One morning, Darrin woke up to discover that his wife was not in bed next to him. This wasn't unusual. Samantha often got up before him to make breakfast. Darrin rose, put on his robe, and made his way to the bathroom in their bedroom to take a leak and wash up. The bathroom door was closed, but unlocked. When he opened it, the sight that met his eyes jolted his sleepy brain into full alertness- and fury.
Samantha was sitting on the inner edge of the bathtub in her nightgown and robe, skimming nonchalantly through the pages of the Cosmopolitan while a handless razor floated magically up and down her soapy legs. Immediately, Darrin's eyes bulged and his mouth gaped open.
"SAMANTHAAAA!"
He startled her so badly that she jumped almost right out of her skin, causing the razor to knick her.
So began World War Three. How unfortunate that it had to begin only two decades after World War Two. And all because Darrin caught his wife shaving her legs with witchcraft.
The passage of ten minutes found Darrin in the kitchen still lecturing his wife on how there was to be absolutely no use of witchcraft in his house whatsoever while she tried to scramble eggs, gritting her teeth, about to boil over like an overheated pot of water.
"HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU," he bellowed, "that we are supposed to be a NICE, NORMAL FAMILY, and NICE, NORMAL families do things the NICE, NORMAL way?! I thought you were commited to this, Sam! Didn't you make a promise to me when we got married?! Huh? NO MORE WITCHCRAFT?! REMEMBER? Doesn't that mean anything to you?"
"Well, I- "
Darrin ran her words right over. "And furthermore, why do you always have to leave the cupboard doors open?! You always leave the cupboard doors open! One day, one of us is gonna smack our head open on those open cupboard doors and get a concussion! Are you really so lazy that you can't bother to close them?! And when you do close them, I bet you do it with witchcraft, DON'T YOU?!"
Sam turned around and silently fixed Darrin with an icy glare for what seemed like a full minute. Then, she finally snapped.
"Cook your OWN breakfast!" She shoved the spatula she'd using into Darrin's hands and began storming out of the kitchen faster than the Looney Tunes roadrunner.
Only, she never made it out of the kitchen. In her anger, she wasn't paying attention to where she was headed. She walked right into the cupboard door she had (again) left open and smacked her head on it so hard that she knocked herself unconscious.
Then she began to dream.
…
"Well, I was right. Your powers appear to be gone for good."
"Dr. Bombay… that can't be right! Are you positive?"
"The test confirmed it. I'm one-hundred percent positive."
"Oh… Oh, my stars…"
Samantha sunk to the couch and let her head fall into her hands, trying to let the awful news sink in.
A week ago, her powers had begun malfunctioning. A few days later, they stopped working entirely. Dr. Bombay had been by a couple times in the week to try and fix the problem. He gave her this remedy and that, tried several different spells, but nothing had worked. Finally, he ran some tests, which had brought him to the awful verdict he'd just given Sam.
"But how?" Samantha asked, stunned and confused.
Dr. Bombay tried his best to explain. "You remember back in May when your powers weren't working? I told you it was because you hadn't been using them enough ever since you've been married to What's-His-Face, and they were simply stopped up. I told you levitation was the cure. You levitated overnight, and by morning, your powers were back. Right?"
"Right. I remember."
"Well, it seems even after that little scare, you still haven't been using your powers enough. They got stopped up again, and then, because you were using them too infrequently, they dried up completely. You pushed the limits over the brink and now your powers are gone for good. You're now no more magical than that mortal husband of yours."
"Oh… my…" Sam breathed. It was all she could bring herself to say. The news was too much.
"Well, I don't see why you're so upset," Bombay said, "Isn't this what you've always wanted? To give up your witchly ways and live as a normal boring mortal with What's-His-Face for the rest of your unnatural life?"
"Well, yes, but… I never wanted to lose my powers. I still wanted them here, but… I just wouldn't use them, for Darrin's sake. I still wanted to keep them because… my powers, it's who I am. Isn't it?"
"I see," Bombay said, scribbling notes and not really listening.
"Dr. Bombay, you're sure there's no fix for this?"
Dr. Bombay was sure.
