I was reading some articles about the doomed Franklin Expedition and the wrecks of the HMS Terror and the HMS Erebus and in one of these articles I came across this line:
An Inuit hunter from a settlement on King William Island led archeologists to the Terror.
This is where that little voice in my head says, ” you know, you can stop reading now…really Anita- are you listening? STOP READING RIGHT NOW.
Haunted Houses, Cursed bloodlines, Cemeteries full of crypts and shadows hold no fear for me.
But when it comes to the idea of Ship Wrecks and bodies lost at Sea, Ghost Ships, Light Houses and that hissing sound the Sea makes when it washes across the rocks and sand, and the fog creeping up from the Seat to the beach, these things scare me half to death.
When I have nightmares about ships, I will sleep with the light on for the rest of the night. That’s a fact.
But it hasn’t stopped me from reading articles or books about the Franklin Expedition.I’m not sure why I’m less likely to treat Ghost Ships or Souls lost at Sea as lightly as I do other things of the Supernatural so I will leave you with this true story.
When I was little we lived in Hawaii and our house was near the bluffs.
Sometimes I would go out at night, climb a macadamia nut tree and shout out towards the
” You can’t get me up here! Ha ha on you! You can’t get me up here! “
I was told that once I was asked who couldn’t get me up here and I said,
” The Water People.”
When I say I was asked once, I mean I was only asked once. Nobody ever asked me who
the Water people were ever again.
The Terror Trapped In Ice
HMS Terror, found in a bay off King William Island, Nunavut. (Arctic Research Foundation)
HMS Erebus passing through the chain of bergs, 1842
John Torrington’s Coffin Stoker on board The HMS Terror
Tatiana- never call her Tat, or Ana- and when you say her name you better let it roll off of your tongue so that you sound like you’re standing on a corner somewhere in Italy with marble statues of God and Goddesses on every corner because Tatiana hates fake things.
I guess that’s why Tatiana hates that dog much. It’s a designer dog, one of those dogs that are bred with a purebreds from two different breeds to come up with a dog with the desired attributes.
In my wife’s mind, that is as tasteless and tactless as Biscotti that has been baked in Vietnam and shipped to the corner Mini Mart where you can get flavored cappuccino whipped up in a flash from a cart out front with an Italian Flag same on the front.
So last night Tatiana zips up our driveway, I mean she’s coming in hot.
” Franklin!” I hear her screaming from the inside of her car before the engine is even off. ” Franking get the hell out here NOW!”
So of course I get out there and Tatiana is out of her car and looking at the front of her car. ” Fucking dog! That fucking dog got in my way and look at this, look at my baby Franklin!”
Tatiana’s baby was hurt alright, the bumper and her headlight were a twisted mess of blood and metal.
” Damn, Where?”
Tatiana points to the end of the drive where the mailbox is. ” In the ditch. “I hold out my hand and my wife throws her keys at me and as I turn away from her and her baby- her darling Fulvia coupe Tatiana flies into a rage ” Where are you going?”
I walk back up to our garage, punch a button on the Fob and the garage door slides open. I go in and grab a shovel and some gardening gloves and a tarp.
” I’m going to clean up your baby’s mess.”
” It’s a dog Franklin! What the hell is the matter with you? Look at my car- oh and don’t worry. I’m fine. Franklin, it’ just a dog. Leave it. It’s just a dog. Let that low life piece of trash clean up his mutt. It’s just a mongrel you know. A mongrel with a fancy name that he paid to much money for. Pretentious fool.”
I ignore her and start walking towards the road.
Tatiana chases after me, which I do marvel at because Tatiana is short and has always worn heels high enough to give most people nosebleeds. ” I mean it, it’s a mongrel let the city clean it up.”
We are at the ditch and the neighbor dog broken and twisted. At first I thought half of it’s face was gone, but then I realized it was there, it was a pulpy mess but it was still there.
” It’s a mongrel Franklin. Let the city handle it, it’s what we pay our taxes for.”
Ever obiendient, plus I think it’s hot when Tatiana throws her tantrums, I follow her back to the house.
The neighbor dog- other people called her Malaya McLeod who was probably out on her nightly power walk to get her steps in, is dead in a ditch at the end of our driveway and I am sure that the city and their vaious departments will be visiting us soon, like Tatiana said to clean it up.