On my night walks with Allie, I’ve lately found myself listening to the excellent podcast, “Monsters Among Us.” Callers leave their true stories about paranormal experiences. More than once I’ve thought it might not be the best thing to listening to wandering the dark and shadowy streets of Rohnert Park, but, hey, I need inspiration at any cost! The most recent show has the theme of Haunted Houses, and they mentioned about some states having laws where you have to disclose if your house is thought to be haunted – it’s not legally admitting it’s a ghost. Instead the property is deemed a “Stigmatized Property” – same designation if a crime or death has occurred on the property and the idea of that incident (or ghost) could adversely affect the home price. Unfortunately, it’s a lot more legalese than creepy. But it did get me thinking…
Sorry for splitting this into a two-parter. I just wanted to give it space to breathe…
“We absolutely love the place,” the sandy-haired husband declared – was his name Jim? Tim? Andi, the Real Estate agent thought. Something like that…
“Yeah, I think it’s perfect! I can’t wait for the kids to see it…” Janet – the wife, I remembered her name, Andi thought – said.
“Whoa, sweetie,” Jim/Tim warned with a smile. “We have to see about the next steps.”
Both turned beaming faces towards Andi.
This was the part Andi dreaded… You’d think she’d be used to it by now – the house had been on the market now for more than six months. “I’m really glad you liked it,” she put on her brightest smile. “Now, I am legally obligated to disclose something about the house…”
“What, is it haunted or something?”
“Yes, actually…”
She watched their excited, hopeful faces deflate in front of her. Again, she knew she should have been used to it, but every time her heart sank.
“Technically, it’s referred to as a ‘Stigmatized Property’.”
“Oh,” the couple said in unison and unconsciously stepped back at the same time.
“What happened here?” Janet tentatively asked.
“The owners at the time all died in the house,” Janet said matter-of-factly.
“Oh,” Jim/Tim said. “Like over a period of time…?” he asked hopefully.
“Well, yes… I’m told it was over the span of about five minutes.”
The couple gasped in unison.
“But it wasn’t foul play…” Andi hastily added.
“Then, how…” Janet inquired.
“The best police could reconstruct, the teenage boy slipped on a puddle at the top of the stairs and fell down the stairs, breaking his neck. The father, hearing the commotion, rushed to the banister and slipped himself, falling over the railing. The mother, who was making dinner at the time, ran into the foyer, only to trip over her husband’s body, causing her to fall, impaling herself on the knife she was carrying.”
“Holy shit,” Janet said. Jim/Tim looked at her, aghast at her profanity, then softened realizing his reaction was the same.
“But,” Jim/Tim started, “They died here – no foul play, like you said. That’s it, right? It’s not like there was haunting reported…”
“Well…” Andi started, but Janet had already started for the car.
“We… We’ll call you if we change our mind,” Jim/Tim said as he hurried after his wife.
“Well, shit,” Andi said.
“Well, shit,” Dennis said from the upstairs window.
“Language, young man,” Mary admonished.
“Mom, I’m thirty. I can swear, it’s okay.”
“Dennis, you were fifteen when we all died. Maybe it’s been another fifteen years, but to your mother you’ll still always be that precocious fifteen year old boy.”
“Thank you, Gary,” Mary smiled at her husband. “A precocious boy who shouldn’t have been running in the house,” she couldn’t help but add.
“Says the woman who was running while holding a knife,” Dennis smiled sardonically.
“I mean, we always said don’t run with scissors – no one ever said anything about running with a carving knife,” Gary laughed and fist-bumped his son.
“Har har,” Mary scoffed.
“Who’s this?” Gary said, looking through the window as a black 1960 Cadillac Eldorado hearse pulled up to the curb behind Andi’s BMW. The doors opened almost in unison and a skinny man and skinny woman stepped out, dressed head to toe in black and made a beeline to Andi who stared open mouthed at their arrival.
“A pair of wankers,” Dennis added.
“Language!”
“Mom…”
“Hi, you must be Andrea Major,” the man said, taking off his sunglasses and carefully placing them into the pocket of his black suit jacket. “The agent for this property?”
“Yes, you can call me Andi,” she said a little dumbstruck.
The woman offered a thin smile probably intended to be sympathetic. “Your office said you were here. We were hoping to catch you and save you from making a second trip.”
“Ah, okay… and you are…?”
“Where are our manners,” the man smiled in a way he probably read somewhere was supposed to put people at ease. “I’m Gavin, this is my wife Sophie. We’re the Reeds.” He said “the Reeds” like it was obvious who they were.
“The… Reeds?”
“The hosts of the ‘Haunt Pursuit’ podcast?” Gavin said.
“The top-rated podcast on Apple, Spotify, and SiriusXM?” Sophie added.
Andi shook her head as she said, “Pleased to meet you…” She then changed the subject, “Would you like to see the property?”
“Yes, well…” Sophie started.
“We’re more interested in the activity previous owners have reported that have led to this being a ‘stigmatized property’” Gavin added finger air quotes around “stigmatized property.”
“Well, technically the deaths of the family were enough to relegate the property to the stigmatized designation, but the other families have reported various things like electrical issues that couldn’t be explained by electricians, the feeling of being watched, cold spots. Nothing concrete, but none lasted more than a couple years…”
Gavin and Sophie exchanged cold smiles. “We’ll take it,” they said in unison.
“Umm, I’m sorry?”
“It’s perfect,” Sophie said. “We’re going to move in and record everything for our podcast.”
“We’ve been looking for the perfect haunted property, and this fits the bill,” Gavin added.
“Oh, well, okay, then if you want to follow me to the office I can start the paperwork…” Andi motioned to her own car. Nods were shared and the Reeds moved towards their hearse.
“What in the hell…” Gary said as the cars drove off.
“What’s a podcast?” Mary asked.
“Like a radio show, honey,” Gary explained.
“Those pretentious pricks…” Dennis shook his head.
“Language, Dennis,” Mary started.
“No, I think he’s right, dear. These look like some pretentious pricks,” Gary agreed, folding his arms thoughtfully.
“Well, then we’ll to scare them like we did the Johnson’s,” Mary said with a little too much enthusiasm.
“You really had that late night wail down, mom,” Dennis smiled in memory.
“Thank you, Dennis.”
“No…” Gary said slowly.
“No?” Mary asked.
“No,” Gary said, “We don’t do anything.”
“Excuse me?” Dennis asked.
“These podcasters want a show. We’re not going to rise to their bait. We’re going to be the most boring ghosts they never saw.”
Dennis smiled mischievously. “You’re one twisted bastard, Dad.”
“Thank you, son.”
“Language!”
