I went to Canada.
HORRIFYING, right? Nah, Canada is great. Except for how clean it is. And that goofy accent. And how overwhelmingly polite everyone is. Other than that, it's great! Plus, poutine!!!
Whatever. I'm getting off track. My Sister lives in Nova Scotia and for funsies booked us a hotel room in Halifax so we could play tourist and explore the waterfront and the city. Which, by the way, is one of my favorite cities and if you ever get the chance, tour the city on one of these little ditties.
Which we totally did. It's an hour long tour that takes you through the streets of Halifax where you learn all kinds of nifty stuff and then it plunges into the harbor (excuse me, harbour. when in Rome and all) for the second half of the tour.
My beautiful Sis pretending being the middle daughter didn't scar her forever.
Saint Mary's Cathedral Basilica consecrated October 19, 1899
Old Burying Ground founded in 1749. The only picture of mine that won't upload is of the Burying Ground. Naturally.
Halifax has been around for awhile and has an absolutely fascinating history which includes receiving the bodies of the deceased from the Titanic while the survivors went to New York.
With all of this history, I can't help but wonder if it had anything to do with what I experienced the night of September 28 in our hotel room in Halifax, directly facing the waterfront.
Sis and I were sharing the king size bed and after watching The Voice or something equally mind-numbing, she dozed off to blissful tranquility. I normally have a pretty difficult time getting to sleep and this night was no exception. I turned on my bedside lamp and cracked open my book. Wicked, by the way. Awesome-sauce. Definitely getting tickets if it ever comes back to Salt Lake.
I eventually feel my eyelids getting heavy so I close my book, shut off the lamp, and snuggle in for sleep.
I'm not sure how long I was out but I was ripped from my slumber by the most anguished, desperate, bloodcurdling scream I've ever heard.
The sound terrified me so furiously that I started screaming. And then I saw it. Or him. At the foot of the bed. Leering towards me was the dark outline and face of a man who seemed to stay at the foot of the bed yet hover closer to my face simultaneously.
The screaming wouldn't stop.
It seemed to be the exact second that I realized the screaming was coming from my own raw throat that I heard my Sister say, "Dawn. I'm here".
My eyes had already been open but it wasn't until I turned and looked at her that I really saw her. I threw both arms around her and willed my heart to stop trying to gallop it's way out of my chest long enough for me to try to figure out what the effing hell just happened.
I have never been more uncontrollably terrified in my entire life.
She said I simply started screaming and she tried four times to say my name but she couldn't get any words out. She said her voice just wouldn't come out. I asked how many times I'd screamed and her response of "at least 5" made me glance at the hotel door waiting for security to come pounding. It had been such a gorgeous night, we'd left the windows open and I was positive someone would have heard the murderous ruckus.
No one knocked on the door. No one called the room. I still have no idea what happened to me that night but I do know one thing.
If you're going to get yourself murdered, don't do it in a hotel in Halifax.