Take two best friends who could scare the bejeezus out of themselves in broad daylight. Add a third with an equally vivid imagination. Put them in a lake house with no phone, in the middle of the woods some 30 miles from home, accessible only by a winding dirt road. Throw in some strange noises, odd shadows and then -- just when they least expect it -- a power outage. Things are bound to get interesting.
Junior or senior year of high school, my friend Sarah's parents bought a lake house and some massive amount of acreage in a remote area just over the Alabama border. As you drove out to the property on a series of backroads, you occasionally passed a mobile home or a decaying roadside grocery. A few turns onto the back-of-the-back-backroads, and you found yourself on a strip of red clay, surrounded only by pine forest, headed into a thousand-acre wood that seemed to absorb all of the light in the vicinity. After a labrynthine series of turns, you ended up at the entrance of the property, which announced itself with a wide gateway and a sign identifying the lake house as "Aberdeen." The house was a couple of miles further, and then still further than that was the glassy inlet of the lake.
The nearest neighbor was several miles away; the only proof that someone lived nearby was the presence of a few charming stop signs along the fence that separated their land from the road. One said, "Do Not Hunt, Do Not Dump, Do Not Let Me Catch You On This Property!" Another warned, "If You Pass This Point, You Become a Target." Ahhh, yes, the redneck concept of justice: shoot first, and ask questions later.
Sarah, Allison and I used to go out to Aberdeen to waterski and swim in the summertime, and to watch movies or just hang out on the weekends during the school year. We didn't drink or engage in any other teenage malfeasance; we just liked having somewhere to go where we could be by ourselves. And also, we could go down to the dock and shoot off fireworks. So that was something.
Since the house, a glass-fronted contemporary built (and decorated) circa 1972, was rather rustic and spare, we had to bring Sarah's portable TV/VCR with us when we wanted to watch a movie. We would pick up some junk food on the way out there, including, most importantly, a roll of chocolate chip cookie dough, which we lumped onto a baking sheet in one giant mass, popped in the oven until it was slightly crisp on the outside and molten on the inside, and shoveled into our mouths with heaps of vanilla ice cream on top. (I cannot recommend this enough as an evening snack. In fact, I could go for some now.)
Most times we went out to Aberdeen, the three of us ended up scaring ourselves into thinking that someone was coming up the front steps or rustling around in the back bedroom. On a few occasions, we had even gone home early on account of our collective fear. There was something so slasher-flick perfect about the remote location and the slumber party ambience that we seemed to be inviting psychopaths to seek us out and chase us through the thick black woods, Blair Witch style.
On this one particular night, we drove out to Aberdeen, unloaded the TV from the trunk, set ourselves up on the couch with some blankets and pillows, and inhaled our cookie dough extravaganza. Then we started watching whatever video we had brought -- I'm sure it was one of the Brat Pack films, or possibly "Top Gun", since even in the mid-90s we were experiencing 1980s nostalgia. As usual, there was a slight prickle in the air of our nervous energy, and every once in a while one of us would look over to the front windows a little too quickly, and the others would demand, "What? WHAT? Is there something out there?" while looking away, unable to face whatever might be creeping across the deck.
And then: total darkness. The lights went out. With no provocation or warning. It wasn't storming out; it wasn't even raining. The three of us immediately launched into a mad panic of screaming and freaking out and rushing around and fumbling for shoes. Sarah kept yelling, "SOMEBODY CUT THE CORD! THEY CUT THE CORD!" Allison and I were both shrieking, "GET THE FLASHLIGHT GET THE FLASHLIGHT GET THE FLASHLIGHT!"
Sarah ran to the fuse box and threw it open, shining the flashlight she'd somehow laid her hands on into the wall. "THE CIRCUITS AREN'T THROWN!" she shouted. We were now convinced that someone had cut the power to the house and was going to come into the darkness and Get Us.
We had to make a decision, and fast. Sarah took control and said, "Leave the TV, we'll come back tomorrow, GO!" And we went hurtling out the front door, into the night. Sarah ran first, with the flashlight in her hand. Allison and I, left to grope our way along the railing without a light of our own, clutched each other's arms and tried to hurry without killing ourselves on the wooden staircase. As Sarah raced toward the car, down a gravelly footpath, she hit the panic button on her key fob and set the car alarm going. The headlights flashed and the horn blared. Allison and I, still picking our way along the rocky grade, kept screaming at the top of our lungs. Trust me, if anyone had in fact been intending to Get Us, they would have turned around and left at that point, shaking their head and muttering, "Ain't worth th' effort for these 'uns."
We all piled into the car, slamming and locking the doors and staring out into the woods around us, looking for the power-cutting serial killer. Sarah drove like a maniac to get us out of there, sending Allison and I flying around the car as she took the hairpin turns on the dirt road out of Aberdeen. At one point, she shouted, "LOOK! There's someone on the side of the road!" and we all started screeching again. I may have (MAY have) started crying. (Of course, no one was there.)
