We're on the last stop of the tour—Sorrel Weed House, which at first I thought, as a native Californian, was going to be a lot more exciting than it was. But the only high you get here is a spiritual one, and the only out of body experience you encounter is the disembodied souls that …
Continue reading “Sure, I’m in…” Ghost Hunting, and Famous Last Words.
"I myself have seen this woman draw the stars from the sky; she diverts the course of a fast-flowing river with her incantations; her voice makes the earth gape, it lures the spirits from the tombs, sends the bones tumbling from the dying pyre. At her behest, the sad clouds scatter; at her behest, snow …
Continue reading Stay Wild, my Witchy Little Moon Child
The party was in full swing. Indentured servants did their best to placate the unruly guests, refilling the carafes of thick, mulled wine, pouring the bourbon that glistened in the crystal glasses like casts of amber in the sunlight. The French Doors were open to the patio, letting in the warm Savannah air that clung …
Continue reading Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked
Poor Alice Riley. If you want to know what happened to her, you just have to ask. She still roams the courtyard of Wright Square on foggy nights, searching for her baby beneath the oaks strung in Spanish Moss, the same oaks from which they hung the noose that cradled her body. Her owner, William …
We went outside the walls of the house. Lit up a cigarette, the smoke mingling with the foggy breath protruding from our lungs. In and back out. I had a lot of questions coming forth from the back of my mind but more than anything I wanted to understand how. How you go on living peacefully …
Continue reading A Beginner’s Guide to Hunting Ghosts
The British loved to tax, and tax they did—the Sugar Act, the Stamp Act, the Townshend Acts…if you remember your American History, this should all sound pretty familiar. In fact, the reason there are so many big, picture windows in these old, historic Southern homes is because there was a tax on doors, so they …
Continue reading Seduced by Spirits (Georgia…Day 5?)
The ivy wanders; the star shaped leaves open out from the parasitic strength of curling vines that cling to the siding of the old house. They chip away at the flecked lead paint which tumbles to the ground like falling snow, gathering in little piles of dandruff on the earth. An old wagon wheel leans …
Continue reading Eternal Slumber in the Land of Poetry (Georgia…Day 4)
Disaster central. I try to be a good human but it would seem that the Karma gods are still after me. At least, that's how it appears. This morning, I decided to go to Charleston. I made the two hour drive only to discover I had left my wallet behind in Savannah. So back I …
The Wild Heart of Life 