It had been a very eventful day indeed. We had visited one of those stately homes with a turret attached or visa versa. Indeed a hotel was built around the site. The turret was only accessible by a terrible outside climb that noone in their right mind would attempt -or- by this old and very unreliable elevator. The whispers were that the elevator was haunted. This whisper started around the time the elevator took to stopping half-way up and lurching menacingly. It was serviced meticulously and always passed with flying colours, only to act up again once re-certified safe. I was the only one of our party that knew the stories about this aspect and had left it out when persuading everyone to take the trip up to the top.
We had, possibly the worst elevator ride in the history of same, with stops and starts, and creaks and groans until we were all convinced we were going to die. I was so scared that I starting singing to dispel my terror. Everyone else was so scared they did not complain. Once we finally got to the top of the turret, at least 12 minutes since departing the bottom, everyone spilled out whereupon the silly lift disappeared. It went down, stranding us. My dad who was a terrible shade of green announced he would climb down, thank you very much. I looked over the top of the precipace wall- down down down and showed Dad. "Perhaps not" he said.
For some odd reason, as everyone was trying to shake the elevator heebee geebies I told them the stories about it supposedly being haunted. This was, in retrospect, a very bad move. We all now looked down at the suicidal climb and went silent. Just then, a click and a slam announced the return of the elevator. We all looked at one another and got in. This time, one of us held the door open and we tried to distribute the weight evenly, for a better chance at a smooth ride. Once in, the metal trellis was pulled across and down we went. Everyone held their breath expecting the treatment we had on the way up. Nothing at all happened. It was a perfectly normal return to the ground.
One by one we exited, and the guide at the bottom took one look at our befuddled state and said: "Glamis acting up?"
"You call the elevator Glamis?" I asked.
"No, actually we call it the Monster of Glamis but Glamis for short." He was smiling. "She doesn't like me, our Glamis doesnt, so I don't push my luck. I never use it anymore, well, after last time."
We did not ask. Probably because we knew.
All the way to work this morning I was fretting about this experience. I had resolved in my mind never to investigate aging turrets again if the guide did not actually accompany me. I was thinking how I should never have taken Dad there. How ridiculous the whole thing sounded but how terrifying it was in the moment. After my second client, I had a moment where I froze in my tracks and realised that I had never been in a haunted elevator and I certainly had never been on a castle/stately homes/ tourist trip with my father. Good God, I realised, that was a dream.
Is it any wonder that I wear a nametag? I might forget who I am at this rate.
It has been a long while since I had a dream indistinguishable from reality. Whose reality, you ask? The reality of haunted turrets and wayward elevators of course!
This is life. Or something like it.
Showing posts with label strange things. Show all posts
Showing posts with label strange things. Show all posts
24.5.08
31.3.08
The Magic Mirror
Magic Mirror on the Wall. . . .
The many mirrors of my childhood home were never chanted to, as far as I have heard, but from a tender age I equated mirrors to magic. Benign mirrors are everywhere in our society, fracturing people a million times, a million ways every single day. Once in a great while, you encounter a mirror that you do not want to look into. There was such a mirror in my past, a long time ago in a very old house. It had another mirror directly across from it on the opposing wall. When you glanced in the one, you saw smoky reflections of almost the same room you were in. The other mirror was just a mirror on it's own. I used to RUN past it, rather than look it after the time I saw something not me in it.
My evil twin brother is just a little younger than I am and was raised completely differently than I, HOWEVER we turned out remarkably alike. His hex mirror practically oozed emotion. It sat in his apartment, in a pile of other pictures and mirrors until one night when it spoke to him and OUT it went to the alley. Of course it did not really form words, it just became very noticeable.
Magic is so tricky. One part of our heritage is the damned side. The fey side. The side cursed by alcoholism and mysticism and sometimes madness. This would be the Priestlays - those who made prophetic utterances and those who clutched bibles babbling - they are all of a piece to me. We just tag the word disturbed on it and gloss over it as it is not particularly valuable in this society to be truly fey. Even without a brain injury I knew this!
