It was not to be.
Fat, heavy Raindrops
Philip offered a choice to the ghost story followers, brave it out or come on home to his cottage. It was a unanimous decision to spend the rest of the evening in his parlor. By the time we scurried down Howard Street and into the gate to Miss Aliph's, the sky burst into fireworks.
We lit candles and lanterns as folks sat on chairs and on the floor. Droplets of cool rain water
beaded around faces caught under the spell of soft yellow candlelight as Philip's stories
made eyebrows rise and folks huddle close together. He sat in the chair from the shipwreck, the Ariosto, as he wove together history and ghost stories.
When the evening was over, we sent them out into the darkness to make their way to cottages and rented rooms. As for us, we sat out on the pizer with a glass of wine and watched the remnants of the storm pass out to sea.
You can read our latest newsletter here. It's the story of the Invasion of Ocracoke & Portsmouth in the War of 1812.