None of us felt safe until we had reached the brightly-lit Shell station that marked the outskirts of town. And even then, we scanned the roadside vigilantly and kept our doors securely locked. We went to my house, none of us wanting to be alone. When we flew breathlessly into the back door, my parents peered at us from the living room. We told them what had happened, and of course they found it singularly amusing. My dad pointed out that it was barely 9 PM, and also that it isn't possible to cut the power to just one house. (Guess you had to be there, Dad; in the moment the lights went out and we had no way of defending ourselves from whatever was around, it made perfect sense.)
The next day, we drove out to retrieve the TV. In the daylight, we could see that nothing on the property had been disturbed; the power was back on, and the TV was just as we'd left it. Aberdeen seemed like a peaceful retreat again -- a place so remote, no one would even be able to find it, let alone bother terrorizing anyone who hung out there. But, to maintain our sanity, for a while we only went out there in the afternoons and retreated to civilization when the sun went down. And when we did stay overnight again, we made sure we knew where the flashlights were.
I hate to say it, but I think if I were there I might have (MIGHT have) reacted the same way.
When I read what you wrote about that sign, I thought it said, "Do Not Hump, Do Not Dump." I like my version better.
Posted by: -R- | October 04, 2006 at 12:12 AM
This might have been your best entry yet. It was scary as hell then but now, it's just hilarious.
Posted by: Allison | October 04, 2006 at 08:13 AM
Uh, yah, would have reacted the same way. And I hate to say it, as an ADULT, I probably would have.
Posted by: jonniker | October 04, 2006 at 10:51 AM
Hehe, I loved this story. I'm still a total scaredy-cat - I made my roommate take the side of the room with the window, so that if the murderers come, they have to get her first.
(Yes, noble of me, eh?)
Posted by: orangepeacock | October 04, 2006 at 12:59 PM
Oh my god, that was hilarious. I can completely relate, and I can tell you that even as an adult, my imagination scares the crap out me regularly.
When I lived in a house of 5 girls in college, there were regular escaped convicts from the local prison (good old South Carolina). We would scare outselves silly, running around locking doors, etc. One time the power went out and we were convinced that the escaped convict was out to get us. We ran around screaming and hugging each other. God knows any convinct in his right or wrong mind wouldn't go NEAR that house.
Posted by: Jen W. | October 04, 2006 at 03:58 PM
R - I like your version better, too! Sweet.
Allison - "DON'T SAY THAT!" God, that was funny.
Jonna - Please. This could just as well have happened yesterday. I am such a freak.
OP - That is SO something I would do.
Jen - Too funny! Yeah, no one would bother with a bunch of girls who could scream that loud. :)
Posted by: lawyerish | October 04, 2006 at 09:29 PM
This has -nothing- to do with the entry at hand, but I had a random thought vaguely connected to you today. See, I got a new ringtone for my cell phone, "Livin' on a Prayer." Not because I'm stalking you, though. It's because that song somehow became the unofficial anthem/fight song of my university, and when we went to the Final Four this past spring for the first time ever and the campus was crawling in news teams because hey! Who the hell are we, anyway?, all 27,000 of us went around singing that damn song for a week. We were national media darlings a la Bon Jovi! So now my ringtone and your very special costume both have burrowed themselves a little niche in my heart right next to my school spirit.
*ahem* Sorry, that was dorky. But I just HAD to share. Heh.
Posted by: orangepeacock | October 05, 2006 at 03:38 PM
hilarious post! i once became irrationally afraid on a sunday afternoon with people in the house with me while watching a show about haunted lighthouses. i made everyone sit outside with me because i thought someone or something was in the house.
malfeasance - brilliant. i LOVE that word!
Posted by: amyjami | October 05, 2006 at 06:01 PM
OP - Ooooh! George Mason, right? "Livin' on a Prayer" is an awesome ringtone!! Rock on. I am glad that my seventh grade dorkiness is now inextricably linked to that song for you. Too funny.
Amy - SO something I would do! Except I might not even watch the show about haunted lighthouses in the first place. Too scary.
Posted by: lawyerish | October 05, 2006 at 07:55 PM
YES! GMU! You just passed some sort of coolness test. It was really weird going from "what was that name of your school again?" to some kind of future Disney movie overnight.
And trust me, when we start singing that at games soon, I will be getting some special mental images. Thanks. Thanks a lot. :-P
Posted by: orangepeacock | October 06, 2006 at 11:26 PM
Hello!! Popping in from Ree's over at Confessions of Pioneer Woman. Thoroughly enjoyed this story and so apropos, as I am housesitting for a fellow blogger in the wilds of Montana this week.
♥Pam
Posted by: Pam | October 07, 2006 at 11:42 AM
OP - I love a good underdog, so seeing all the hype about GMU was really fun last year! I wonder if they'll pull it off again...
Pam - Oh my Lord. The wilds of Montana! I don't know if I could take that! Too scary!
Posted by: lawyerish | October 09, 2006 at 09:05 PM