Very entertaining. Even the bad acting-- I love it.
Ok, so the other day, Saint Misty and Saint Brittney came to the house to help me. They come twice a week and make me look good. They're saints because, let's be honest, I have three kids and am researching a murder. The house implodes without them.
Misty sent me a text that said......
Sand? Ok, that could be anything. Good news: the house was built in 1916 and anything can be in these walls.
Also, there are six or sixteen decorative fireplaces in this house. All but one have a beautiful cast iron plate over the firebox.
All but one.
And it is in the girls room.
Of course it is in the girls room.
Paranormal activity never happens in the master bedroom, always the nursery.
Trust me, I watch true paranormal TV. I am practically an expert.
Smartly, I do not mention this in front of the girls, rather, I slip my phone to Husband and says, "No big deal. I'll check it out."
Nothing is ever a big deal to him, it's like he deals in life of death situations on a daily basis.
It is getting close to bedtime and Husband is getting Fuzzy into footy jammies and the girls are not getting the PJs on that I have so kindly asked of them to place on their bodies about 632 times in the last hour.
We have dead bodies stuffed in the insulation and they'll learn to listen to Mama one way or the other.
Whoops, spoiler alert.
I walk into the girls room, it's like I was drawn in there while I waited for Husband to finish stuffing the sausage into the casing, or the child into the zip-up jammies.
Hand to God, I could hear music.
And then the wind blew.
It was windy the other night, so that should not have been a surprise.
Behind the two chairs and stool that Misty placed in front of the fireplace without a cover were no decorative logs that are normally there.
The decorative logs were... gone.
Instead, there was a black Hefty outdoor trash bag that was in its place.
A black Hefty outdoor trash bag had fallen out of the chimney.
Y'all-- that is the start of all true crime and true paranormal TV. Unsolved Mysteries from the 80s? Yes. It's like they teach murderers in Murder 101 how to hide bodies:
Step 1: Look for a shower curtain.
Step 2: Can't find a shower curtain? Well, get a Black Hefty trash bag and some kitchen gloves.
Hefty trash bags should be advertised on the dark web.
Remember Wilbur? When Brother "saw" the snake? Oh, he had nothing on me. I was not even high stepping, I was flying out of that room.
"Honey. Honey. Honey. Honey. Um, Husband. HUSBAND! There is a black trash bag that fell out of the chimney. Like, It. Fell. You need to, uh. Listen, I'll get Fuzzy in jammies [he was already in jammies] and you can, well, you can go look at the bag. NOW."
Like I said, it's not like he deals with life and death on a daily basis.
Last night on call? Dealing with life. Today at home? Dealing with death.
He rolled his eyes.
I was wide-eyed.
It was crazy. This could be such a great tie-in to my Hickman Murder. My mind, while completely melted with the thought of having to call the police of the certainty of dead bodies in my walls, was starting to reel with how I can place this scene on page 77.
Husband casually walked into the girls room, saw the Black Hefty and looked back at me.
I ducked behind the wall. Those people who first went into the Pharaoh's pyramid died from inhaling dead body dust or something. Fuzzy ran out to join him, I collared him and pulled him back.
"Save yourself. Women and children first." was my thought. The girls were safe, distracted from the fact they still had not put on the pajamas I had requested. Thank GOODNESS they didn't listen.
Husband pulled out his pocketknife, flicks it open, gets down on his hands and knees and wrestles the bag out of the chimney.
It. Is. Heavy.
And I am dying slowly watching the train wreck that is about to become my evening and my house.
We are going to have to dismantle this chimney and start breaking into walls. Will insurance pay for this? The city? Is the FBI going to get involved? Is this an HH Holmes house?
When the skin of a body decays, does it become dust? Does it just fall off? I was about to find out. This was a black Hefty trash bag and it was stuffed in a chimney.
He slices the bag open.
I'm peering from the around the corner, eyes wide shut.
The girls are playing in the bathroom, still not in PJs.
Fuzzy is hacked because he wants not to be with me.
I will, never forget this moment.
He rips open the side and pulls out insulation.
The precious previous owner was too cheap to insulate the house or did not know that stuffing trash bags up chimneys full of newspaper and insulation would not be effective.
Stuffing dead bodies into Hefty trash bags and then up chimneys is the way to insulate old homes.