Eerie go again

On Saturday my ex-stepmom B and I drove up the New Hampshire and Maine coasts, stopping to spend the night in an adorable motel in Yarmouth. It was a winding single-story motel with about 12 or so total rooms. After dinner, B decided to drive into Falmouth for a Contra Dance. Which is basically a square-dance spin-off that's got a small cult following nationwide. I decided to stay behind with, as everyone has probably already guessed, a book. And I'm okay with that.

Except that once B left the motel and I tucked myself into the antique maplewood twin bed, I started having flashbacks to that movie Identity. Where all the people get picked off one by one at the roadside motel during the rainstorm by a stalker/killer/demon? To distract myself I watched a Lifetime Movie Network special about babies switched at birth. But my mind kept whirling. John Cusack. Dead bodies. John Cusack. More dead bodies. Mutilated bodies. More John Cusack.

I was up until B came back. And when she came back she scared the shit out of me, because she didn't have a key and so she knocked on the door and when I put my ear up to it, heart pounding, and asked who it was, she didn't answer. "Who else would it be?" she wondered when I finally let her in after I'd climbed up on a chair and peeked through the window blinds until I could make a positive ID. Oh, just ask the corpses from Identity. They'll tell you who else it could be.

Survival of the most vigilant, my friends. That's all I have to say.