Abandoned Party House

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“Wrong Turns Write Life”

A storm allowed us to nap away the afternoon before a second morning, so to speak, opened our eyes and the floodgates back to the beach. It was summer in The Outer Banks, and we had a little beach house that opened to the Atlantic Ocean. It was everything we thought it would be and more.

That night, we sat around the dinner table and played the board game Clue. In the middle of the whodunit mystery, another mystery began to unfold with a knock at our door. Mind you, it’s dark, and we left our curtains open with lights on, advertising here’s a vulnerable family of four.

I looked through the front door window at what could only be described as charming young Charlie Manson. He smiled and asked me to step outside to talk with him. I answered that we were already talking; what did you need?

He insisted I step outside.

I looked left and right to see if anyone else lurked in the shadows, and then I asked again what he needed.

He said he was from next door and wanted to let me know he was throwing a party. He would also like to give me his cell phone number in case I need to complain about the noise to him.

“No worries. Have fun,” I replied and that was the end of that.

But then, as we went back to trying to solve a murder, I grew suspicious. A family like ours was on one side of us, and a vacant house on the other. I looked at the vacant house. It was dark, silent, and empty. I wondered if ole Charlie was casing random vacationers to scam in some way, so I decided to call the police to see if any others had called about such a situation.

“No, but we’re sending a patrol car over,” the dispatcher said.

“No-no, that’s unnecessary,” I said.

A police officer showed up anyway. I explained Charlie’s claim and then pointed at the dead house next door. The police officer investigated underneath our house. Beach houses were set up on stilt-like structures so storm surges could flow under them.

Nothing.

The cop left, and soon after, my son saw Charlie returning.

“Did you call the cops on me?” He demanded.

“Nope, not me,” I lied through my teeth to settle him down. “But a policeman did stop to ask questions.”

“So, you did call?”

“No.”

He scratched his head and left.

Now we’re turning off lights and peeking out windows. Next door, lights came on, music cranked up, cars and people arrived, and a party kicked off near Midnight and lasted until 4am. Then the place turned silent and dark again, and some stragglers hauled away a bunch of trash bags, leaving no clue behind.

The place stayed empty the rest of the week. Go figure.

Out on the beach the next day, we befriended a group of families that were on the other side of the abandoned party house. They weren’t happy vacationers after Charlie’s party kept them awake until close to daybreak. I guess Charlie didn’t give them his number.

By Frank Rocco Satullo, The OhioTraveler, Your Tour Guide to Fun! 

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“Wrong Turns Write Life”

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