Erik’s Blog

I’ve never been all that fond of ancient houses. I can’t explain 100% of why that is. I’m sure there’s something I’m missing about them because so many people swear by them. Perhaps people feel that older homes have no sharp edges, or the smells of decades of pot roast and potatoes that have soaked into the walls make them think of the comforts of childhood. Or perhaps they just like the aesthetics of old homes. I don’t know. And really, I don’t care.

All I know is I don’t like my 80+ year old home. It’s bad enough that Brenda and I have dumped lots of money into restoring chunks of the structure, starting with the roof and not quite ending with the bathroom. And the list of crap that needs fixing continues to lengthen as we await the final death rattle of our sewer lateral. That’s going to be a joy to fix. And cheap, too.

But that’s not the worst of it. What tops the list of reasons to pack up and leave is this: I’m now convinced this house is haunted.This is not something I just kind of decided today. We’ve been in this house for years (8? 9? I lost count) and almost from the very beginning this place has creeped me out.

Have you ever walked into a house and immediately felt un-nerved? I didn’t feel that way the first few times I entered the house but it didn’t take long for the feeling to set in. Little things all over this house bugged me: the 2″ gap under the basement door which allows you an ample view into the dark basement at night (I no longer look down when I pass it); the latch that’s on the bottom of the BASEMENT side of the basement door (since when do you need to latch yourself IN the basement?); the bottom foot or so of the basement side of the basement door that’s scratched to the point of exposing raw wood (a dog, perhaps? Hopefully?); shirt fabric sticking out of the dirt in our dug-out basement; odd holes punched in the walls separating the “developed” part of the basement from the dug-out part with the furnace (yes, they’re punched out, not simply disintegrated from years of arid weather); basement, basement, basement, blah blah blah…

Yeah, I guess you could say the focus of the freakiness has been predominantly focused toward the basement. That’s just the start of it, though. A few years back, not long before I returned to college, we experienced a period of time when watches with hands would be set exactly one hour forward or backward overnight if left in the living room (digital watches were left alone). This happened four or five times that we know of. Man, did that suck. It’s one thing to read about crap like that, but it’s entirely different when it’s happening in your own home. I tried it again recently with a cheap battery powered clock. The clock changed, but the battery was wearing out so I can’t say for sure it wasn’t just a battery issue. I didn’t try again.

Over the years Brenda and I have had dreams of a woman in a blue dress. Perhaps one of us had a dream and mentioned it, and in the process planted the idea in the other’s head. I don’t know. Neither of us is happy about sharing this blue dress lady in our dreams. The dreams aren’t the same, but who cares? Neither of us can figure out where she first popped up dream-wise. She appeared out of nowhere. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a dream about her but I still get chills when I think about it.

Then there was the time a year or two ago when Brenda heard something fall behind her when she was loading up the washing machine in the basement. She spun around just in time to see…something…fall into a box under our basement stairs. (Perhaps coincidentally, it fell in a box just below one of those punched-out holes that I mentioned earlier. This happened at night, in case it matters.) Not bothering to continue loading the washing machine, she came upstairs and asked that I go down and see WTF. What fell was a tiny, ancient toy tom-tom drum. Each of our basement steps has a shelf underneath it so it’s possible it simply fell after being shaken to the edge. However, nobody was shaking the steps at the time, and I swear I looked on those shelves a year or so earlier when searching for crap the previous owners left behind and I don’t recall seeing a toy drum. Regardless, I put it on a shelf under the stairs and left. It’s still right where I left it. I’ll be ding damned if I’m going to bring it upstairs or chuck it. Sorry, but something tells me its best to just leave it where it is.

On and on and on… Nobody likes being in or around our basement. The first thing you want to do when you go down there is turn around and go back up as soon as possible. It’s not a horrifying thing, but it’s definitely un-nerving. I’ve been un-nerved by basements my entire life but this one — this friggin’ Buffalo Bill, Silence of the Lambs dug out dirt and plaster and concrete and yuck basement — takes the prize as the all time un-nerviest. And I hate living in the house that contains it. The cats seem to like it, though. They spend lots of time playing under the 2″ gap at the bottom of the door, mostly at night when I DON’T want to pay attention to that gap. What’s down there that’s so entertaining is anyone’s guess.

Do you have an idea of how this house “feels” yet? Have I convinced you that something feels a bit off here? Hopefully.

If so, perhaps you’ll understand why I turned slightly white when I glanced at my fridge a few days ago and saw some word collections from our word magnets that I did not put together myself:

“sweat” “to” “death” “from” “bitter” “iron”

There’s no way I would not have noticed this if it’s been there for a while. It’s located in the same neighborhood as a …”chocolate” “apparatus” “from” “butt” “place” “s”… phrase that Brenda added years ago that still cracks me up. So it’s definitely something new.

Okay, then it’s another goofy Brenda-ism, right? Wrong. She knew nothing about it. Then it must have been set up by my brother and/or his wife when they popped in to check on the cats while Brenda and I were in wine country. Nope, they had nothing to do with it either. We don’t have guests in our house very often, and whenever we do have guests we tend to be around them unless they hit the can. So no guests have messed with our magnets. And even if guests did mess with them, I can’t imagine they’d do so about 2′ from the bottom of the fridge door, just about the height of a very, very young child.

One that has a toy tom-tom drum, perhaps?

This sucks. This really, really sucks.

And no, I’m NOT making any of this up.

(Update: For the sake of science, a more comprehensive photo of our fridge.)

(Another update: some basement-related photos… Yes, the picture quality sucks. I’m not trying to make art here.

• The door… Note the darkness in the gap. That’s not just a trick of the flash; the floor drops to the first step right at the doorjamb.
• The steps… A welcome sight for sure.
• The basement side of the basement door. The stairwell is not lit so we always see this thing in darkness. This is the first time I’ve seen it with light. Yuck… Anyway, there you are: scratches and a mysterious latch. (Again, why would you latch yourself in a basement, and why is it so low on the door? Too many questions.)
• If you’re loading laundry in the washing machine and do a 180 because you hear something move behind you, this is what you’ll see. Note the hole in the wall to the left of the bike. WTF?
• The more or less permanent resting place of the toy tom-tom drum.
• A closer view of the drum.

Hey, good times!)