A Nightmare on Washington Street
I’ve spent a fair chunk of the day catching up on last night’s television offerings, particularly Mockingbird Lane and Fringe. The latter has been a long time favorite and I was stunned by the loss of Etta, though fully expect the former Fringe Unit to hit the proverbial reset button as a part of their rebellion against the Observer’s dystopian nightmare. As for Mockingbird Lane, Conn and I both loved it. A shame it didn’t get picked up by the network for a full season run, but as a one off Hallowe’en special I was quite entertained.
So why was it that I found myself playing pop culture catch up this morning? Because last night we attended a Hallowe’en Party in a house that the Munsters would have felt right at home in. Reputed to be authentically haunted, I didn’t have to spend much time there before I was in full agreement.
Our hosts were terrific, the food impressive, the parents and children a delight, but the star of the night was the house itself. A majestic three story manor house, we were dazzled by its brilliance. Even the front door was enough to make me drool, let alone the library that you accessed through a spectacular archway that passed under the secret panel rich stairway to the haunted upper levels.
I didn’t have my occult detective hat on last night, but I did manage to scare up a personal experience via an old rotary phone that was on the wall, long out of use. Yes, I heard otherworldly voices on that phone, and despite my wife’s protests to the contrary, I could see it in her eyes that she heard them too.
It was a great party, with lots of games for the kids and plenty of food and good conversation to occupy the adults.
But I’m aching to get back inside that house, not only because it’s haunted (and believe me, it is), but because I have a fascination with history and architecture.
That place on Washington Street is the trifecta.