After a series of back and forth calls between my realtor and the seller’s realtor, we finally got the go ahead to take a look. The extent to which we had to beg to actually see the house should have been a red flag. If they wanted to sell, why not let us look? But instead, they were saying another buyer was interested, the woman was sleeping and didn’t want to be bothered, the woman was going to be gone and therefore couldn’t let us in, and so forth.

We went to the house and found it locked (as expected,) but the key wasn’t where the seller’s realtor said it would be (what happened to a good old fashioned lock-box?) We went through the side yard to check out the backyard before our realtor arrived. My dad was excited by the large windows and the potential of the back yard. There was a little waterfall area that would have to be cleaned (and probably removed for safety around small kids,) but it definitely had potential.

I noticed that the sun was skipping over this particular backyard. Perhaps it was the time of day and the placement of the house, but the neighbors’ yards were bright whereas this one was in dramatic shadow.

The Cat slipped on some rocks and split his lip wide open. That should have been another sign for us to leave. But we pressed on. We saw the large living room from the back windows, and saw a nice mirrored wet bar. It looked lovely from the outside!

Our realtor arrived, and then a few minutes later the seller (not the realtor; rather, the actual seller!) arrived in a velour jumpsuit in her shiny new red sports car (wonder if that was eventually seized?) She was chatting on her cell phone, but let us in with a look that expressed fear, relief, and skepticism.

Meanwhile, my mom pressed handkerchiefs on the Cat’s lip and tried to convince him that it would be a fun project to look at a house that might be his!

When we entered, I was simultaneously impressed and wary. The family room seemed sterile, white, and cold. The light streaming in from outside was white-fluorescent harsh rather than warm and sunny. On the wall was an enormous photograph of a stern looking man.

No pictures were in the rest of the house.

The wet bar was classy, but again had a sharp feel to it rather than a celebratory or simply sophisticated atmosphere. The kitchen was pretty standard with decent appliances, but the floor squeaked in a strange way. It moved a bit, causing me to trip. It tripped my realtor too.

The living room and dining room both had massive ceilings and were grand. The previous owners’ possessions were in boxes stacked in the living room. My realtor looked a bit freaked out and stayed downstairs with my mom. I wasn’t sure if her lack of enthusiasm was because of the potential reduced commission or that the kitchen had attacked her.

Frankly, I was already feeling uncomfortable. The vibe was creepy.

The staircase was completely straight. My dad thought it looked beautiful. My husband looked terrified, worrying about our sons sliding down the banister and/or falling from the top.

There was a gorgeous area at the top of the staircase, enclosed by glass double-doors, one of which was broken and off its hinges. Fixed, it would be a beautiful office, or enclosed further would create an additional bedroom. The potential kids’ bedrooms were nothing special, but the Master was amazing. The ceilings were double-high in the bedroom and Master bath. It felt like a palace. There was a sitting area in the Master bath where the owner had her perfume collection. The bathtub was enormous. The entire area was again lit in a white-fluorescent way, but in a bathroom it was luxurious rather than cold. The sterility against porcelain seems clean, whereas such an effect in a family room where one wishes to play board games with one’s children is eerie.

I was taken by the Master and accompanying bath, but was uncomfortable about the rest of the house. As I left the Master suite to go downstairs, I noticed the framing of the double-doors entering the suite was severely damaged.

It was obvious that abuse had occurred here. I thought of the sinister portrait in the family room and the looks the woman had given us as we came in.

Perhaps it was the petite wife beating up her gruff looking husband? Who knows?

But what I did know was that the house made me uncomfortable.

My dad kept telling me that with some warmer carpet, the proper lighting, and repairs to the offending doors that we could make our own vibe. He said the price was outstanding, and we’d end up far ahead in the long run.

But I was frightened. The house just felt wrong. I wanted to like the house. It would have been a tremendous investment, and that Master bathroom was to die for. But not really To Die For.

We went on to find our current house, which has a spectacular kitchen (ironically enough, white with silver and glass doors, which would have matched the Creepy House perfectly.) But our house is filled with warm colors, ceilings that are high enough to feel spacious but low enough to feel comfortable, and a sunny backyard where no blood has been shed.

I wish I could give some dramatic ending to the story, like the people who bought the Eerie Abode had ended up getting in an accident, or there was a house fire, or that it was back on the market again. But I haven’t seen that address in the paper, nor have I driven by to see what the neighborhood is like at this point in time.

I was tempted to drive down to take a look, but instead I went directly to the elementary school to vote. And I drove home again without detours.

(Oh, and I do have a story to tell about some cursed plumbing in our current house that just wreaked havoc on my morning, but I must attend to the last minute cleaning for a play-date that was originally scheduled for the park, but it is raining! No food in the house, except on the floor, and overflowing toilets. They arrive in 40 minutes. I’ll leave it at that for now. Cheers!)

FREAKY COINCIDENCE OF THE DAY: I do HR for my brother's company. We just got a new employee. I picked up her paperwork today on my trip into the office. I just looked at her paperwork. She lives 8 houses down from the one I discuss above. The office is about forty-five minutes away, so it isn't as though it is a super-convenient commute in which such a coincidence would be commonplace!