disclaimer: all accounts
of this story are true (unfortunately). only the names and the date
have been changed (because i effing LOVE halloween and wanted to
somehow incorporate it into this creepy, twisted story)
ONE HALLOWEEN EVE...
a few years back, i decided to take a trip to sarasota, florida. i missed the beach and really wanted to re-visit my old stomping grounds. so i purchased the plane ticket and i was off. not many people find a vacation by themselves all that appealing, but i couldn't think of anything better than a week off from everyone and everything i knew.
the first day i arrived was mainly just getting settled and wandering around. i re-visited my old apartment, the places i used to shoot the shit, and of course, took a few hours to stroll in the sand. it was beautiful. it was getting later and i was looking for a solid place to grab some seafood. i drove around and found this sort of off-the-map place i would go to occasionally. excellent food for a decent price and better yet, it was happy hour. i immediately ordered a couple of celebratory i'm-on-fucking-vacation! shots, some surf and turf and started bull shitting with the bartender, trying to find out what was happening the rest of the week.
the place started filling up as the hours passed. a typical, wealthy sarasota couple came in and sat next to me at the bar. the fella, stan, was mid 50's, heavy set, white button down shirt with grey and white chest hair climbing through the spaces between buttons. the gal, stella, was a few years older than him. typical older sarasota socialite. wearing all white, gaudy jewelry and mass amounts of botox. they started some small talk with me, once they saw that i was keeping the bartender entertained enough. it was light, fun and i kept them laughing, so they decided to buy me a couple drinks.
stella was already on her 2nd glass of wine and every time i cared to check, she was just staring at me.
"you have the most beautiful skin. it's just like porcelain. so firm, so flawless."
i laughed, nervously, in fear that if i hadn't broken up the words she may actually come over and start licking my cheek.
"thanks, i mean, i guess i don't break out a lot... are you going to get anything to eat?"
i wasn't sincerely interested when she started arguing with herself that she had planned on getting some soup because she hadn't eaten anything all day. she eventually decided that the calories in the wine would be enough of an intake.
stan piped in to announce that he would be getting a bowl of soup and a round of whatever shot i wanted. seeing that stella already had that glazed over look in her eyes, an obvious lightweight, i matched it with a round of macintosh apples. i'm an ass hole, but they are putting down the cash, so i ride.
the conversation started growing friendlier, as it tends to when alcohol is involved. and somehow the topic of marijuana came up. i believe it was during the following scenario:
stella: the wine is exquisite tonight.
stan: yeah, the bisque is perfect.
me: yeah, yeah, my drink is awesome, now i just need a joint!
the great thing about well-acted sarcasm is that you can really find out anything about people. and god bless it, with a face like mine involved, it's downright fucking endearing.
stan almost chokes on his dinner in a fit of laughter , but it's his wife who gives it away. her shit-eaten grin and false, delayed sense of shock show the obvious reaction of an intoxicated, guilty woman. i immediately know that there is a good chance that they have weed, and or, know where to purchase it. stan, dying to feel like the cool kid in high school, offers up a place we could go. he tells me about this huge drum circle that happens on the beach every sunday night (the very night we had come to meet).
"we can all go if you want. i will show you where it is, you can follow us. i just need to swing by our place to grab a couple of things before we go."
i don't think twice about it and next thing you know, we are at their house, nay, their mansion. stan asks me to wait outside with his wife while he runs in to get supplies. she tries to slur out a conversation about the shoes she had on while we waited in their driveway while i nod and check my email on my phone.
as she slurs on about how immaculate my glowing skin is, i begin to think twice. it ALWAYS comes way too late. i'm forever mistaking horrible decisions for adventure and spontaneity. i mean, i suppose this is kind of weird. i don't know these people, but what am i going to do, back out, now? all i know is i can't be making any rational decisions until i smoke. stan finally returns after i've been keeping his actually falling-down-drunk wife entertained with horrible redneck jokes i read on the internet. i can already tell she has the potential of becoming an angry drunk by her mannerisms, so i'm doing what i can to keep things light & innocent. stan hands me a small, tie-dye one hitter with Dead bears all over it, and tells me to try a sample. and in complete what the hell could happen? vacation mode, i take a hit and pass it to stella. for fucks sake, she needs this more than anyone.
needless to say, this shit was on fire. one hit and i was rocked. stan tells me he's going to drive so i can just leave my car there. he continues to hit the pipe on the way to the beach and feeds his wife a corona with lime. after about 15 minutes of driving, we arrive at the beach. it's dark and completely packed with all kinds of people. there's a circle dedicated for dancing and glow sticks, surrounded by shirtless men playing bongos. this is where it gets a little hazy. i think we stayed for about an hour, dancing and drinking the bottle of wine stan had brought along.
