I’m visiting my friend right now in her 18th century home she’s restoring where the lights don’t work in one part of the house, creeping to the bathroom like some sort of haunt, feeling for the walls with rising dread, utterly lost in the perfect darkness, like Jonathan Harker in Dracula’s castle, if Jonathan Harker were the sort of person to trip and stand there cringing in the night as his can of trader joe’s sparkling rhubarb-strawberry juice bangs all the way down the oaken staircase, one step at a time, the cacophony of a freight train, and then proceed to practically crawl through the remaining dark to the bathroom for a washcloth, to wipe up the trader joe’s sparkling rhubarb-strawberry juice before it can soak into the wood floor, with the fevered terror of lady macbeth hallucinating blood on her hands
you may ask why I didn’t use my phone flashlight and why I decided to take my can of trader joe’s sparkling rhubarb-strawberry juice with me to the bathroom in utter darkness at the precipice of the steepest staircase ever contrived
and to that I say, Jonathan Harker was also kind of stupid
you might think the average candelabra being 3-ish pounds (1.4 kg) is light enough but have you ever carried a candelabra in one hand at night in the cold annals of a haunted manor in naught but your summer pajamas? bc I have and it gets heavy really fast.
and if I can’t be trusted with a can of trader joe’s sparkling rhubarb-strawberry juice, an open flame is questionable at BEST
staying at this house again and I just fell down the fucki ng stairs
amhrancas 