After he left, Sam went up to the bedroom. She sat pensively on the edge of the bed and stared at her own reflection in the mirror.
What am I now? Am I still a witch? She let out a long, contemplative sigh. Of course I'm a witch. I'll always be a witch. Even without my powers. No one can ever take that away from me. She sat up a little straighter.
But then the sudden thought of another pressing issue dragged her down again. She reached down and pulled up the cuff of her long white pants. Ugh.
Her legs were hairier than they'd ever been (except for when was thirteen and first started growing leg hair and was too embarrassed to ask her mother to teach her the shaving spell for a whole month). That was the thing- she didn't know how to shave her legs the normal, mortal way. It was the one thing she'd been doing with witchcraft this whole time behind Darrin's back. She was too afraid to try it the mortal way because she was afraid of cutting herself. She couldn't bring herself to try.
For now, she could just wear long pants and leggings under her skirts to cover it up. But this was a nuisance, because it was already summer and the days were very warm. Oh, well. You can't have it all, can you?
…
"AAAAGH!" Samantha groaned. It was Tabatha's lunchtime, and Sam was doing battle with jar of strawberry jam she just could not get open. She twisted and pulled and grunted until her hands hurt, but was getting no action. She'd been trying for two minutes at least. Before she lost her powers, she had always opened new jars with witchcraft because they were always sealed so tight. Now that she had no magic, jars were a struggle. Finally, she resigned. She took the jar and began flumping her way to the den, where Darrin was drawing up some new ad idea sketches.
Yes, flumping. A month had passed since Dr. Bombay had given Sam the news that her powers were gone for good- and over a month since the last time she had shaved her legs. The hair on her legs had grown like a weed. And like a depraved nightmare (that's what this is, ain't it?), it wouldn't stop growing. Samantha had become the Rapunzel of leg hair. Both her legs now resembled two pale furry bushes, or Cousin Itt when it rained and his hair frizzed. Her legs were buried underneath inches of thick, furry, flaxen leg hair. Whenever she walked, it made a flump, shhh, flump, shhh, flump, shhh sound as the hair on her respective legs brushed against each other.
"Darrin?" Sam called softly as she poked her head through the den door. Darrin was hunched over his drafting table with pencil and eraser in hand. When he heard her, he stopped working and looked up.
"Come on in, honey."
"Darrin, could you open this jar for me please? I'm making Tabatha's sandwich and I just can't seem to get it open."
Darrin twisted the jar of jam open with ease and handed it back to her. She thanked him.
"You sure are having a lot of trouble opening jars lately," he commented.
"Um, yes." Nervous chuckle. "Sweetheart, do you mind if I just get the mop from the closet over here? Then I'll be out of your way."
"The mop? What do you need the mop for?"
"Well, I have to mop the kitchen floor. It's looking a little dirty."
Darrin looked her up and down for a silent moment. "Why not just use your legs?" he said at last. Samantha was about to feign sarcastic laughter at this smart-assed joke, but then she realized that he was serious.
"It would be easier, wouldn't it?" he said.
As she walked out of the den, she could hear him whistling Für Elise.
Back in the kitchen, she finished up Tabatha's peanut butter and jelly sandwich, put a few apple slices beside it, poured a sippy cup of milk, and placed it all in front of the high chair at the kitchen table. Then she went upstairs to go wake the little witch from her nap. Flump, shhh, flump, shhh, flump, shhh.
"Tabatha," Sam whispered gently, petting her sleeping daughter's head as she looked down into her crib. "Rise and shine, it's time for lunch."
Tabatha opened her eyes, smiled serenly, and let Samantha lift her out of her crib.
Yes, it was all sunshine and roses… until little Tabatha caught a glimpse of her mother's leg hair. The toddler screamed in terror, ran to the bathroom, and hid behind the toilet.
"Honey, you know she's been afraid of you ever since you started growing that leg hair," was all Darrin had to say when Sam told him what had happened a few minutes later. "Why don't you wear those baggy pants you've been wearing whenever you leave the house? Then she won't have to look at it."
