In my last post, I mentioned a rehab project my friend’s parents are working on. What I failed to mention was that it is likely haunted by someone I happen to know.
You see, when I went to visit the house — with my mother and cousin in tow — my friend’s mother (heretofore known as The Flipper) warned me before I went in that not only was was it a mess, but that it had also been filled with creepy shit. The man who had owned it was a collector/hoarder of macabre memorabilia. It had been cleared out at auction after his death, but there were still remnants, like a pair of eyes staring at you from a hole in the wall when you walk in. Cobwebs still lurk in every corner, and unfinished renovation projects lend an air of general disarray.
As we walked through, I couldn’t help but think of a man I’d worked with years ago. He worked in the darkroom at the newspaper where I was a reporter. He hardly ever spoke, but when Halloween came around he busted out the decorations and turned his dark room into a haunted house. So I asked The Flipper, “Do you know the name of the guy who owned the place?” She didn’t, but a couple of weeks later she was able to confirm that I had, in fact, once worked with the owner of this house.
It may be weird, but this just seemed like fate to me. At least if my house is haunted — and let’s face it, if anyone was going to haunt a house, it would be this guy — I know the ghost. So, yes, I am making a major life decision based on the fact that the house in question was once in habited by a guy I used to work with, and is being overhauled by people I trust like family. I figure if that’s not meant to be, than nothing is.