we eventually ended up back at their place and i found myself in a black and white room with 25' ceilings. each piece of furniture was a piece of art. it reminded me of Beetlejuice in most ways. there was no color to divert they eye, you just kind of, sunk in. mainly the thick, white shag rug covering the hardwood floor. no piece of furniture has ever been this comfortable. i kept running my hands over the soft texture, holding myself back from rubbing the side of my face all over it. stan scooped me up by the arm and told me we were taking the elevator to the ground floor, which housed an indoor pool & hot tub. every single room we passed was black and white, and perfectly immaculate. the lighting was cold and dim throughout the place and no part of it really felt lived in. they had quick price tags for each item that took my eye.
once we got to the pool room, stan packed another bowl and we smoked as i threw my shoes & socks off and dipped my feet in the warm pool. at this point, i was already so high that my eyes couldn't blink, even with extreme concentration. but i just though it rude for me not to partake, in their own home and everything. it circled around a couple times and stella excused herself to go get a drink.
the elevator door closed and i suddenly felt lighter. the air felt more breathable. i laid back to immerse myself in bliss. stan tried to break up my adored silence and asked me what i did for a living. at that time, i was doing taxes. he suddenly became incredibly intrigued by everything that came out of my mouth. his whole demeanor changed, like something just smacked him across his face.
"really? you work for the IRS?!"
his tone shook me a bit so i quickly laughed it off and told him that it was really just a small tax office in pennsylvania.
"oh... you live in pennsylvania? so you're just here on vacation? how long?"
"just for the week. i used to live here and i wanted to come back down and visit."
"oh, so you're here alone? you're not staying with anyone?"
ok, ok, i'm thinking twice.
i've seen my fair share of psychotic killers in movies & tv to know that these aren't details you tell some strange guy feeding you bowl hits by a huge pool of water in the middle of nowhere.
"yeah, you know, i just missed the beach, but i actually am meeting up with some old friends later tonight. they're actually expecting me soon..."
i suddenly felt like the victim in a lifetime movie. such a predictable response...
the paranoia came on like a tsunami. and seriously, what the fuck is taking her so long? in fear of stella growing suspicious, or sneaking up behind me to skin me and make my face her own, i suggest that we go up and make sure she's ok so that i can quickly thank them and run like hell.
i stand up and immediately fall back down, totally crippled by immense amounts of alcohol and illegal substances. the reality dawns on me that there's no way in hell i would be able to drive as i trip into the elevator.
"maybe you should stay here tonight" stan says, in a sincerely suggestive manner. i resist the urge to knock him out cold while screaming that i "will not be raped and murdered by the likes of you!" and simply respond, "no, i think i'm ok" as i blow my cover tripping out of the elevator.
FUCK.
we come up to find stella dancing with a glass of wine in her hand, listening to patsy cline. he runs over to her, swoops her up and starts dancing with her as i try to figure out how to lay down on the couch.
mid-spin stan asks "honey, did you know that our new friend here works for the IRS?"
she stops dancing and burns holes into me, catching herself and then laughs the most fake laugh you've ever heard.
"what? really...?"
i muster up some words, "no, no, not directly for the IRS, it's just this small tax office in pennsylvania, it's not like i have any kind of direct connections with the IRS."
the paranoia is palpable. she starts interrogating me, reiterating the same questions her husband had asked me moments earlier.
stella starts to crack. she turns to her husband with tears in her eyes saying, "she's seen our house, everything! we told her how much everything costs! this is a set up! she works for the IRS and she is here to FIND THINGS OUT! we are screwed! we are absolutely screwed, stan!"
double fuck.
i immediately snap into nurture mode. fearing for my life, and the insides of my stomach coming up all over their $25,000 sofa.
"listen to me, ok? i promise you that i am just here on vacation. i don't even want to know about any of your finances! you guys just seemed like fun, intelligent, inviting people and i wanted to get to know you. come on, we've been smoking pot together for christs sake! how could i possibly explain that to the IRS? this is ridiculous, look, we're all just stoned, ok? we're just letting paranoia get the better of us. lets just put on some good music and relax, ok?"
i quickly change the topic to music as i scan through the 500+ records in their white, vintage jukebox. i put on the first song that i recognize, elvis or something. the mood starts to mellow, but the air is still tense. stella sits down directly across from me as her eyes burn way to the wall behind me. she is brutally uncomfortable until stan coaks her into dancing with him again. i pretend to start to fall asleep on the sofa and they lead me to one of the guest rooms on the 4th floor.