The baggy pants in question were the only pair of baggy pants Sam owned. (After all, tight pants were the mode, right? Pedal pushers, stirrup pants, cigarette pants…) They were the only clothing item she could fit over her legs and their long, shaggy hair. Pre lost powers and furry legs, Sam hardly ever wore them. Now she was wearing them so often they had to be put through the washing machine every other day.
Why don't I wear the baggy pants? Because it's the middle of August and it's hot as Hades outside and they make my legs sweat, especially under these mountains of stupid hair. DON'T I HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE COMFORTABLE IN THE COMFORT OF MY OWN HOME?
Needless to say, life in the past month had become a bitch.
…
That night, Samantha showered, then blow-dried the hair on her legs. After a brief tussle with the bathroom door where she got her leg hair caught in it, she crawled into bed next to Darrin, who was already snoring lightly. She was exhausted and ready to get some shut-eye. But as she settled into bed next to him, he stirred, opened his eyes, then propped himself up on his elbow.
"Sam," he said, "You don't mind sleeping on the couch, do you? It's nothing against you, but that leg hair… it scratches against me at night and itches me and then I can't sleep."
In short, he kicked his wife out of bed.
Too upset now to sleep, Sam decided to go for a late night walk. Maybe it would clear her mind before she tried to sleep again. This time, she didn't bother putting on her baggy pants. There was probably no one out at this hour, plus it was dark. No one would see her. She changed out of her PJs into something cool and comfortable, then slipped out into the balmy August night.
As she walked around Morning Glory Circle, she immediately began to feel calmer. The night was so peaceful. Crickets choruses floated up from everywhere around her, and there was a pleasant breeze. All the houses were dark, except for one down the street where someone was watching television.
She left Morning Glory Circle and turned right onto another street. For several minutes, she enjoyed her walk in peace.
Until some lone 1955 black T-Bird jam-packed full of wild-looking males pulled up next to her on the curb and rolled down the window. The T-Bird was dropped low to the ground, the way gangsters lower their cars.
"HEY, BABY!" the driver yelled at Sam, smiling too widely. "Nice LEG WARMERS! I bet you've got some killer legs underneath!"
"Yeah!" shouted the nasal-throated dope with a voice like a Neanderthal in the passenger seat. "And nice EVERYTHING ELSE underneath EVERYTHING ELSE!"
This ellicited a chorus of "oohs" from the rest of the guys.
Sam's first instinctive reaction was to twitch her nose and cast a spell that would pour water over the heads of all the guys in the car. Only when she twitched her nose- surprise, surprise- nothing happened. It didn't even make that "tingy-tingy-ting!" noise.
Right. She didn't have her powers anymore.
"Hey, gorgeous! Why don't you come over here and guard my Ga'hooles?!" somebody yelled from the back seat.
Stripped of the one main defense she had ever known and thoroughly enraged, Sam turned to another mechanism: flinging immature insults.
"Hey! I know you!" she yelled, pointing at the driver. "You already have a BOYFRIEND, dont you?! Guess you don't need anyone to guard YOUR Ga'hooles!"
It was a lame, stupid, pathetic thing to say and she knew it, but it still made the guys chortle and hoot like a pack of monkeys.
"OHHH, we got a spicy one here!"
"Just the way I like 'em!"
Just then, Samantha heard a steady, droning buzz above her head. It was getting louder by the second. A moment later, a swarm of bees descended upon her. Bees?! At NIGHT? The men in the T-Bird began to laugh like crazy. Again, Sam had the immediate instinct to pop out, but she of course could not. She swatted clumsily at them with her hands, then made a sharp one-eighty degree turn and ran clear in the other direction, desperate not to get stung.
"RUN, BABY, RUN!" the cat-callers yelled, still laughing at her. The bees stung her legs, but she didn't feel anything because of her mounds of leg hair. At least that was one thing it was good for. The men laughed and laughed until she was out of sight.
Back in the front yard of her house, Samantha plunked herself down on the front steps and stared down at her frivolously hairy legs. She had been an idiot to leave the house wearing shorts. She looked so stupid. Her legs looked like Big Bird's legs, only a natural blonde color instead of that artificial bright urine yellow, and even shaggier. Depressed, feeling hopeless about her magicless future with the world's hairiest legs, she leaned back and lay flat on her back on the porch, her arms outstretched on the cool cement. As she stared miserably up at the wooden panels on the porch ceiling, she began to feel sleepy. Her eyes closed and her mind began to relax.
