24 - Psychoville

We got back into the RV and drove eastwards into Michigan. It tickles me that each state has its own slogan – Pure Michigan, Explore Minnesota and Wisconsin - live like you mean it. Even Ontario has one, Ontario – yours to discover.

Anyway, after a rather uneventful drive during a sunny but cool day, we pulled into an RV park. We hadn’t planned ahead to stop at this place but just thought we’d drive until we found somewhere open.

At the front of the site, facing the main road were a couple of really old fairground rides. One was a small rusty ferris wheel, with about six seats which swayed and creaked slightly in the increasing breeze from an approaching storm. The other was a small carousel, equally as old and rusty. The campground was deserted and I felt as though I should see some tumbleweed rolling past as if we were in an old ghost town.

The large billboard showing the site’s name was well weathered and in need of a revamp, looking as though it hadn’t been updated for about 30 years.

We pulled up at the entrance and parked up the beast next to the main house. We rang on the doorbell and waited a few minutes for an answer. Just as we were about to ring again, someone began unlocking the front door which was hidden behind a solid mosquito net door. The young man who answered was probably about thirty years old, quite short, uneasy making eye contact and spoke with, what seemed to us like, a southern USA twang. He also frequently referred to his “mama” who wasn’t currently around. Immediately, upon entering we were in the reception which comprised a tiny corner of their living room. There was a desk with a child gate next to it which three shitzus tried frantically to get through. We could only see directly beyond the desk because the main part of the living room was around the corner. However, what we could see was much like the tiny part in which Fred and I were squeezed. Namely, heaving with junk; books, magazines, ornaments, leaflets all piled upon each other and strewn around the place. On the walls were creepy old portrait shots of people as though deified because each individual was surrounded by a misty haze.

The young man booked us into the site while attempting to hold back the frenzied dogs. One dog impressively managed to scale the counter as the man prepared the pass for our van. Flustered, the man tried to capture the dog to put him back behind the gate, eventually succeeding.

We were happy to leave the confines of the cluttered house and followed the young man outside. There, we asked him whether he’d had any other RVs stay lately. He replied that a couple of Australian girls had arrived at the beginning of the week and I had to ask how long they had stayed when I saw the large green expanse behind the house was completely deserted. He told us they’d only stayed one night and I wasn’t really surprised as the place was truly creepy – either that or he had them buried under one of the RV plots out the back!

The nervous character then instructed us to follow in the RV while he drove his golf cart about 40 metres to where he wanted us to park. After more slightly awkward chit chat, we bade him farewell and hooked up to the amenities.

That evening, the storm failed to materialise so we explored the nearby woods, ate food and wondered whether we’d survive the night.

Obviously, we did survive the night but in the morning the seal broke on our shower. It was still possible to use it but spray issued from the shower head and soaked the bathroom. Upon leaving that morning, Fred visited the rickety old house again to ask the young man the whereabouts of the nearest hardware store. Fred was interested to be met by Mama who was in her 80s and frail-looking with curlers in her grey hair. He kindly asked the whereabouts of the nearest hardware store to which she responded that she was unsure. However, her son would know so she promptly hollered his name at the top of her voice.

“Normaaaaaaaaaaan!” she shouted.

Now, to those of you familiar with the film, Psycho, you will understand why Fred’s blood ran cold and he longed to scurry away from the staleness of the old junk-filled dwelling. The film involves the Bates Motel, managed by a young man named Norman who is dominated by his mother. She appears to be a psycho killer who slaughters the guests. However, it transpires that Norman is a killer with a split personality and he had killed his mother, keeping her body sitting and decaying in a chair.

After speaking to Mr Bates…sorry, I mean Norman, Fred hastily exited the house and we sped away to find the hardware store where we purchased a new seal, fixed the shower head and carried on our journey around Lake Superior.

We would never know whether the young Australian girls had survived the Bates RV Site…