the bedroom is all white and off white, with a pale bedside lamp. there were industrial feeling silver blinds on the full-wall windows and the door was frosted glass from floor to ceiling. you could still see through it a bit, but only shadows. stan told me i was welcome to stay as long as i needed to, shut off the light, and left the room. i laid in the bed trying to think of any way possible to sober up and get the hell out of there. i went into my personal bathroom and tried splashing some cold water on my face. that wasn't working, so i just laid back down on the bed. damn that bed was incredible. i passed right out.
a couple hours later, i woke up, confused and disoriented, but quickly reminded myself where i was and pulled myself together. i grabbed my keys and headed to the door to make sure the coast was clear to sneak out. i didn't see any movement when i peaked my head out, but i noticed that the room across the hall had a figure standing behind the door. i pulled my head back in and decided to walk out casually. like i was just going to get a drink or something and was too hazy to even notice someone watching from behind the door, waiting for me to emerge from my room. i rounded a corner to a stairwell and ran for it.
it didn't take long to realize that i was completely lost in this mansion and had no idea how to get out. i also had no idea what floor stan and stella were on, and for that matter, anyone else who might be in this place and the excuse i might have to come up with.
after running into about 6 dead ends, i finally found an elevator. i opened the gate and jumped in, feeling one step closer to home free. i took it down to the ground floor where i quickly jumped out to search for an exit. after looking for what felt like hours, i realized i was back in the pool room. there were no doors on this floor, so i ran back to the elevator and smacked the button labeled 'garage'. the doors opened and i ran out, swerving between about a dozen different rolls royce's and bentleys, looking for a way out. i finally found a door, but none of the doors had handles. they were just walls that looked like doors and i had no idea how to make them open.
triple fuck.
i start freaking out, looking around expecting some kind of buffalo bill basterd waiting to skin my face off. i run around until i find a box with rows of little buttons labeled "door 1" thru "door 100". to the left of those buttons are 5 large "door1" thru "door 5" buttons. in a moment of panic, i decide, fuck it, and pound the large "door 1" button and the first garage door opens.
forrest gumps' got nothin' on me.
i'm a flash, a blur of color. i find my car, fumble my keys and throw stones as i tear out of their driveway. i pull into the closest gas station and never look back.
the moral of this story? never tell strangers your real occupation.
ONE HALLOWEEN EVE...
a few years back, i decided to take a trip to sarasota, florida. i missed the beach and really wanted to re-visit my old stomping grounds. so i purchased the plane ticket and i was off. not many people find a vacation by themselves all that appealing, but i couldn't think of anything better than a week off from everyone and everything i knew.
the first day i arrived was mainly just getting settled and wandering around. i re-visited my old apartment, the places i used to shoot the shit, and of course, took a few hours to stroll in the sand. it was beautiful. it was getting later and i was looking for a solid place to grab some seafood. i drove around and found this sort of off-the-map place i would go to occasionally. excellent food for a decent price and better yet, it was happy hour. i immediately ordered a couple of celebratory i'm-on-fucking-vacation! shots, some surf and turf and started bull shitting with the bartender, trying to find out what was happening the rest of the week.
the place started filling up as the hours passed. a typical, wealthy sarasota couple came in and sat next to me at the bar. the fella, stan, was mid 50's, heavy set, white button down shirt with grey and white chest hair climbing through the spaces between buttons. the gal, stella, was a few years older than him. typical older sarasota socialite. wearing all white, gaudy jewelry and mass amounts of botox. they started some small talk with me, once they saw that i was keeping the bartender entertained enough. it was light, fun and i kept them laughing, so they decided to buy me a couple drinks.
stella was already on her 2nd glass of wine and every time i cared to check, she was just staring at me.
"you have the most beautiful skin. it's just like porcelain. so firm, so flawless."
i laughed, nervously, in fear that if i hadn't broken up the words she may actually come over and start licking my cheek.