Until a sudden rustling nearby and a bumbling "Oh-oh-oh, my. I didn't know they planted Mexican f-feather grass on their porch," startled her and stopped her from drifting off. She opened her eyes and sat up.
"Aunt Clara?"
"O-oh! Why, it isn't Mexican feather grass at all! It's you!" Aunt Clara stood right before Sam in a long pink nightgown and matching pink nightcap. In one hand, she clutched a blue thermos, and in the other a newspaper.
"Aunt Clara, what are you doing here? It's so late," Samantha asked the elderly little witch gently.
As it turned out, Aunt Clara had had a fight with Ocky that morning. When she tried to go to bed that night, she just couldn't sleep thinking about the fight, so she'd come out to Sam's neighborhood for a late night walk.
"A-a walk always helps clear my mind, s-see. And I thought maybe afterward I-I would see if you were still aw-w-wake, although it, erm, wasn't likely."
"Dear, you shouldn't be out on the street by yourself at this time of the night. There's hooligans out, you know," Sam said, putting her arm around Clara. She knew from experience.
"O-o-oh, no. I'm quite safe. I still have it in me, y-you know." She raised the thermos in her right hand. "I brought my tea with me. B-but I forgot the honey. I t-tried to conjure up some honey, b-b-but I accidentally conjured up a swarm of bees instead." She chuckled sheepishly.
Samantha's eyes widened. "That was you?"
"O-oh, yes. Th-that was me. Why? Did you see the bees?"
"Uh, never mind. Why don't you come in? You can spend the night in our guest room if you like."
"O-oh, thank you, dear. I think I will. But let's stay out here a little longer. The night air is quite nice." Then Aunt Clara took a better look at her niece. "W-why, what's the matter, dear? You look sad. Are you still having trouble with your p-powers?"
They sat side by side on the porch steps, and Sam told Clara what Dr. Bombay had confirmed. Her powers were gone permanently. Except for her long lifespan and slow aging, she was no different than a mortal now.
When Sam had finished explaining, Clara looked down gravely.
"O-o-oh, my. That is a catastrophe. My poor Samantha. I'm so sorry." She patted her hand. "B-b-but you know, d-dear, you aren't in such bad company with me. S-see, I'd never tell anyone else this, and I don't think you've noticed, b-but… Well, in my a-a-advanced age…" She paused, glanced around as if she were looking for anyone who might be listening, then leaned close to Sam and whispered, "…I've been having some trouble with my powers too."
Sam politely feigned surprise. "No! Aunt Clara, really?! I'd never have imagined!"
"W-w-well, yes. I know it's a surprise, but it's true. B-but see, y-you and I, we're like buddies now. We'll have to stick together."
Samantha had to smile. "Well, yes, I suppose that's right. But what's even worse," she went on, "Is- What's that?!" She motioned at a picture of a furry monstrosity in the newspaper Aunt Clara had in her lap. It reminded her disturbingly of her own shaggy legs. The photo was in black-and-white, but still, she could tell that the coloring was eerily similar.
"This? Oh, it's Gwen the Albino Gorilla. She escaped yesterday from the Beardsley Zoo and they've been searching for her ever since. A-anyway, you were saying?"
"Oh, yes. I was saying that what's even worse is that… Well, ever since I lost my powers, my legs…" She sighed and pointed down at her lower extremities.
Aunt Clara just gaped at her with an expression blank as a hard boiled egg. "W-what about them?"
"You haven't noticed?! My leg hair?"
"Oh-oh-oh. Yes, that. Well, I was wondering. What happened to them? Did someone cast a spell on you?"
"Oh, Aunt Clara!" Samantha said, her words coming out all in a rush. "The thing is, I don't know how to shave my legs without witchcraft! My armpits, yes, those are easy. But my legs… I keep trying and trying and I just can't get the hang of it! And the hair on my legs keeps growing and growing and it won't stop. Darrin doesn't even want me in the same bed as him anymore! I'm a hairy abomination! I'm Sasquatch!" Although she didn't want to cry in front of her aunt, she started sniveling anyway. She couldn't help it.
