Have you ever had the kind of day when you are just overcome with a strange need to do something impulsive? Even if its really impractical? I was current having that kind of day. I'd just bought a house on nothing more than a whim. And not just any house, but a falling down, in major need of repair, two-story Victorian. In truth, I should have just let it be torn down. It would take months of hard work and lots of money to fix the old house up. But I felt a strange connection to the place the moment I saw it and felt compelled to save it from destruction. The only reason I could produce for the sudden need to save the house was it had made me smile. Truly smile. Something I hadn't done in well over four months. So I bought it, just like that.
The house probably looked like a dream thirty years ago. But the demolition crew that had been occupying the driveway when I'd pulled up to the house had informed me that it had been empty for over two decades and clearly had fallen into a bad state of disrepair. I didn't care; I could see past all that. I saw the house as it had been in its prime and something deep inside me called to return the house to its former glory.
Standing on the cracked sidewalk that led to the front door, I stared up at the two-story Victorian, really taking it in for the first time. It was so different from the generic, suburban home I had grown up in. This house was majestic, even in its neglected state. The steps on the wrap-around porch looked ready to cave in at the slightest breeze; the white paint was yellowed and peeling. The windows were boarded up and only a single shutter remained, hanging by a prayer under a window next to the porch. The sharp angles of the roof were missing countless shingles.
But instead of doubt at my spontaneous purchase, a child-like excitement grew within me. I could not wait to get to work repairing the old house!
With a spring in my step, I approached the death trap of a front porch. I held my breath as I put my full weight on the bottom step. It held, and I smiled a small smile before taking another careful step up. All the boards supported me, though the top one creaked threateningly, and soon I was at the door. I unlocked it with the key I'd been given soon after I had filled out all necessary paperwork and handed the loan officer at the bank a check for the full amount.
The door opened with a low groan and a puff of dust, making it obvious that no one had been inside for quite some time. I coughed and stood back for a minute to let the cloud settle before peeking inside. The light streaming through the door bathed the front room in a dim glow and I was surprised to see a few pieces of large furniture scattered around the floor, covered in sheets and a thick layer of dirt. I had thought the house would be completely empty.
I propped open the door and pulled a flashlight out of my coat pocket before venturing inside. Small clouds of dust rose with every footstep, effectively silencing any noise. I lingered the flashlight beam over the sheets before moving in a slow circle around the room. On the wall to my right was a large stone fireplace, blackened with age and neglect. A scene suddenly flashed in my mind: The hearth blazing on a cold winter night, wind howling outside. A couple lay in front of the crackling fire on an overstuffed couch, fast asleep in each others arms. I couldn't see their faces but instinctively knew both held a blissful smile.
When the flash faded, I continued my sweep of the main room. Stairs leading to the second story ran up the wall opposite the front door. They were, like everything else in the dark house, covered in dust and old cobwebs, but looked to be rather sturdy. Another scene filled my head. This time I saw those same stairs, only clean and refinished, with loops of Christmas lights and garland hanging from the railing. A tall, decorated evergreen tree sat in front, surrounded by presents and piles of fake snow.
When that vision finally faded, I made my way through the first of two doors on my left. The hinges were rusty, but the door opened without much protest. Inside was the dirtiest kitchen I had ever seen. Everything had a thick layer of brown covering it; even the vertical surfaces had a film of grime on them. Dust enhanced spider-webs hung from the crystal chandler above a space where a dining table had most likely sat. Again, a scene flashed in front of my eyes. The chandler sparkled and shone above a large oak table. On the table were two elegant place settings accompanied by a single white candle.
I swayed a bit when my sight returned to the present; I wasn't used to having so many flashes at once and it made me feel a little drained. What number was this? Four? I counted them off in my head: One when I had pulled up in the driveway, drawn by nothing more than a gut feeling. And three since I had entered the house itself. I hadn't had this many flashes since, well, ever. No wonder I felt drained.