"thanks, i mean, i guess i don't break out a lot... are you going to get anything to eat?"
i wasn't sincerely interested when she started arguing with herself that she had planned on getting some soup because she hadn't eaten anything all day. she eventually decided that the calories in the wine would be enough of an intake.
stan piped in to announce that he would be getting a bowl of soup and a round of whatever shot i wanted. seeing that stella already had that glazed over look in her eyes, an obvious lightweight, i matched it with a round of macintosh apples. i'm an ass hole, but they are putting down the cash, so i ride.
the conversation started growing friendlier, as it tends to when alcohol is involved. and somehow the topic of marijuana came up. i believe it was during the following scenario:
stella: the wine is exquisite tonight.
stan: yeah, the bisque is perfect.
me: yeah, yeah, my drink is awesome, now i just need a joint!
the great thing about well-acted sarcasm is that you can really find out anything about people. and god bless it, with a face like mine involved, it's downright fucking endearing.
stan almost chokes on his dinner in a fit of laughter , but it's his wife who gives it away. her shit-eaten grin and false, delayed sense of shock show the obvious reaction of an intoxicated, guilty woman. i immediately know that there is a good chance that they have weed, and or, know where to purchase it. stan, dying to feel like the cool kid in high school, offers up a place we could go. he tells me about this huge drum circle that happens on the beach every sunday night (the very night we had come to meet).
"we can all go if you want. i will show you where it is, you can follow us. i just need to swing by our place to grab a couple of things before we go."
i don't think twice about it and next thing you know, we are at their house, nay, their mansion. stan asks me to wait outside with his wife while he runs in to get supplies. she tries to slur out a conversation about the shoes she had on while we waited in their driveway while i nod and check my email on my phone.
as she slurs on about how immaculate my glowing skin is, i begin to think twice. it ALWAYS comes way too late. i'm forever mistaking horrible decisions for adventure and spontaneity. i mean, i suppose this is kind of weird. i don't know these people, but what am i going to do, back out, now? all i know is i can't be making any rational decisions until i smoke. stan finally returns after i've been keeping his actually falling-down-drunk wife entertained with horrible redneck jokes i read on the internet. i can already tell she has the potential of becoming an angry drunk by her mannerisms, so i'm doing what i can to keep things light & innocent. stan hands me a small, tie-dye one hitter with Dead bears all over it, and tells me to try a sample. and in complete what the hell could happen? vacation mode, i take a hit and pass it to stella. for fucks sake, she needs this more than anyone.
needless to say, this shit was on fire. one hit and i was rocked. stan tells me he's going to drive so i can just leave my car there. he continues to hit the pipe on the way to the beach and feeds his wife a corona with lime. after about 15 minutes of driving, we arrive at the beach. it's dark and completely packed with all kinds of people. there's a circle dedicated for dancing and glow sticks, surrounded by shirtless men playing bongos. this is where it gets a little hazy. i think we stayed for about an hour, dancing and drinking the bottle of wine stan had brought along.
we eventually ended up back at their place and i found myself in a black and white room with 25' ceilings. each piece of furniture was a piece of art. it reminded me of Beetlejuice in most ways. there was no color to divert they eye, you just kind of, sunk in. mainly the thick, white shag rug covering the hardwood floor. no piece of furniture has ever been this comfortable. i kept running my hands over the soft texture, holding myself back from rubbing the side of my face all over it. stan scooped me up by the arm and told me we were taking the elevator to the ground floor, which housed an indoor pool & hot tub. every single room we passed was black and white, and perfectly immaculate. the lighting was cold and dim throughout the place and no part of it really felt lived in. they had quick price tags for each item that took my eye.
once we got to the pool room, stan packed another bowl and we smoked as i threw my shoes & socks off and dipped my feet in the warm pool. at this point, i was already so high that my eyes couldn't blink, even with extreme concentration. but i just though it rude for me not to partake, in their own home and everything. it circled around a couple times and stella excused herself to go get a drink.
the elevator door closed and i suddenly felt lighter. the air felt more breathable. i laid back to immerse myself in bliss. stan tried to break up my adored silence and asked me what i did for a living. at that time, i was doing taxes. he suddenly became incredibly intrigued by everything that came out of my mouth. his whole demeanor changed, like something just smacked him across his face.
"really? you work for the IRS?!"
his tone shook me a bit so i quickly laughed it off and told him that it was really just a small tax office in pennsylvania.
"oh... you live in pennsylvania? so you're just here on vacation? how long?"
"just for the week. i used to live here and i wanted to come back down and visit."
"oh, so you're here alone? you're not staying with anyone?"
ok, ok, i'm thinking twice.
i've seen my fair share of psychotic killers in movies & tv to know that these aren't details you tell some strange guy feeding you bowl hits by a huge pool of water in the middle of nowhere.
"yeah, you know, i just missed the beach, but i actually am meeting up with some old friends later tonight. they're actually expecting me soon..."
i suddenly felt like the victim in a lifetime movie. such a predictable response...
the paranoia came on like a tsunami. and seriously, what the fuck is taking her so long? in fear of stella growing suspicious, or sneaking up behind me to skin me and make my face her own, i suggest that we go up and make sure she's ok so that i can quickly thank them and run like hell.
i stand up and immediately fall back down, totally crippled by immense amounts of alcohol and illegal substances. the reality dawns on me that there's no way in hell i would be able to drive as i trip into the elevator.