"Oh, dear, dear, dear. Th-there, there. Don't cry now." Aunt Clara patted Samantha's shoulder and handed her a handercheif from her pocket. She allowed her niece to snivel into the hanky for a couple minutes in silence.
Then she straightened, gave Sam once last pat on the back, and said brightly, "Y-you know, dear, I-I d-do believe there may be some hope for you after all. I-I just remembered a spell I used to know a long time ago that g-gives witches who've lost their powers their p-powers back. S-see, back during the Revolutionary War, I kn-knew a young witch- her name was Hilda- who stopped using her powers f-for a whole year while she lived in a boarding house with several mortal girls. The same happened to her that's happened to you. And this was the spell that finally gave her her powers back. W-would you like me to try it on you, dear?"
Samantha's willingless to go along with one of Aunt Clara's spells should have been a dead giveaway that this was all a dream. Instead, she squealed for joy.
"OH, YES! YES! PLEASE try the spell, Aunt Clara! That would be WONDERFUL!"
Aunt Clara spoke the magic words, did a funny little gesture, and Samantha turned into a gorilla. A big, hairy, blonde gorilla drowning in mountains of pale gold fluff. She looked like the identical twin sister of Gwen the Albino Gorilla from the newspaper. Samantha shrieked in shock, but it came out an animalistic roar.
"O-oh, d-d-d-dear. Oh, my. Oh, my. Oh, my," Clara babbled frantically. "S-Samantha, is that you? I must have botched the spell. Oh, dear…" She bit at her nails.
"RRRRAAAAAHHH!" the gorilla roared in a frenzy. (Translation: "CHANGE ME BACK!")
"N-n-now don't worry, dear. I'll change you back in no time. What was that reversal spell again…?" Clara smacked her own forehead, racking her brains.
But before she could think of the reversal spell, an animal rescue truck with a trailer attached- the kind they transport horses- pulled up in front of the house. Two guys in khaki uniforms hopped out.
"There she is! There's Gwen!" one of them yelled, pointing at Samantha. "Let's get 'er!"
"Alright, Gwenny," said the other one. He smiled, but to Sam it looked like nothing short of a sadistic grin. "Your little adventure is over. Time to get back to the zoo."
Before she knew it, Samantha was bumping along the road caged inside the metal trailer on her way to the Beardsley Zoo. She roared hysterically. NOOOO! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUUUT!"
"You'd better calm down back there, Gwenny Girl, or we're gonna have to stick you with one of them tranquilizer darts," was the last thing Sam heard before the dream began to fade.
…
Samantha woke up babbling dazedly. "Mom, I don't want lima beans. I want ice cream." She opened her eyes and saw that her vision was nothing but a blur. She blinked a few times, and everything morphed into focus. Immediately, the biggest headache of her life hit her like a ton of bricks. She groaned. Now that her vision was clear, she found herself looking directly up into the face of Dr. Bombay, who was looking down at her discerningly. She strecthed her shoulders slightly, languidly, and her lips curved into a dopey smile. "Dr. Bombay, what are you doing in my bedroom?"
Bombay ignored her question. "She's awake," he said.
"Oh, thank God," Sam heard Darrin sigh and realized that he was there too, sitting in a nearby armchair. Hold on, this wasn't her bedroom at all! She was in the living room, lying on the couch.
"Samantha," said Dr. Bombay slowly, "How many fingers am I holding up?"
"Eleven."
"Sam," she heard Darrin say. He left his seat and crouched on the floor at her side. "Honey, Dr. Bombay says you have a little concussion. But you're gonna be fine if you just rest for today. Okay? He gave you a painkiller injection and it should take affect in a half hour.
Samantha reached up and and felt her badly aching head. Sure enough, there was a lump on her forehead the size of Kentucky. The feel of it made her stomach churn. She jerked her hand away squeamishly.
Bombay leaned over her again. "Samantha, how do you feel?" He asked the question as if he were talking to a kindergartener in special ed.