In the thrift today, a beautiful ancient mirror sat on an easel with a bloody huge price tag. This glorious piece had come in with a large estate - mostly oversized wood furniture and chintz chairs. A clock and this mirror sat together in the boutique section. The mirror had quite a crowd of people around it admiring it - a crowd that included some of the petty flea market dealers who never pay more than $5 for anything *AND* a few of the high end dealers who own posh Antique Shoppes that cater to higher end purchasers.
This mirror was like a rock-star with it's swirl of devotees. It had a SOLD sign on it. The staff said it was put out and sold in about 2 minutes. The same couple bought both pieces. As I was leaving the couple came in to pick it up. They covered the first the clock in heavy blankets and took it gingerly to their car. When they returned for the mirror, they first preened a bit in front of it and they stood basking in congratulations before covering it too in blankets and carefully exiting the store, out to their Van. As they went around the corner to the parking lot the gentleman swore. The damned thing was heavy! He said it again. "Damn this mirror!"
And just like that -it jumped out of his hand and landed on the pavement. The woman, still holding her end went straight into blame mode. They lifted the blanket to survey the damage. The next stop for that mirror was the dumpster. Strange how the mirror would rather die than go home with that man. I bet the clock stays overwound too!
Of course I am just rambling. But such events happen.
And such people as us tend to be around such events when they do.
------------------
“Maturity is that time when the mirrors in our mind turn to windows and instead of seeing the reflection of ourselves we see others.”
The many mirrors of my childhood home were never chanted to, as far as I have heard, but from a tender age I equated mirrors to magic. Benign mirrors are everywhere in our society, fracturing people a million times, a million ways every single day. Once in a great while, you encounter a mirror that you do not want to look into. There was such a mirror in my past, a long time ago in a very old house. It had another mirror directly across from it on the opposing wall. When you glanced in the one, you saw smoky reflections of almost the same room you were in. The other mirror was just a mirror on it's own. I used to RUN past it, rather than look it after the time I saw something not me in it.
My evil twin brother is just a little younger than I am and was raised completely differently than I, HOWEVER we turned out remarkably alike. His hex mirror practically oozed emotion. It sat in his apartment, in a pile of other pictures and mirrors until one night when it spoke to him and OUT it went to the alley. Of course it did not really form words, it just became very noticeable.
Magic is so tricky. One part of our heritage is the damned side. The fey side. The side cursed by alcoholism and mysticism and sometimes madness. This would be the Priestlays - those who made prophetic utterances and those who clutched bibles babbling - they are all of a piece to me. We just tag the word disturbed on it and gloss over it as it is not particularly valuable in this society to be truly fey. Even without a brain injury I knew this!
In the thrift today, a beautiful ancient mirror sat on an easel with a bloody huge price tag. This glorious piece had come in with a large estate - mostly oversized wood furniture and chintz chairs. A clock and this mirror sat together in the boutique section. The mirror had quite a crowd of people around it admiring it - a crowd that included some of the petty flea market dealers who never pay more than $5 for anything *AND* a few of the high end dealers who own posh Antique Shoppes that cater to higher end purchasers.
This mirror was like a rock-star with it's swirl of devotees. It had a SOLD sign on it. The staff said it was put out and sold in about 2 minutes. The same couple bought both pieces. As I was leaving the couple came in to pick it up. They covered the first the clock in heavy blankets and took it gingerly to their car. When they returned for the mirror, they first preened a bit in front of it and they stood basking in congratulations before covering it too in blankets and carefully exiting the store, out to their Van. As they went around the corner to the parking lot the gentleman swore. The damned thing was heavy! He said it again. "Damn this mirror!"
And just like that -it jumped out of his hand and landed on the pavement. The woman, still holding her end went straight into blame mode. They lifted the blanket to survey the damage. The next stop for that mirror was the dumpster. Strange how the mirror would rather die than go home with that man. I bet the clock stays overwound too!
Of course I am just rambling. But such events happen.
And such people as us tend to be around such events when they do.
------------------
“Maturity is that time when the mirrors in our mind turn to windows and instead of seeing the reflection of ourselves we see others.”
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