I went to a murder house.

No really. I swear. Here, look:

Surprisingly nobody axed me for taking this picture...

Perhaps as you have figured out, it was in Villisca. (That's in Iowa.) Want to know more about the brutal murder of 8 people that took place 99.25 years ago in a tiny Iowa town? Go here. Now I'm gonna tell you about my day because it was all very interesting. Ready? OK!

My mom's best friend Heidi and I went to Maryville, MO to watch a football game at Northwest Missouri State University. Her son Tyler is a quarterback there. He's my brother from another mother. I've known him literally since he was born. Our moms met in Lamaze class and we were born 3 days apart. They've been friends ever since and we were practically born friends. I hadn't gotten a chance to see him play yet. So Heidi and I drove 2 and change hours to Maryille to see the game. It was a great game... they won 70-17. It was a blowout. And Ty had a great touchdown pass too. Then we tailgated for a while and ate some bratwurst and drank some soda and talked some trash. I think at some point I said something about hookers and blow which I'm sure won me some major points with everyone in the vicinity. But we were talking about 2012 and what better way to spend your last year than... I'm a terrible person, aren't I? Especially for a Mormon. I'm a terrible Mormon.

Speaking of terrible Mormon-ism (not terrible Mormonism because Mormonism is awesome)... I was supposed to go to the General Relief Society Meeting. But I didn't. Because I spent most of the day talking about hookers and blow and going to a murder house. I need to get my priorities straight perhaps.

Anyway. The murder house. By the time we got to Villisca, it was dark. As soon as we turned into the town, a chill went down my spine. Let's face it... I've said it before and I'll say it again: Nothing good ever happens in small towns. They're creepy. Like mega creepy. I don't like them. People get killed and/or eaten there. So what was I doing in a remote small town after dark? Looking for a murder house. Logically.

It was 8 pm on a Saturday night and most of the houses were dark. Which added to the creepiness that had already been there. When we did see lights, it was usually because people were staring out their windows at us. I'm not even kidding. It was really bizarre.

We drove around the town for a good 15 minutes trying to locate the scene of the grisly pre-war crime. While we were driving, a black cat crossed the street in front of us and I was like, "Perfect. Of course. Why WOULDN'T a black cat cross our path?" And in my head I was like, "Ohhhhhhh mannnn, we're gonna diiiiiiie." Also, some hooligan had spun every other street sign so that we couldn't figure out what street we were on for a while. It was Second Ave, for the record. Also for the record, the Murder House is 508 E. 2nd Street.

We finally got to the murder house, jumped out to snap a picture to prove we were there, and then got back in the car before someone could add us to the list of casualties. Which is at least 8 people long, but I'm assuming just by the creeps I got from that town it's at least double digits. The bodies might have just not been found.

Now I'm freaking everyone out including myself, so I'm going to go to bed so I can get up in the morning and go to church like a good Mormon. Which I am. Usually. When I'm not looking for murder houses.