Sam gave him another dopey smile, then giggled like she'd inhaled a mild dose of laughing gas. In the words of Susan Jane Gilman describing the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, she looked as if she had "just finished eating an enormous piece of cake, then gotten clubbed over the head"*. "I like your tie," she drawled, blinking stupidly.
"She's really out of it! Is that normal?" Darrin asked, concerned. "Is something wrong?"
"Oh, no. It's just the drug I injected her with. It was very strong. The loopiness will wear off in a couple hours. We're just lucky she didn't break her nose. That face plant she did on the floor could have done a lot of damage."
Just lucid enough to make sense of their conversation, Sam reached up again and realized there was a bandaid across the bridge of her nose.
"You're sure she'll be okay? Things aren't gonna get hairy?" Darrin asked.
Suddenly, Samantha sat bolt upright quicker than a lightning strike. "HAIRY!" she shrilled. "HAIRY? Oh, Darrin! I just had the most HORRIBLE nightmare! I lost my powers for good, a-and then my leg hair wouldn't stop growing, and…" The words came out so fast, they practically tumbled over each other as they left her mouth. "…It grew and grew until my legs were so hairy they looked like Cousin Itt and my life was completely ruined and you didn't want me in the bed anymore and Tabatha was afraid of me. I got cat-called by these men in a 1955 black T-Bird who thought I was wearing leg warmers. A-and then there was this swarm of bees that actually came from Aunt Clara." The hysteria in her voice rose with every word. "Th-then Aunt Clara turned me into a gorilla and they shipped me off to the ZOO! Oh, Darrin, it was AWFUL! " She then turned like a madwitch to Dr. Bombay. "DR. BOMBAY! IS IT TRUE? IS IT REALLY TRUE?"
She didn't notice the doctor preparing a needle and syringe as she continued to screech at him frantically.
"ARE MY POWERS REALLY GONE FOREVER? TELL ME! YOU HAVE TO- "
The words on her lips died mid-sentence as Dr. Bombay jabbed a tranquilizer into her upper arm. She fell back flat on her back, completely unconscious. Again.
Darrin looked appalled. "Ah- What did you do that for?!" he exclaimed at the doctor.
"The patient was agitated," said Dr. Bombay matter-of-factly, "In her state of concussion, she can't afford to be agitated. It will hinder her recovery."
Darrin sighed heavily and covered his whole face in his palms. Lord, give me strength…
"Now for God's sake," said the doctor, "Put the ice back on that lump before it swells to the size of a hot air balloon."
…
Darrin couldn't deny it. He felt awful for starting that stupid leg shaving argument and causing Sam to knock herself unconscious and get a concussion, mild as it had been. He tried to make up for it by being an absolute sweet, darling babe the rest of the week, and she forgave him easily.
"Darrin, it was my fault for leaving that cupboard door open again. You were right. I need to be more careful about closing it," she insisted when he apologized.
Darrin even gave her permission to use witchcraft for shaving her legs- and only for shaving her legs. In return, she stopped being so lazy about closing the cupboard.
But still, Darrin couldn't get over the nagging guilt he felt about putting his poor wife through that terrible ordeal.
So one afternoon, when Sam got home from taking Tabatha to the park, she found Darrin waiting for her in the living room with a big smile in his face. He was sitting on the couch, his legs crossed, a drink in each hand, looking very pleased with himself.
"Sam, have a drink," he said amiably, handing over one of the glasses. He turned around and kissed Tabatha, who had crawled up on the couch beside him. "And of course, I didnt forget you." He gave his little daughter a sippy cup full of apple juice.
"Uh, thank you, darling," Samantha said, looking down at her drink. "Why are you so happy?"
"Because we're celebrating. Oh, and I watered yours down a little. The doctor said you should limit alcohol while you're recovering," Darrin replied.
"Oh, Darrin, that was two weeks ago already. But what are we celebrating?"
"We're celebrating a little surprise I have for you. Here, take a look at this.
Darrin pulled a glossy-papered brochure out of his back pocket and held it out to her. She took it. On the cover was a picture of the most adorable Old World, half-timber style building with a thatched roof and flower boxes in the windows.
