Funny story . . .well kind of. And this one is true—I swear.
I answered and ad for an apartment to rent. The apartment was an "illegal" to say, which really just means it’s been sliced and diced in someone's home so that they can rent it to you for an obnoxious amount that will make you bleed dollar bills once a month. Well, I trekked my way out to Amityville--just a hop skip and a jump from me--and I start to get a funny feeling. Since, I was new to the area then I thought that maybe it was something I ate. After all, I did have sushi for lunch, and down south that stuff’s just bait. So I brush the eeriness aside, but the feeling won’t leave me. My radio looses the station, my cigarette lighter won't work, I can't get the matches to strike . . . Temporarily giving up on the cig, I open my soda bottle, and the stupid thing explodes across the front of my car.
Exasperated, I quickly find the street I am looking for, pull over to clean myself off and smoke that cig before I go look at yet another shoe box apartment. In my moment of passion, literally over a spilled diet coke, the eerie feeling had left, but it came back all too soon. That's when I began to look around. “Oh, dear,” I think to myself. “Oh, dear.”
Suddenly memories/flashbacks from a movie I'd seen years before begin filling my head. That's when it hit me . . .
I WAS ON THE AMITYVILLE STREET!!!
Dropping that cig, locking the doors, and leaving rubber behind, I high tailed my ass right on out of there! Don't know if the house was the Amityville house or not, but I don't care. Fiction or non, I was still too friggin' scared to get out of my car and go in.
--Sadly, I am a huge gore and horror freak, but that Amityville stuff just beejeebied me.
And, yes, I know the tense is all over the place on this one.
