Neither of these two things are related to the other- I’m just trying to get us caught back up and on track because I know you’re curious what I’ve been up to this week. I appreciate you.
You’ve missed a couple of important events during my absence: my sister cousin road trip to Galena, Kansas and the dream I had last night that made me question if I’m on the right career path.
Before we begin, I left you with a cliffhanger– I started my meds about a week ago and so far, so good. I’m off to a strong start.
Now let’s move on to what you came for– why ghosts are dicks.
I’ll tell you why.
Maddie, Maegan and I decided to go to Galena to check out this Cars thing they have going on. AND TO TOUR THIS MURDER BORDELLO I HEARD ABOUT ON FACEBOOK. I’m always down to visit a historical establishment- especially one with a seedy reputation. I have a soft spot for the underdogs and misfits. Go figure.
I, like most human beings, assume a lot of things. In this case, I assumed the tour we were taking would be historical. Because that’s what people do, right? Fix the site up. Stage the rooms to look as historically accurate as possible. Then you give people tours to discuss what went down after taking their money.
We arrived at the bordello and met our guide, Linda. She’s pretty great, btw.
Linda starts telling us about the house as the tour begins, and I notice things are a little sparse. She mentioned before they gave tours, the house was an antique shop- which was beautifully staged to give a nod to the house’s history.
Unfortunately, people didn’t buy many antiques- they just wanted to see the house. The shop closed and all the antiques were sold to a dealer. What we were looking at was what Linda had managed to scrounge up on her own.
I told you she was great.
So we’re listening to Linda talk about the family who managed the house, built by the mining company, although there is speculation about whether or not this was the site of the actual bordello/murders.
Anyways, what isn’t disputed are the murders the Stafflebacks committed. Nancy and her three sons were only charged with one murder, even though plenty of bodies had been found in nearby mine shafts.
We moved into what they call the card room.
And this is when I began to realize we weren’t on a historical tour, BUT A FUCKING PARANORMAL ONE!
NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I TRY TO AVOID THIS EXACT KIND OF THING BECAUSE I WANT NO PART OF SUPERNATURAL ANYTHING! Some things you do not fuck with. At all. EVER.
YES I KNOW IT’S CALLED A HAUNTED BORDELLO BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN IT’S ACTUALLY SUPER HAUNTED.
…BUT THIS ONE IS AND NOW I’M GOING TO REVISIT MY TRAUMA JUST FOR YOU!
We’re in the card room. Two mannequins- one at the table and another in the corner. They’re doing mannequin stuff. I’m taking pictures because that’s what I do.
I was in the middle of taking a picture when Linda turned the light off. I took the picture anyway.
…then I felt sick. Not anxiety sick. But pit in the stomach I need to get out of this room sick.
After that, I wasn’t as enthused about the tour. Not because it wasn’t interesting or that Linda wasn’t doing a great job. She had TONS of encounter stories. My cousins took video of various rooms in hopes of catching something. Maddie even crawled into the tub upstairs- apparently this seems to draw the spirits in. Maybe they’re hoping the human in said tub is going to strip down, give them a sneak peek for free. It was a bordello, after all.
And a nursing home. Now that I think about it, it could have been some of the former nursing home residents floating around as orbs, too.
…it probably was.
We finished the tour, to my relief, and here I would like to note that Linda will not stay in the house by herself after some of the things she has witnessed. I believed her stories– she has a trustworthy face. And it’s a small town. Your reputation is based on your word.
The three of us left Linda by her car ( she had another tour coming) and grabbed some Mexican food. I felt better but still not great. Little did I know what I would find when I looked through my pictures from our trip.
I did a quick review, not even bothering to look at the blurry picture from the card room. I deleted it immediately.
But something made me go back to find that picture. When I found it, I noticed how weird it was. Full of streaks of different colored light. I sent it to our group chat.
Maegan was the one who saw it. In the middle of my picture was a face. Attached to what looked like a body sitting in a chair that was empty- an arm leaned on the table.
THAT DICK GHOST WAS THE REASON I FELT SICK IN THE CARD ROOM!
…what an asshole. A scary asshole.
I AM NEVER GOING BACK!
Maddie, on the other hand, is up for round two.
Thank god Part 2 of this post is way more upbeat AND NOT SCARY!
I had this dream last night that Joan Cusack frantically came up to me, asking for some sort of loan/advance for a TV show she was getting ready to do. Obviously, she had mistaken me for someone who actually has $250,000– but Joan’s demeanor reminded me of more her character, Sheila, in Shameless. So maybe it was more that character than Joan, but I couldn’t tell even though it was my dream.
Anyways, I listened to Joan as she expressed her concerns about needing money to support her young child. I wrote down the amount she had told me. Then I explained to her I’m not who she thinks I am, but if I were able to somehow acquire the money, I’d loan it to her. I would! Seriously! She was being so nice to me!
At some point, cops showed up and wanted to talk to Joan. They took a break. She came back over to me, and this is when I told her if she needed cash, then all she had to do was auction some of her stuff off that she never uses– or go buy something like cheap, plain, white bowls, say she used them, and auction those off.
Because people love weird celebrity shit and she is a well known, loved actress with a super lengthy career.
She looked at me and said I could make money. I replied, “I don’t know how”. I mean, in this dream I was good at telling other her how to but it’s not like anyone wants my cast offs.
I went on to console her because she was so stressed. I felt bad for her. Poor Joan. The cops had come back for her.
And then my alarm went off.
When I woke up, I laughed because even in my dreams, I was trying to be nice. Typical bleeding heart Amber. But I was also pretty pleased with the idea I gave her to get out of her financial rut. It was solid!
This is when I considered I probably missed my calling to become a financial advisor to the stars.
More posts to come (hopefully without anymore ghosts).