Friday, January 7, 2011
"No, and I don't want to know."
As I shouted those words I knew that I would have to know. All the weird little things that had been happening ran screaming through my head.
A closet door that was stuck and could not be opened would suddenly almost fly off the hinges. The bathroom window would be open or shut at one moment would be shut or open the next. We had heard singing that we attributed to the neighbors next door. Our dog would bark and growl incessantly at something in the kitchen, but she refused to actually go in the kitchen. There was also an occasional feeling of someone else being in the room, of being watched. I'd never put them together, until then.
"OK, I have to know," I said as I gasped for breath. She asked us to remove the children from the room before she would tell us her story. I picked up the baby, grabbed Karli's hand and took them into their bedroom to play, shutting their door as I left. I quickly went back into the living room to find out the story of our home.
"Three years ago," she began, "a teenager named Tony Flores murdered his mother in the kitchen with a baseball bat."
"Oh holy shit," I thought, "this has no where to go but down."
It seems that Tony, then 15, had always been a wonderful boy and extremely devoted to his parents. He had been especially close to his mother. A year or so before the murder he fallen in with a group of kids that were heavily involved with drugs, and the occult.
Tony had been living in the guest house. That was where they boys would get high and call upon spirits and demons. That’s what Eric felt, the oppression of whatever was still there.
One afternoon, while his mother, was cooking he walked up behind her and, for no reason ever mentioned, bludgeoned her to death with a metal baseball bat. That explained the stains on the ceiling and curtains. It also explained the new vinyl floor in a house that had been vacant for three years.
Tony was sentenced as an adult and is now sitting in the State Prison. That was three years before we moved in. The house had been empty since the most horrifying murder that the sleepy little town had ever experienced. No one dared go near it. The babysitter began to tell us of the singing that had been heard coming from the house, and faces that had been seen in the windows.
"That is why I was so late. I was afraid to come over." We looked at her as she spoke not knowing what to think or what to say. After a few moments to let everything soak in, we asked if she was still up to watching our children. She said she was as long as we weren't late. We agreed to make it a quick dinner and return promptly.
Sitting over a dinner of fresh stone crab and Shrimp Louis I asked Ed if he knew about the history of the house.
"Yes," he said, "But it was such a good deal."
No wonder it was a good deal! It sat empty for three years with spirits running rampant.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I wanted to know, I needed to know. His answer was accurate. He said I wouldn't have moved in. Well hell no I wouldn't have moved in! It's not that I really believed in haunted houses, it's just that the whole thing was creepy.
We returned home early and the babysitter nearly bolted out of the house. The kids were safely asleep tucked into their beds. We thought all would be well, after all no one had actually seen any apparitions, yet.