The California Zephyr recently carried me to Lake Michigan, back to the homes of old friends. After several rounds of playing blocks, an icy waltz along the lakeshore, and a bout of starry space tears at the Planetarium, it was time to shake a leg. Open seating on a southbound Megabus found me next to an Alabama pastor, who I invited to practice his Sunday sermon. "Who's knocking on the door to your heart? If it isn't Jesus, who are you letting in?"
Overshadowing other misadventures on this trip was the exploration of an Indiana haunted house. We found ourselves there after misinterpreting the waterlogged clues to a cemetery geocache. Both of us being ghost believers, my brother and I never intended to breach the threshold of the screen door. There, a cemented and graying swan planter guarded double doorways. Beneath a toothy awning, the doors drew parallels to the house's memory of double suicide. We stepped over the swan to investigate further.
Not without thudding hearts, my brother and I survived that day. A note to haunted house explorers: Never read aloud found scraps of biblical verse in the house. Conjuring might occur.
Ghost survival is thrilling, so we spent the rest of the day building secrets to hide in the floorboards. We did this for the detriment of our friends, with hopes of baiting them into the realm of the supernatural. Luckily for them, our intended fall guys ended up finding salvation in the night's flash flood warning instead.
Below are some photos from the Zephyr adventure plus a bonus train poem.
What’s been taken for granted
Vivid spectrum might make you cry
Lookout where you’ve landed
Whiteout conditions let slip breath’s sigh
Contrasting wings strike remote blue sky
In the nooks of canyons
Ruby Red banded, your shadows belie
Tick of time’s hard handling
Clear pane peering, might help to untie