I placed a hand against the kitchen wall to steady myself. Unexpectedly, the whole house seemed to creak and groan. I snatched my hand back quickly, surprised by the sudden noise, but then slowly reached out again and gently patted the wall. "Don't worry, I won't let you be destroyed," I whispered reassuringly. As I did that, the time on my watch caught my eye. Crap, it was getting late. It had already been late afternoon when I arrived to scope out my spontaneous purchase; it was probably getting dark outside by now. Thankfully, I'd driven into town earlier and rented a room at a small motel, where I would be staying until I fixed this place up enough to live in it.
With one last glance at the dirty kitchen, I turned and made my way back to the main room. The high ceiling and fireplace that sat directly across the room from me was a sight I knew I would never get tired of. A quick peek at the open door confirmed my earlier suspicions; it was dusk outside. The upstairs would have to wait for tomorrow.
I paused on my way out to close and lock the door and the house creaked once more as I did so. Again, I placed my hand on the frame and whispered, "Don't worry, I'll be back tomorrow." I felt bad about leaving the house alone and empty for another night, after it had already been empty for so long. But there was nothing I could do about that until I fixed it up.
When I reached my vehicle, I turned to gaze up at my new house. In the fading light, the matching boarded up windows on the top floor made the house look sad. I know, a house looking sad? Give me a break, right? But this house really did manage to look morose. Right then and there, I vowed to give the house back its proud, majestic look, no matter what.
I spent a great deal of the next morning on the telephone, getting the electricity and phone service turned on at my new house and getting the utilities turned off at my old apartment. I'd have to wait until I set up a mailing address here before I could have my mail forwarded.
It was nearly noon when I finally got out of my hotel room. First, I made my way to the post office that I'd noticed just the down street the previous day. I was eager to feel like I lived in this place, and having my address here seemed a big step.
The lady behind the counter smiled at me pleasantly when I walked through the door. I immediately felt welcome; a nice feeling. She was in her late fifties with silver gray hair and warm blue eyes that matched her smile. A tag on her shirt informed me that her name was Elaine.
"Hello dear," she greeted me. "You're a new face, what can I help you with?"
Her words made me smile a little. Small town manners, have to love them.
I told her that I'd just bought a house nearby and needed to set up a mailing address. "Just a minute, dear," she said before ducking into the back room. She returned a moment later, paperwork in hand. She set the papers on the counter in front of me and handed me a pen.
"So," Elaine asked as I started filling out the forms, "What house is it that youve bought?"
"The old Victorian a few miles out of town, up on the hill." I told her, preoccupied by the form.
"You bought that house?"
Something in Elaine's tone made me look up. She was staring at me as if I had just grown horns.
"Is there something wrong with the house?" It needed repaired but other than that it had seemed just fine to me.
She ignored my question. "I thought that place was being torn down?" She seemed very skeptical that I was telling the truth about owning the house.
I nodded, "It was going to be torn down, but I bought it before could be. I'm going to fix it up and live there."
The shock was clear on her face, "Llive there?"
"Is there something wrong with the house?" I repeated. Leave it to me to buy the house of a serial killer or something of the sort.
"No one's lived there in decades!" Elaine said, once again overlooking my earlier question.
"I am aware of that," I said, going back to the form. I finished it in a hurry, ready to get away from this woman and her obvious dislike of my new house. The welcoming feeling from early was gone.
Soon as it was completed, she ripped the paper away from me, looked it over, defy handed me a key and told me my box number. I thanked her with as much warmth as I could and quickly headed for the door.
Next stop was the hardware store. I'd jotted down the address on a piece of paper before leaving the hotel and it proved easy to find in the small town. Parking was no problem as the lot was mostly empty when I pulled up. Inside, I consulted another section of paper, one that had a list of things I would need to get started on fixing the house. Of course, I knew there was only so much I could do myself and most of the work would have to be done by professionals, but I still wanted to do every little bit that I could myself.
A sales young clerk appeared at my side. "Can I help you find anything, Ma'am?" he questioned politely. He looked to be fresh out of high school with short cropped black hair and a dimple on his left cheek.
"Yes, I need everything on this list," I said, showing it to him.
He let out a low whistle, "That's a lot of stuff. You building a house or something?"
I shook my head, "Close, I'm fixing up a house."
He smiled, "That would explain it. Well, shall we tackle that list of yours?"
