Hell House

Pug Mom and Augs Casa requested it, so I'll write about the Haunted House from Hell. No, really, totally one.

My godmom bought what she calls The Beach House at Murrells Inlet, SC. Oh, yes. Right at the edge of Lowcountry and on the beginning of the Grand Strand's haunting area. She was brilliant. Like me.

So, she and her mom (my other godmom) move in. It's a three stories, plus the garage, with a little room off that leads to the back porch. It went: garage, living/dining/kitchen/breakfast room level, two bed/bath level, then the master suite on the top floor. And it was a master. Jacuzzi tub, double vanity, separate shower/tub and toilet. Two long closets. That was just the bathroom. The bedroom was big enough for a queen-sized bed (room to spare) and a sitting area. Entertainment center behind closet doors. Overall, the house had 3.5 baths and 3 bedrooms. There was an elevator to go on all four floors, too.

We realize pretty soon that we're hearing voices, specifically from Nona's room. Nona being my elder godmom. So, we listen. The ghosties sat the end of the bed, talking to each other. Clear as a bell. There was two men and a woman. One of the men's name was Harold. He was the bastard of the bunch. Obviously the woman was awesome. What with having ovaries and all. They were pirates, the men anyway. Not sure about the woman.

You see, that area was the pirate dumping ground. Before they got to Charleston, they dumped their dead along the inlet. One of my godmom's neighbors did a background check on the area. There's a lot of history in Horry County. Actually, my godmom chose a Garden City Beach address, even though they were on the inlet. See, it was right the cut-off point. People could choose. She thought Garden City Beach sounded better. I tend to agree.

At least one person in the town homes died, miscarried, went crazy, nearly had an appendage chopped off. Poor Tommy almost had his dick chopped off when his previously turned off boat motor got him right when the leg meets torso, when it started without the keys in the ignition. He had to be in the hospital for awhile. Gigi miscarried. Bill, the swindling builder, ended up dying of cancer. Those are just the ones I can remember offhand.

I won't go into all the history of the area, but Alice Flagg is one of many stories. One day I'll tell you all about the visit to Alice's grave. Murrell's Inlet official site.

Now, it's been established the house was haunted, what with having non-coropreal men in the room and all. Never mind all the times lightning went in one window and out the other, straight through the house. Or the way it would rain on one side or the other. Strange, strange house.

As for the elevator on fire story.

Oh, yes. It happened. My godmom (I really need to give her a nickname besides Mama don't I?) was coming up from the kitchen to her bedroom (the master). Halfway between the kitchen and next level, the elevator stopped suddenly. She hadn't touched the buttons, or opened the gate or door. Nothing. She smelled the air a little, and hey, it's on fire. Smoke starts coming in under the door. She's freaking out because the doors won't open, at all. As she's trying to figure out what to do, she hears the female ghost's voice go "Harold, they've had enough. Let her out." A couple minutes later, the door buzz (which is what happened when the door into the elevator shift was open), releasing the gate. She pushes and crawls up, like they do in movies with the bellycrawl type thing. Nona's been talking to her for those last few minutes, trying to figure out what was going.

The next morning, the elevator people come to the house. They're like "You couldn't get out of there." Mama's like, "I beg to differ." The bottom of it scorched, still stuck in between the floors. Neither woman uses the elevator for a good week after. Which means the poor 70-year-old lady has to walk up and down three flights of stairs if she's going up to visit Mama. And the ghosts are still talking on her bed. Rather loudly.

That doesn't include the moving man that had a heart attack in there. But that's another story for another time. Along with the flying newborn, painters that shot up the house....oh, yes. This is just one of many, many stories.