While we're on the subject of Florida, I recall another adventure there with Mr. Zach Lycans and the gang. This time, my sister was with us, along with Zach's sister, and we were in Frostproof for the week-long wedding celebration of our friends Maria (Matt's sister – by the way, he survived the haircut) and Justin.
Never heard of Frostproof, Florida? It's not exactly Orlando or Miami, no major tourist attractions or hotspots. Just a quiet community smack-dab in the middle of the skinny state, where the person:orange ratio is probably 1:8,000 or so. But sometimes you need a getaway and this was a week of the best getting away you can ask for. Friends and family all around, hearts cheered by the occasion and one another's company. Little did we know, we were not alone in the middle of nowhere. Roswell is Disney World, as far as I'm concerned.
As mentioned in the previous post, there is a special hour every afternoon all over Florida in which the heavens open with a fury of wind and rain. Usually this wraps itself up nicely and all is clear before you know it, but every once in a while, the clouds linger and a chill hangs in the air – time seems to stand still in the eery afterward of a good thunderstorm. And this was the case at the end of this particular week.
As the wedding reception came to a close, we all meandered back to our respective lodgings, a small cluster of homes within walking distance of each other. Zach, myself, and our sisters all shared a house, and as we came in the door, we realized the power was out. This wouldn't normally be a problem in sunny Florida, but it was dusk and the clouds of the earlier storm lingered. So we sat in our living room together, in the growing blue darkness, wondering what to do. We watched and waited for others to return from the church, but the neighborhood was still and silent. If anyone else was back yet, they were either hiding or dead. This was my conclusion, anyway, and I kept it to myself.
I still wonder how long we would have been okay there in the dim living room, had the voices not started in. It is common sense to assume the power lines had been damaged during the storm, and it is common sense to assume they would be repaired as soon as possible, and it is common sense to assume said repairmen would have to communicate with one another. But though we heard voices, and they came from all sides, no matter where we looked, there was no one to be found. And what's more, the power stayed off, so if they were repairmen, they were not very good ones. Where then were these voices coming from?
I hear ghost stories, especially living near Old Salem here, and I read of alien sitings reported, and I laugh at the absurdity of it all. And then I have an experience like this, when the mood is right, the lighting is spot on, and the sound effects are perfect, and I realize how our funny little minds can work their magic from there. Legends are reflections and shadows from the corner of our eye; myths are the voices of repairmen hanging high above you, just doing their jobs. But they make for great campfire stories, don't they?