touched by immaturity: visit to the storms

If you are going to ask me how Wheaton is, or worse, why i haven’t been posting on this site lately, I’ll sympathize ignore you. Because first I have to relate a circumstance that occurred while we were visiting our epic and dear friends the Storms in the Yeti-dominated state of Wisconsin.

I was in the basement with the usual suspects, at Late-O’clock Saturday evening. We should have been winding down, but there were important matters at hand–and we had consumed a drop to many.

(by that I mean this: we had dug a canal between Lake Michigan and a volcano, and had dressed up as Indians and robbed an English cargo ship of its Tea, dumped it into the said volcano, and enjoyed the largest pot of Earl Grey the world will ever see. Then went to Alterra. Then went back to Storms Manor and consumed mass amounts of coffee and tea. To say that we were having a slight buzz would be an understatement of colossal proportions [author’s note: I’ve always wanted to say that]).

So we were awake and making deep dark plans for world dominance (Life, Libertea, and the  pursuit of Kung-Fu Excellence). My friends Estelle and Marguerite were there, being the moral conscience of the group and thus ever-ignored. My friend Caytie was there: in her favor, she’s a fine girl, although a few feathers short of a pillow: She has bad taste in internet videos and she hates coffee and loves her phone. My siblings Ben and Hannah were there, under my orders. Jes had sneaked in and heard too much, so they had tied her up and were holding her feet to a lightbulb until she talked.

Nicole and David Charpentier were there, and had constructed an instant coffee-fueled slingshot to send Jason Storms back upstairs if he tried to wreck the espionage [the author loves using this word].

We had just designed the plan for takeover complete with bell-curves, pro/con graphs,  some pie charts, and some normal pie.

Robert Breaud had passed downstairs remarking that he was going to bed. We shrugged and worked on.

We solicited the manpower for our plan from upstairs: Jon Storms (not the Human Torch. We shot him) and his sisters Alio and Juliet.They added liveliness to the evening.

We had given up the living room so Trey and Candace could rest. But Robert came in again and remarked, “I’m. Going. To. Bed. Now.”

We wondered at his odd insertion of periods and shrugged, wishing him a sweet dream within and dream within a dream, within a dream, until the plot line of our own goodnight confused us.

We brought in hyper-caffeinated Darby to be our vindictive counselor: she suggested things that the rest of us were afraid to say. We were making good plans, and a large amount of noise (Jes was screaming, I think, and I was fighting with David about his comments regarding my haircut).  We were playing some Nickel Creek music (their little-known techno record).

All of the sudden, something strange and inexplicable occurred:

[little ones, do not read. All others, sit down, take a deep breath, go to the bathroom, take all necessary scare-proof precautions before reading.]

We saw…the Ghost of Storms Manor!!!

huge, he was. Over 60 inches tall, draped in black cloud that seemed to fill the room, which was all-silent expect for our screams of horror and Jes’s confession of guilt. The apparition gazed at us with red eyes and grimaced with his unearthly, bearded face that looked amused, but we knew it to be the amusement of a monster. It spoke, it deep, loud tones which echoed throughout the room:

“I am the dwead Pirate Robert!! [screams] My men are here! I am here! but soon, you will not be here! the dwead pirate Robert, leaves no survivors!”

By this time, our evil-plot coalition had descended to little more than frightened toddlers. This, my friends, was not just any ghost. Our stress wasn’t alleviated-

“The Dwead Pirate Robert, is here for your souls!!!!!!!”

With that, we did not pass “GO” or collects however-much-your-edition-says: we ran like rabbits, leaving our friends, our tea, Robert Breaud, and anything else that chose to stay to a miserable fate.

I’ve never been inclined to believe ghost stories. But in light of the above, what can anyone say?

  1. #1 by Matt on July 14, 2011 - 7:29 pm

    I can say that you are a wierdo.

  2. #2 by hannah on July 14, 2011 - 8:33 pm

    ExCCCCCCCCUUUUUUUUUUse me??? You’re such a stinker, Binker. That was not at all how it happened. As I remember, you were the scared rabbit, and the Dwead Piwate Robert came out of the woods and made David and Darby scream.

  3. #3 by Emily on July 14, 2011 - 11:43 pm


  4. #4 by Gertrude on July 15, 2011 - 8:32 am

    . . . I suppose I can say you are awesome. I should like to know what really happened sometime 😀

  5. #5 by Heather C Brandon on July 15, 2011 - 4:44 pm

    As always, Jacob, ‘what planet are you from?’ God had such an imagination in adding you to this mix of humanity. Thanx for not being ordinary.
    Oh, and I find most kung fu insipid, but someone in our church lent us a kung fu movie that caught my attention in my goings back & forth across the living room. It was called IP Man. It was actually historical & the best end of a kung fu movie I’ve ever seen. (I’ve never seen the beginnings.)

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