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The Twisted Biography of the author

ANTON VON STEFAN

Part eighteen  - a florida connection

 Delray Beach Florida

With the winds of time changing our season from Winter to Spring, our hard working author has opted to take in the south of Florida. There, at an open-air, art festival on the streets of Delray Beach, he surfaced. Next he has been spotted in the swamps surrounding Blue Cypress Lake.

This was hardly a business trip; yet, in a matter of minutes after departing the airport in Fort Lauderdale, his driver was accosted by a thunderstorm of epic proportions, the light ripping the darkness asunder three or four times a minute, the heavy drops of rain pelting the brand new vehicle, fog and mist mixing rapidly with the ambient humidity, clogging the windscreen and thrusting him into the Twilight Zone.

Unknown to the driver or his weary travelers, they had missed the Interstate 95 exit and were headed into the unknown. After some 36 miles, they became aware that Miami was next and that they had indeed driven in the opposite direction, becoming lost in the storm.

"Miami Guns" the aged neon sign had read as they entered this notorious city in the furry of the gale. Making a "U" turn after the author had spotted that first sign of civilization, they carefully retraced the distance back to Fort Lauderdale; but, in the darkness, with the path before them almost obscured by the flashing lightning bolts, intense illumination which blinded them for seconds at a time and then hurtled them back into the bleak night, they never saw the exit (or it was simply not there) and found themselves in utter isolation once more. Through the fogged-in windscreen, a lone sign indicated that they had stumbled onto highway 75 and were crossing Alligator Alley in the storm. This route through the everglades offers no exits for over a hundred miles, is not lighted, and renders a lost soul little comfort on a clear night. On a night such as the one which greeted ANTON VON STEFAN, it truly was a "Dark and Stormy Night". In a desperate, but gallant move, the driver slowed to 25 miles per hour and moved into the fast lane (there were no other cars on this abandoned route at 2 a.m.). Crawling along the interstate, they finally came upon a small emergency path which permitted a relatively safe turn back to the civilized world.

The lightning followed and crossed overhead of the desperate group as they inched along the rain-soaked highway until, at long last, the Turnpike loomed out of the darkness. Three exits, barley visible in the heavy downpour, offered no comfort as none of these was marked due to construction, and they were lost once more. A ghostly, rusted pickup broke through the torrential gloom, its motor running in the dead of night. Our author opened the passenger window, was bathed in the warm, heavy shower as it pour through the opening, and hailed the strange vehicle parked in the mud of the construction zone. A grey apparition rose up inside the abandoned truck, startled by the author's voice which inquired through the storm.

"Yes," the ghost spoke. "You are one the road to Orlando", and vanished from sight to the presumed safety of the old pickup, its engine still idling eerily in the night.

No one is certain if they ever did reach their destination. However, a complete search of every home and hotel room booked in Orlando, Florida over the past weeks, has come up without any trace of Anton Von Stefan. His name also does not appear on any reservation in or around Orlandoon that night or on any day thereafter. He has, however been spotted in both Delray Beach and touring the swamps surrounding Blue Cypress Lake. Thus, he somehow survived that ordeal. It is also known that a ghastly new tale is being formulated to mark this bizarre encounter. 'The Ghastly Demise of Mr Duff' is in the making. 

Truth-be-told, we have used helicopters equipped with high-powered, infrared, night-vision glasses and eventually spotted the author adjacent to hole #4 on a most exclusive golf course. During this surveillance, he was observed expending the ink of three new ballpoint pens and then taking up a fourth.  Within the scope of our intrusion, the author paused only on rare occasions, often placing his red-hot pen down, at times looking up to the heavens; and, as if to cool off his over-wrought brain,he would leap into a rather large, palm tree-lined pool beside his writing table. The whole of the area being within a fully enclosed, Florida style ‘enclosure’, in a gated community which shall remain un-named.  He would, however, like to thank his most humble hosts for the use of their spacious property and the 'inspiration' for this wonderful Ghost Story!!!

 The pen finally fell from his tireless hands, and the obligatory bottle of red wine was brought forth, a sure sign that "The Ghastly Demise of Mr Duff" was complete. We noted 84 hand-written pages.

 Go to: Blue Cypress Lake Excursions

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