RondoHatton
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Did the late Mr. Curtis Harrington (09/17/1926-05/06/2007), Director of Horror Films, want his handkerchief back? A man of exquisite tastes, I was priveleged to attend his recent estate sale, affording only 3 lovely small silk scarves I intended for pocket squares. Being a warm late September Sunday, I wore no overcoat motorcycling to the Cicada Club. At about the Melrose Ave exit of the Hollywood Freeway, despite being intentionally well tucked into the breast pocket of my Magnoli Nassau linen suit, it suddenly and dramatically whipped out across my face as if pulled on a wire like a movie ghost and flew out over my right shoulder - no going back for it and living! (It was from Mr. Harrington's memorial I found the Henry Scott Holland sermon of 1910 on "The King Of Fears" which I find comforting.)
Anyone have vaguely similar experiences where an object or possession obtained at an estate sale or the like seemed to take on a mind of it's own or return to the aether? Trading Mothers old trunk (A mistake!) years ago, the person observed "wow, that thing tried to bite you!" as twice the lid slammed down on my fingers. That was creepy; still ought to have kept it, some of the horror diminishes over the years...
Anyone have vaguely similar experiences where an object or possession obtained at an estate sale or the like seemed to take on a mind of it's own or return to the aether? Trading Mothers old trunk (A mistake!) years ago, the person observed "wow, that thing tried to bite you!" as twice the lid slammed down on my fingers. That was creepy; still ought to have kept it, some of the horror diminishes over the years...