I used to be totally skeptical when it came to ghosts and haunted houses, but now I’m not so sure.
A few years back, I was working with an out of state buyer who was searching for a large home with historic character and a private location. My search of available inventory yielded four homes that seemed to fit the bill, and I e-mailed the listing sheets to him for his review. All of them looked interesting, he replied, and would I mind driving out to personally review each one and take some additional pictures to supplement the ones attached to the listing sheets?
All Homes Have A Spirit: Is Yours Naughty or Nice?
It was a crisp, clear day in the late fall, and all four houses were on my itinerary. No one was home at any of them, and the listing agents had all given me lockbox instructions, so the day passed without any human interaction, the kind of day we all need once in a while, just a day to relax and be alone. The camera shutter kept clicking merrily, and I even packed myself a picnic, which I ate in a gazebo overlooking a private farm pond at Property # 2.
The last house on the tour was at the end of a long driveway that wound down a hillside. As my car reached the bottom of the hill, I realized I was driving out of the sunshine and into the shadow of the house itself – a three-story colossus that apparently faced east.
“Sun’s going down,” I thought to myself. “Better get inside fast and get some pictures before it’s too dark.”
The front door led into a massive front entry hall with a huge fireplace and the walls darkly paneled like a medieval Scottish castle. The rooms all had tall ceilings, and magnificent trim and moldings.
The second floor bedrooms were also big and spacious, but I was noticing that the place had an abandoned look. It wasn’t just that the people had moved out, it felt more like they’d run away. A shiver ran up my spine, the sun was sinking lower and the house was starting to feel cold.
As I climbed the narrow staircase to the third floor, I thought I heard something behind me and I stopped and turned. Nothing. The third floor was the servants’ quarters – a long hallway with multiple doors, each leading to a narrow bedroom. Like a row of cells in a prison. Like Death Row. Some of the doors were open and I peered in, some were closed and they creaked as I pushed them open to see inside.
I didn’t make it all the way to the end of the hallway, yet I have never been able to remember or explain what exactly I saw, heard or felt that caused me to sprint back down the narrow stairway, all the way down to the first floor, barely pausing to make sure the front door was locked behind me. But before I could draw a breath, I was in my car and careening back up the driveway.
About a mile down the road, I pulled over at a gas station to fill up with gas. The attendant seemed like one of those wise old country folks that you might normally ask for an off-the-cuff weather prediction.
“Are you familiar with the old W**** place down the road?” I asked him.
“Of course,” he replied.
“And is it haunted?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” he replied without hesitation, then he paused as if mentally checking that he’d answered me correctly.
“But all houses have spirits, don’t they?” he added.
This short story was provided by Mitch Ribak a Suntree Florida real estate agent specializing in helping home buyers find Viera Florida real estate including homes in Melbourne Beach Florida.