing our findings when something crashed in the bathroom. I assumed it was the cheap suction cup hook that holds my shower poof. Upon further investigation I found that it was actually a low flat container of body butter (mmm mmm Body Shop). Physics says this shouldn’t have lost its balance and fallen off my sink, but the ever rebellious Body Shop apparently defies gravity.
Or, much more likely, we have a ghost. A ghost who turns on lights, throws lotion, and steals glasses. If it were a dog, I would have rubbed its nose in the mess by now.
1 comment:
Hmmmmm. Where is Dangerous K? Did the ghost suck in your immortal soul? Maybe your fingers are broken.
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