I got an odd visit today, out of the blue. I was in the kitchen when I noticed a car lingering outside. Since I’m generally nosy, I went out to take a closer look, and when I did the woman in the car parked, got out, and asked me if I was renting or if I owned the house. I told her it was mine, and she said she used to live here. She asked me if I’d noticed anything strange about the smallest bedroom upstairs, and I told her no, but that the tenant who’d been living here when we’d bought the place had alluded to the room being different in some way. That woman had told me she was a Pagan, and she had an altar set up in the room. When I first viewed the house, she didn’t even want me to look in there, but I had, and it was fine, if not in great shape. The woman asked me if I ever got any strange feelings in that room. I told her no, that we were using it as an office/guest room and that I’d never had any odd feelings about it. Mr. Legend and I designed and built a window seat that converts into a bed platform and has storage underneath, and I’m pretty proud about that, so I spend a fair amount of quiet time in there, just admiring our handiwork. I plan to install wood flooring, someday when we have the spare cash, and to upholster the window seat in place of the loose cushions there now.
I knew that our house was a rental house for many years before we bought it. For the past two years, we’ve been getting mail for various people, and we’ve spent a great deal of time, money, and effort fixing some of the obvious results of neglect. I’d talked at length to the woman who was living here when I bought the place - she and her husband had been enlisted by the landlord to fix it up in exchange for reduced rent - and a long-term neighbor had filled me in on some details about some of the previous tenants, some of whom attracted quite a bit of police attention in their time. I’d often wondered about just who would have painted over an M&M on the baseboard heater in the living room, or who put down some fairly expensive tile at seemingly random angles in the downstairs bathroom. I’d often wondered why they’d pulled up the carpet in the office, and why there was plywood nailed over the original floorboards in lieu of any real flooring. In light of the condition of the carpet in two of the other bedrooms, I’d assumed that room had even worse pet damage. I’ve often wished I knew more about the history of the house.
I kind of had a feeling before she said it, but the woman finally blurted out, “My brother killed himself in that room in 1997.”
So.
I told her I was very sorry for her loss and asked her if she’d like to come in for a minute. She accepted, and when she walked in she said, “It looks so different than when we were here - so much nicer!” I was pleased by that, but surprised, since I’ve had wall-to-wall kids in the house for a week and the place is a complete wreck. I asked her if she’d like to go upstairs to the room, and she said yes. As soon as we went in, she said, “They took the blue carpet out.” I suddenly realized why someone would have removed carpet and put plywood over the floorboards, but I didn’t say anything. I asked her if she’d like a moment alone, and she told me yes, so I left her there with her thoughts for a while. After some time, I brought her a glass of ice water. She stayed for quite a while, and then she came downstairs. She asked to see the back yard, and she told me that she’d planted sod back there, and had put flowers in the beds all around the yard. It’s nothing but dirt now, and it was all weeds when we moved in. I told her some of my plans for landscaping. She said that the woman who’d moved in after her had just let everything die, and she mentioned she’d visited when the last tenant was here. We talked a little more, and she said, “'I’m sorry I told you this - it must be a shock to hear someone blew his brains out in your house. I just wish I could know if my brother is at peace.” I reassured her again that I’ve never felt anything odd or uncanny about that room, and that I didn’t sense any kind of torment about it. I pointed out that the room is a favorite for our dog and cats, and they’re supposedly more sensitive than humans about these things. As she was leaving, I told her she could come visit anytime she liked, if it helped.
Now, I’m not superstitious, nor have I ever had any experiences that lead me to believe in ghosts. Having never known the history of the room, I’ve never gotten any kind of eerie feeling from it except that it really needs a decent floor covering. Now I’m not sure what I feel, except sorry for the woman who visited and her family. I don’t know if I wish she’d visit again or just stay away. I’m not sure I really want to hear all the stories of this house anymore. The only conclusion I’ve come to is that I’m certainly not going to pull up that plywood before putting a floor down.