"maybe you should stay here tonight" stan says, in a sincerely suggestive manner. i resist the urge to knock him out cold while screaming that i "will not be raped and murdered by the likes of you!" and simply respond, "no, i think i'm ok" as i blow my cover tripping out of the elevator.
FUCK.
we come up to find stella dancing with a glass of wine in her hand, listening to patsy cline. he runs over to her, swoops her up and starts dancing with her as i try to figure out how to lay down on the couch.
mid-spin stan asks "honey, did you know that our new friend here works for the IRS?"
she stops dancing and burns holes into me, catching herself and then laughs the most fake laugh you've ever heard.
"what? really...?"
i muster up some words, "no, no, not directly for the IRS, it's just this small tax office in pennsylvania, it's not like i have any kind of direct connections with the IRS."
the paranoia is palpable. she starts interrogating me, reiterating the same questions her husband had asked me moments earlier.
stella starts to crack. she turns to her husband with tears in her eyes saying, "she's seen our house, everything! we told her how much everything costs! this is a set up! she works for the IRS and she is here to FIND THINGS OUT! we are screwed! we are absolutely screwed, stan!"
double fuck.
i immediately snap into nurture mode. fearing for my life, and the insides of my stomach coming up all over their $25,000 sofa.
"listen to me, ok? i promise you that i am just here on vacation. i don't even want to know about any of your finances! you guys just seemed like fun, intelligent, inviting people and i wanted to get to know you. come on, we've been smoking pot together for christs sake! how could i possibly explain that to the IRS? this is ridiculous, look, we're all just stoned, ok? we're just letting paranoia get the better of us. lets just put on some good music and relax, ok?"
i quickly change the topic to music as i scan through the 500+ records in their white, vintage jukebox. i put on the first song that i recognize, elvis or something. the mood starts to mellow, but the air is still tense. stella sits down directly across from me as her eyes burn way to the wall behind me. she is brutally uncomfortable until stan coaks her into dancing with him again. i pretend to start to fall asleep on the sofa and they lead me to one of the guest rooms on the 4th floor.
the bedroom is all white and off white, with a pale bedside lamp. there were industrial feeling silver blinds on the full-wall windows and the door was frosted glass from floor to ceiling. you could still see through it a bit, but only shadows. stan told me i was welcome to stay as long as i needed to, shut off the light, and left the room. i laid in the bed trying to think of any way possible to sober up and get the hell out of there. i went into my personal bathroom and tried splashing some cold water on my face. that wasn't working, so i just laid back down on the bed. damn that bed was incredible. i passed right out.
a couple hours later, i woke up, confused and disoriented, but quickly reminded myself where i was and pulled myself together. i grabbed my keys and headed to the door to make sure the coast was clear to sneak out. i didn't see any movement when i peaked my head out, but i noticed that the room across the hall had a figure standing behind the door. i pulled my head back in and decided to walk out casually. like i was just going to get a drink or something and was too hazy to even notice someone watching from behind the door, waiting for me to emerge from my room. i rounded a corner to a stairwell and ran for it.
it didn't take long to realize that i was completely lost in this mansion and had no idea how to get out. i also had no idea what floor stan and stella were on, and for that matter, anyone else who might be in this place and the excuse i might have to come up with.
after running into about 6 dead ends, i finally found an elevator. i opened the gate and jumped in, feeling one step closer to home free. i took it down to the ground floor where i quickly jumped out to search for an exit. after looking for what felt like hours, i realized i was back in the pool room. there were no doors on this floor, so i ran back to the elevator and smacked the button labeled 'garage'. the doors opened and i ran out, swerving between about a dozen different rolls royce's and bentleys, looking for a way out. i finally found a door, but none of the doors had handles. they were just walls that looked like doors and i had no idea how to make them open.
triple fuck.
i start freaking out, looking around expecting some kind of buffalo bill basterd waiting to skin my face off. i run around until i find a box with rows of little buttons labeled "door 1" thru "door 100". to the left of those buttons are 5 large "door1" thru "door 5" buttons. in a moment of panic, i decide, fuck it, and pound the large "door 1" button and the first garage door opens.
forrest gumps' got nothin' on me.
i'm a flash, a blur of color. i find my car, fumble my keys and throw stones as i tear out of their driveway. i pull into the closest gas station and never look back.
the moral of this story? never tell strangers your real occupation.
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