Canaveral

Senor Guapisimo (I don't know his real name, so this will do) opened the 10 foot high wooden door and invited us to enter the grand room, the entrance hall of a Casa Rural, Posada La Campana. The ceiling was 20 feet high. A small trestle table to the left, a coat of arms, and antique mirrors and chairs line the walls. A cascade of stairs, carved from stone, flow down from the upper floor, and spill in a rounded curve at the base.

While Stacy signed the register I took in the atmosphere. As a lover of all things old, historic, antique, I was thinking 'this will do!'

Senor handed over the keys and left. We were the ladies of the manor, the sole occupants. Exploring, we opened doors off the grand entrance; a sitting room, a formal dining room, and a kitchen tiled in blue and white. Another set of stairs led to a stained glass door and a private courtyard. Upstairs a long hallway was the gateway to a dozen rooms, each more charming than the next, and all furnished with antiques.

Settled in to our 'new' home we decided to celebrate by cooking dinner and enjoying an evening 'in'. Why go out when immersed in a surreal atmosphere?

By the end of our meal of gazpacho, pistou, salad and local vino tinto the decision was made. We were staying, at least until Senor Guapisimo forced us to leave (and it would have to be by force). We would write fictional blog updates sharing our impressions of the camino, all the while living quite comfortably and happily in Canaveral.

 Things change (as they often do) in the middle of the night.

I had been in a deep, drug induced, sleep (pain killers and sleeping pill) when I woke with a start. Something was wrong. I lay still, listening. There it was again. Creak. Floorboards. Silence. Creak. The kind of sound when someone is trying to not make any sound but the floor is working against them. At first I thought someone else had checked in, but as it had been almost 10 p.m. when we went to bed, this was not likely.

Was that a shadow? Creak. Now I was certain someone was creeping along the hallway. I reached across the bed to see if Stacy was asleep. (Okay, here is one of the really good things about being a girl. Despite access to a dozen bedrooms we didn't even consider sleeping in separate rooms. Maybe we face our unspoken fear of being alone in a big house by saying it's more fun to share a room?)

When I reached across the bed I confirmed that Stacy was present and asleep. If I alerted her, even in a whispered voice, I would risk the intruder becoming aware that someone was awake and possibly decrease the time I had to prepare our defense.

Quietly, I reached up and slid the skeleton key from the keyhole, leaped from the bed and pushed the door shut all in one motion. I threw the bolt and then leaped back on to the bed. I was expecting banging on the door to commence within seconds.

Stacy was still asleep.

 Though the door was thick and heavy I realized we might still have to make an escape through our window and out onto the slanted clay tiled roof. I shook Stacy awake and let her know someone was in the house. "I'm worried about our boots. They're outside our door. And don't go walking in the hall in your underwear". (It all made sense in the middle of the night).

We both laid awake listening. I was armed with the big skeleton key from our door. (I guess I was going to key our intruder).

Outside the wind blew. And rattled the windows. And made the floorboards creak.

'It's just the wind. Go back to sleep' Stacy said and then rolled over and went back to sleep.

We left early the next morning.