"Der Kohlkopf Haus Bed and Breakfast," Sam read out loud, "Located just across the street from Harvey's Beach in charming Old Saybrook, CT, Der Kohlkopf Haus was built by German immigrants Irmgard and Klaus Steiner in 1860… Oh, Darrin! Are we…?"
"Yes, we are!" Darrin confirmed. "You and I, my dear, are going away for the weekend- just the two of us!"
"Oh, Darrin!" Samantha threw her arms around her husband's neck and hugged him for joy.
"I've already talked to your mother. She'll stay here with Tabatha while we're gone," Darrin said, "All you have to do is make sure you bring your pills and your lacey black underwear!"
Samantha squealed with delight. Who cared about the "breakfast" in "bed and breakfast"? They were going for the BED, baby!
The next day, after a quick stop at the family planning section of Walmart and an hour and a half's drive north, the Stephens finally arrived at Der Kohlkopf Haus Bed and Breakfast in Old Saybrook.
"Isn't it adorable?" Sam gushed as they parked. Against the backdrop of the beautiful New England coastal landcsape, the little hotel was even more charming in person than in the brochure picture.
But as they soon found out, the only catch was that everything in the 1860 building was super old and super creaky. The floors creaked. The furniture creaked. When you flushed the toilet, it made a flub-flub-flub-flub sound as the water went down.
And when Darrin took the old weinermobile out for a spin, the bed, of course, went SQUEEGY, SQUEEGY, SQUEEGY. The creaking of the ancient bed was so loud that all male geese within a one mile radius heard it and mistook it for the mating call of a female goose in heat. Mad with lust for the supposed goosey vixen, they flocked to the window of Sam and Darrin's hotel room, increasing in number by the half-minute. First there were five, then there were ten, then twenty, thirty-five, fifty… The geese crammed themselves into the window frame, desperate to get to their woman, each of them honking loudly, pecking at the glass, smushing their beady-eyed faces against the window and cocking their heads side to side in that birdish manner. Honk! Honk! Honk! SQUEEGY! SQUEEGY! SQUEEGY!
Meanwhile, inside the hotel room, Samantha began to notice that something was up.
"Um, Darrin, darling…" SQUEEGY! SQUEEGY! "Why [gasp] is it getting so dark in here? And what are those noises?"
The sudden darkness was, in fact, caused by the swarm of geese blocking the light from the window.
"I don't know," Darrin breathed, "And I don't care." SQUEEGY! SQUEEGY! "Just don't stop."
"Darrin [SQUEEGY! SQUEEGY!] there's something at the window! Don't you hear that crazy tapping?! And that- "
Darrin cut her off. "It's probably just the wind!" he panted. Samantha knew this translated, roughly, as "shut up".
But after a few more seconds, Sam just couldn't take it anymore. This was freaking her out way too much. She dragged herself out from under Durwood while he protested, wiped his drool off her face, and wrapped herself in a blanket. She then went to the window and pulled the shade back slightly so she could peek outside.
Then she screamed.
"What?! What is it?!" Darrin exclaimed, sitting up in alarm.
But there was no time for her to answer, for a tenth of a second later, the geese busted the window open and came barreling in like an army of bats out of hell. There must have been a hundred of them, flooding into the room and filling the space so there was hardly room to breathe. The room became a flurry of wild honking, of feathers and the green-and-white droppings of lustful foul that had shat themselves in their excitement.
The petrified couple screamed and flailed and covered their heads as geese assaulted them from directions.
Finally, Darrin yelled one word:
"RUUUUUN!"
They did just that, straight down to the lobby while handfuls of geese catapulted after them, wearing nothing but their birthday suits. (The couple, that is, was wearing nothing but their birthday suits. Not the geese.)
Even after being kicked out of Der Kohlkopf Haus Bed and Breakfast for public indecency and fined for the damages caused to their hotel room, they had to admit- it was a trip they would remember for the rest of their lives. Hey- at least no one got a concussion this time. Right?
Fin
*From Hypocrite In A Pouffy White Dress by Susan Jane Gilman