The bedroom door slammed, and I dove for my bed. Somewhere downstairs, glass shattered. Rain pounded the windows, and the wind howled outside. There was no escape. The spirit was here. It all began earlier, when I decided to do one of the three haunted houses down the street from our rented house for my research project. Not that I believe in ghosts, of course. Today was my day to gather information. I’m on my way to the old Perella house now, where my tour starts. I glanced out the car window as we pulled up to the curb. A small crowd had gathered on the verandah*. I spotted an old man with a little boy, a tall woman with a tiny notepad, a strange man in a tuxedo holding a briefcase, and a serious looking woman, who I suspected was our
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As it turns out, the Perella house was extremely boring. We didn’t even go inside! Instead, the tour guide, Ms. M, told us that the Perella house had been condemned. We had to stand around in the crisp, cold fall air, while she bored us with facts like; “The Perella house is one of the oldest houses in Charleston,”(I knew that!) “Mr. Perella was an infamous author in the 1800’s,”(I didn’t know that) and, “Nobody has been inside this house for 73 years.”(creepy!) It wasn’t long before we moved onto the next house, the Brunelli Villa. This wasn’t much better than the Perella house. Crumbling arches and random stones littered the large property. Even worse, as we began to tour the rubble, it began to drizzle. Freezing cold water droplets made themselves at home in the many dips and holes, creating a maze of puddles. Ms. M didn’t seem bothered by the water, which went from a light rain to a storm in a matter of minutes. Cold, tired, and wet, I ducked under an arch and suddenly felt the stones wavering beneath me. Ms. M. took one look at the scene and let out an angry shout that echoed throughout the ruins. I jumped so high, that I almost touched the broken arch above me. I landed and hopped free of the stones, just as they crumbled to dust, revealing a hidden underground
As it turns out, the Perella house was extremely boring. We didn’t even go inside! Instead, the tour guide, Ms. M, told us that the Perella house had been condemned. We had to stand around in the crisp, cold fall air, while she bored us with facts like; “The Perella house is one of the oldest houses in Charleston,”(I knew that!) “Mr. Perella was an infamous author in the 1800’s,”(I didn’t know that) and, “Nobody has been inside this house for 73 years.”(creepy!) It wasn’t long before we moved onto the next house, the Brunelli Villa. This wasn’t much better than the Perella house. Crumbling arches and random stones littered the large property. Even worse, as we began to tour the rubble, it began to drizzle. Freezing cold water droplets made themselves at home in the many dips and holes, creating a maze of puddles. Ms. M didn’t seem bothered by the water, which went from a light rain to a storm in a matter of minutes. Cold, tired, and wet, I ducked under an arch and suddenly felt the stones wavering beneath me. Ms. M. took one look at the scene and let out an angry shout that echoed throughout the ruins. I jumped so high, that I almost touched the broken arch above me. I landed and hopped free of the stones, just as they crumbled to dust, revealing a hidden underground