A haunting good time

I'm back, unscathed, from Plymouth and alive to tell the tale. But I have to say I'm fairly certain there are still a few pilgrims lurking around up there.

The adventure began on Friday evening, when eight women in two cars converged on Plymouth. We checked into the motel, and quickly headed off to dinner. I was pretty sure we would be a congenial group when the check was divided up in less than five minutes with a minimum of wimpering and calculating.

Saturday morning had been designated as "do-your-own-thing" time, so I walked around town, where I happened upon a yarn store. Imagine that. The shop ladies were very accommodating, and encouraged me to try on a lovely cardigan I had been admiring. I figured I'd buy the pattern and do the actual yarn-buying later, but it seems the pattern was only available with a yarn purchase.....so I picked out a nice Peruvian 100% wool in denim blue. At least I had my souvenir-buying out of the way, although I was very tempted by the pilgrim refrigerator magnets and the Mayflower salt and pepper shakers.

You may remember that the anticipated (?) highlight of our weekend was the ghost tour we had planned for Saturday evening, so at 7 p.m. we gathered in front of Plymouth Rock to meet Jan, our guide. She had conveniently parked her hearse nearby, so we had no problem finding her.

Jan gave us a short preview of the evening plans, and encouraged us to take lots of pictures because ghostly evidence often shows up on film or digital photography. She said we might end up capturing some orbs, or even some apparitions. And she mentioned that Shadow Man (possibly a ghostly curmudgeon) and Hannah might very well be lurking in the cemetery up on the hill. The story goes that Hannah is still looking for her husband who never returned from the sea. Her tombstone says she died of languishing.

Soon we set off in the direction of Burial Hill, with stops along the way so Jan could relate a tale or two about various hauntings. We trekked up North Street, where just about every old house is haunted according to her. Seems that ghosts don't like change, so when someone moves in and decides to renovate, all hell breaks loose. I guess they've been known to argue, slam doors and even move stuff around.

By the time we got to the cemetery, I'll admit I was starting to shake in my boots. It was dark and spooky, and some of the girls were beginning to see things on their cameras. Maybe I was just a little sorry I wasn't home with Mr. G. watching a Yankee game. I did end up with lots of orb photos though. Here's the brightest one of the bunch. It showed up on one of the old houses on North St. Maybe I should warn the new owners not to do too much tampering......

Now I'm wondering if there are orbs everywhere. Maybe even in my own house. Maybe I'll conduct a little experiment. Then again, maybe I should just get back to my regular daylight activities.

The tour concluded with a special visit to the Taylor-Trask Museum, purported to be one of Plymouth's most haunted places. It is best known for a pram that travels around the house by itself. Well, not really. The ghost of a young girl pushes it--sometimes up against the front door so visitors find it difficult to enter.

And there's an old typewriter that types by itself and an antique organ that plays without an organist. There's a saw displayed on an end table that was used to amputate the leg of a sea captain, and sometimes his screams can be heard coming from the second floor.

The ghosts were quiet for our visit which didn't disappoint me very much. When I got back to my motel room I fell asleep fairly quickly. Maybe it was all the walking, or maybe it was the last inning of yet another unexciting Yankee game I was watching on TV. Did I mention they're in the cellar? And you never know what sorts of ghostly, I mean ghastly, things could happen down there.......