I'll Never Move Out of Salem....Again!

There was a time within my 600 years of living in Salem I just had to get out of town. You only can live in a place for 300 years before things get stale. At that point, you only can make croutons out of your life.


So I moved to Danvers. Right into the old Poor Estate. You know the one on the corner of Poplar and Maple with the giant beech tree in the yard. Lemon chiffon. Somebody must of cornered the market on that color in Danvers. Every other house on any block in Danvers was that horrible color with giant lawn rats stalking to the right and left of the front door. Lawn rats, those giant purple rhododendrons. Boy did those two colors clash.

Frank Poor of Sylvania Light Bulbs


One thing I could be happy for with the Poor Estate, it had no lawn rats. The rest is another story.

See Frank Poor was the founder of Sylvania Light Bulbs. Imagine that, he would rise up in the world to be a millionaire and always remain a Poor man. What a kicker. But, I can tell you one thing. He was a very poor spirit.
When I moved into the servants quarters attached to the main house, where the carriage house once stood, I met his mistress. Granted she was dead for over 50 years, but that did not stop her from hitting on me right after Claire had left for the bathroom in the morning.


See I thought Claire had just come back from brushing her teeth when I felt someone nuzzle my neck. A light peck and she proceeded to pat me across my belly to ascertain how wide I was. Then she rolled over me and nuzzled the other side of my neck. I opened my eyes and she was gone. I got out of bed and walked to bathroom to find Claire in there trying to fish out another ear ring she dropped down the drain.

Before I moved in I was warned about Frank's mistress. She had been heard walking up and down the back stairs of the main house for over a decade now. The Boy Scouts who owned this house, years after Poor, moved out of the mansion because of her. When I resided there it was multi-unit aparment dwelling. She even sat on my friends chest and tried to molest her, not letting her move for an hour!

Now a week goes by and I was sitting in bed with Claire one morning when said to Claire, "You believe this woman has been waiting for over 50 years for that idiot to leave his wife. Not including the amount of time she had wasted while she was still alive!"

I thought I was helping her move on with her afterlife. I was wrong. I insulted her...

Well soon after thatClaire and I got our own place together. See Claire was living out of canvas bags visiting me and occasionally only going home to feed her birds when they got hungry. This would be our first place together. Across the street from a graveyard...in Salem. It just happened that a famous son of a horror author was living on the other side of the graveyard.

Well things started to go wrong. Ever Saturday at 2 PM in the winter we would start to leave the house, but we would never make it. Claire would start an argument that would run an hour up and hour down. That is what finally ended our relationship as we were driving down 128 when I asked her to pull over and let me off in Burlington. I found out the hard way that a half hour drive equaled an 8 hour walk. I started my walk at 2:30 for the argument had run a half hour already and I had enough. The argument started at 2 PM.

Afterward I checked my book on Angels and Demons and found a chart of the hours. Hours in which certain demons take turns screwing with people. I found out that Sandiel would wile her up at 2 PM every Saturday and Camele would tweak her out from 3PM to 4PM. If we missed an argument on Saturday they would attack her at 5PM and 6PM on Sunday. Just as the chart had said for Sunday.

Two assholes

Now she was not the only girlfriend I had that demonic duo screwed with. Women who got drunk, got insecure, who zoned out, or just wanted to jump out of their skin unwillingly let them jump right in. Even strangers on the dance floor would be their puppets to screw with me if they had too much to drink. The same personality with a thousand different faces. It was them.


They loved this one spot in between Derby Wharf and English Street near the Salem Ferry. They would posses random women and begin to hit on me. They acted like Pine Flies. They would attack your ass only within a certain area within a well defined area with an exact beginning and ending point. Soon as they passed the curb break and touched English Street they quickly made an excuse and ran home.

They even ruined another relationship I had with this nymphomaniac shaman within the first two months.

I was attending my friends concert at the Decordava Museum in Lincoln. While I was waiting for my friend, the Griot, to start playing his drums I strolled through the museum. There was this show highlighting the personal lives of painted women. The picture that stroked me the most was this particular one where the photographer was on the stage take a shot from the height of a group of strippers ankles looking into the crowd of young men watching them dance. It was ingenious to turn the camera back on the audience. The mistress had convinced this hazy eyed shaman I was dating that she had seen me through her minds eye at a strip club! I even sent her a copy of the photograph and she still would not believe me.

Looking from stripers ankles into crowd.


So twelve years had passed since the day I thought I had helped the mistress move on with her after life. I was wrong. She still loved and believed in this man.

One night I was in Christine's bed when a man outside the window started to yell, "Not Tonight tomorrow night! Not Tonight tomorrow night. Not tonight tomorrow night. Not tonight tomorrow night......" for an hour straight! It started at the witching hour, 3AM.

I bet you did not know that. 12PM my ass.
The next night at 3AM Christine went out on her back deck to smoke a cigarette when a drunk two houses down threw a beer bottle upside her head at, 3AM.

That is when the double date tipped their hat. It is said demon's are not born of this world. They need someone living or dead born of our world to work through. Sandele and Camen ( You never give the demons a permanent name after you have vanquished them. Names lead to existence.) latched to Frank Poor and his mistress to haunt me.

So after Christine recouped and came back to bed, I went to work. After 12 years they had tipped their hat...Now I knew the name Rumpelstiltskin. I disintegrated the two pairs. A half hour of concentration and they were done. Soon after that I left Christine for those within her were legion.

Now the next time you sneak into the Hawthorne Hotel to use their bathroom, don't forget to go and get you complimentary cup of coffee. When you do, look up and salute the portrait above for me. Just give the man with the little beady eyes the one finger salute. For you will be staring right at him, the man who had haunted me for 12 years, Frank Poor, with the his nameless mistress. He had built the Hawthorne Hotel on the ashes of the Salem Marine Society.

That expedition to Danvers was the last time I ever called anywhere outside of Salem home. Never again! Never...