A little night noise would be nice, part 2

I was ready to leave.

Jocelyn convinced me that we just needed to change and head to dinner. When we returned the cats would be gone, she said. They probably made the tracks we saw on the back lawn. Heck, they probably killed the frog.

I dressed for dinner and while Jocelyn prepared herself, I tried to call home to see how the grandparents and the kids were doing. The cell phone could find a signal. There was no phone in the room. This is when normal people just pack and go. We're movie people. We rationalized and stayed.

No cats were around as we got in the car and headed to dinner. About 2 miles away from the plantation, I got a cell phone signal. We called home and checked in. We explained that we would be incommunicado for the evening. I tried to sound confident. Later, I would learn that my in-laws thought I was telling them to leave us alone for the night, no matter what happened.

We had a lovely dinner at a quaint fine dining establishment. Most of the diners were folks, like us, staying at the local Plantation B&Bs. There were only three other couples in the restaurant. We spoke with the waitstaff about our strange experiences thus far. Speaking about them made it all seem rather normal. We felt a bit self-conscious describing stuff that really wasn't very disconcerting. I mean, no one in a hockey mask came after us with a chainsaw. How bad was it?

Our two servers were polite and listened with genuine interest, nodding and smiling. When we finished both young women started speaking simultaneously. They exchanged looks and one of them spoke. "You know," she said. "The Edgewood is haunted." Having just finished my meal and sipping on a port, I was feeling brave again. I remember snorting rather loudly. But then they told us of the story of Lizzie Rowland who etched her name in her bedroom window, and how she died there, in the house, of a broken heart. Her betrothed had never returned from the war.

"This isn't helping your tip," I said.

After some more casual chat about the place and learning that we were staying in Prissy's room, we paid and headed back to the plantation. The moon was new and the night was jet black. No street lights grace Route 5 in this area. We couldn't see off the road at all. We might as well have been in a tunnel. It was so dark that we missed the turn off and drove about a mile beyond to the west. I knew we had passed the place because I had regained my cell phone signal.

I found a place to turn around and we headed back. We crept along and found the turn in. No lights were on outside or inside. We forgot to leave the light on in our room.

The cats were long gone as we struggled to reenter Prissy's quarters. When we stopped crunching the gravel with our footsteps, there was no sound at all. Nothing. No crickets, no frogs, no rustling of the leaves. What did it mean when the crickets were silent? I didn't want to think about it.

I was ready to leave again, but I didn't want to leave our stuff behind. We opened the door, turned on a light, and, after locking both door locks, we walked up the steps to our room.

The room was the entire floor except for the bathroom, which was at the end of a narrow hallway, then down a few steps. It felt like it was completely separated from the bedroom. We weren't too keen about spending a lot of time apart. We got ready for bed together.

Later, as we lied there, not daring to look out a window, we listened. Nothing. No sound. No passing traffic. No animal sounds. We felt utterly alone, as if a nuclear war had occurred and we were the last survivors. We were definitely happy to be together but we were not so thrilled about being alone.

We were scared. Later, when we related the story, people would laugh at us. You're probably thinking to yourself that we're pretty silly right now.

Maybe, if you're used to the quiet, the complete silence, you would probably have no problem with this. We aren't those kinds of people. I need the hum of the refrigerator, the click of that heat pump, the pitter patter of the dog, to remind me that there is a benign reality out there in the dark.

We finally turned off the lights, trusting that wouldn't be interpreted as a "come on in" signal by any evil spirits on the grounds. Sometime later we fell asleep.

We woke up the next morning exhausted and relieved.

But what about the second B in B&B? Where was the breakfast coming from with no owner on-site? Why didn't we think to ask that when we made the reservation?

Ah, but the harrowing story of breakfast will have to wait for another time.

I would love to hear any strange stories you might have via the comments. If they are rated above PG, then you might want to email it.