PrimeTime livi ng you r b e st i n th e p r i m e of you r li f e
JANUARY 2023
RHODYBEAT.COM
Creatures In The Closet and other nightmare vacation tales MEMOIRS
by SUSAN DEAN
We were excited. I had retired and it was the first winter that we could plan a tropical getaway - a chance to escape the snow and cold for a few weeks in February. My stepson, Brian, suggested that we try using AirBnB. He’d had luck renting for both short and long-term stays both here in the states and in Europe. He advised us on how to avoid the pitfalls and dangers of renting from private owners. “Check the reviews,” he said. “And look at all the pictures carefully.” We showed him a few online that we initially thought were fine, until he pointed out some of the details we had missed. “This one says it’s a beach-front property,” Brian said. “But look - you’d need to cross a major highway to actually reach the beach.” “And this one has only a mini-fridge and a hotplate. You’d have to eat out all the time.” “And try to rent from a couple or a family - it’s safer that way - you just never know,” he warned us. So we followed Brian’s advice and finally found something we thought was perfect. A cottage separate from the owner’s main residence, full kitchen, and it was listed as waterfront, with an easy walk to the beach. Reviews were few and mostly one-liners that weren’t raving, but weren’t negative, either. All were from short-term rentals - a night or two - and the worst was from a woman who laughingly described waking up to find herself sharing the bed with a rather large spider. But this was Florida, after all, so bugs, even large ones, were to be expected. And the owners were Candy and John - a middle-aged couple. We went ahead and booked it. February arrived and after spending a week with relatives on Florida’s west side, we drove across the state to the east coast. Our directions seemed wrong, however, as we seemed to be veering inland into what looked like wooded swampland. “This can’t be right,” I said, as we turned onto an uphill driveway that matched the address. We made our way to the top to find a house with floor to ceiling windows. As we pulled to a stop, a very large, angry-looking pitbull threw itself repeatedly against the window barking and growling. I was afraid to open the car door in case the giant monster managed to
break through the glass. After what seemed like an eternity, a man we recognized as John appeared and grabbed the snarling beast by its spiked collar and wrestled it away from the window and disappeared. He came back a few minutes later with his wife, Candy, and signaled to us that it was safe to get out of the car. “Oh, don’t worry, that’s just Baby,” John said, referring to the dog. “She’s a powder puff, a mushball, all bark, a sweetie - she wouldn’t hurt a fly.” Baby stood inside, nose smushed against the glass with teeth bared, glaring at us without blinking, a low rumble reverberating through the window from her massive chest. Introductions were made and John and Candy led us into the back. I was glad to move out of Baby’s line of sight. The cottage we’d be staying in looked a bit more run-down than we expected from the online photos. We gingerly made our way across a patio in need of significant concrete repair and ducked under an old rusted ceiling fan hanging from a single frayed wire. Candy kicked something off the entryway in front of the door. “ H e h , heh,” she chuckled in her gravelly smoke-damaged voice. “Just some turtle poop. This big old tortoise comes by every other day or so and likes to leave a deposit right on the doorstep. Just check before you step out every day.” The inside looked okay, but we were hit with the putrid overly-sweet smell of plug-in deodorizers - at least six of them in the first floor living room/ kitchen area and two more in the upstairs bedroom. It was overwhelming and we waited till John and Candy left before we removed them. We thought they might have been trying to cover the smell of smoke since the two of them were heavy smokers. We tried opening windows, but they apparently hadn’t been opened in years, and the ones we were able to pry open were filled with gunk and black muck around the frames. Very unappetizing to think what might be blowing in from decades of built-up grime and dirt, especially the one right next to the head of the bed. But we figured we’d air out the house and then rely on the A/C, although neither of us particularly likes the artificial cold of constant air conditioning. But we figured we could live with it for two weeks. CREATURES - continued next page