I nodded and grabbed a cart before following him down one aisle. He surprised me, with his youthful looks, by being very knowledgeable about all the tools and other supplies in the store.
With his help, everything on my list was soon marked off. He rang up the items and then even pushed the cart out to my truck for me. I strongly suspected he wasn't doing it just to be a gentleman. More likely it was an attempt at flirting. He was handsome, I'd give him that, but more than a handful of years too young for me. Still, I appreciated the help, especially when it came to tying the ladder onto the back of the truck.
I thanked him for his help once everything was loaded into either the bed of the truck or back seat. I'd climbed behind the wheel and was about to close the door when his hand caught the frame of it. I quickly tried to think of an easy way to tell him no if he asked me out on a date but luckily thats not what he wanted.
"May I ask what house is it that you need all this stuff to fix it up?"
There's something to be said about small town curiosity.
"I'm fixing up the old Victorian thats a few miles out of town." I was wary to tell him after the way the postmistress had responded to the news.
"That old place? I thought it was going to be torn down?" His tone was merely curious, not suspicious like Elaines had been.
At least this kid's reaction was better than the one I got before. I decide to fish a little bit to see if I could find out anything about my new house. "Why was it supposed to be torn down? It seems structurally sound."
He leaned a little closer and lowered his voice, "Well, everyone around here says that old place is haunted."
"Haunted?" I raised an eyebrow, "Like in chairs flying around the room, walls bleeding kind of haunted?"
He chuckled, "Nothing that severe, just little things. Random noises and such. Apparently, that's why the last people that lived there moved out. Everyone I know says that place just gives them the creeps."
I let that sink in before replying, "Well, thanks again for your help. I'll mostly likely be back, needing more stuff."
He took a step back, still resting one hand lightly on the door. "It was no problem, and come back anytime." With that, he shut my door and walked back inside the store.
I mulled over what he had said in my mind as I drove out of town. Haunted. Is that why the postmistress had looked at me so funny when I told her I'd bought the Victorian? I could see how the house might have a haunted look, but it didn't give me the creeps, quite the opposite in fact. It made me smile and feel at home. All the house needed was a little care, that would take away the haunted look. A fresh coat of paint, a new porch, a little landscaping. That's all it needed.
I pulled to a stop in the driveway and smiled up at the house. It wasn't creepy, a little sad looking maybe, but not creepy.
I walked up the driveway, pry bar and broom in hand. First, I thought I would remove the boards from the windows and air the house out a little bit. Then, I would knock down the dusty cobwebs and sweep up the majority of the dirt off the floor.
Like the day before, I was cautious as I stepped up the rotten boards of the porch stairs. I pulled the key out of my pocket and unlocked the door, stroking the frame as I did so. "See, I told you I would be back. Did you miss me?" The house creaked in response as I opened the door. I smiled, "I missed you too." It seemed completely natural to talk to the house, and why not? It's not like there was anything else around for me to speak to.
I left the broom by the open door and took my crowbar to the boarded up window directly on the right. After that board was off, I carefully made my way down the steps to remove the board covering what I assumed was a kitchen window that overlooked the sink. I continued around the house in a clockwise fashion until I reached the porch once more.
Up the steps again, I grabbed the broom, went inside, and started sweeping. I hummed a soft lullaby from my childhood as I worked. The living room was slightly brighter now that the boards had been removed from the windows, but the light was still filtered by the thick layer of dust.
"Oh," I said, pausing my cleaning momentarily. "I heard a rumor about you today. It seems people in town think you are haunted and creepy." I laughed gently and returned to sweeping. "I wouldn't take anything they say too seriously though; they're probably just overly superstitious. And, for the record, I don't think you're creepy."
A quiet groan, caused by a gust of wind, was the only response.
The next month sped by surprisingly fast. At first, it was a real hassle getting anyone to repair the neglected Victorian. Small town superstition runs deep it seems. But everyone has a price and I eventually found some contractors to do the work. They worked quickly, repairing the house much more swiftly than I had thought possible. I knew they worked fast just to be away from the house, not wishing to be around it any longer than utterly necessary. I didn't mind; the quicker they finished, the sooner I could live in my wonderful new home.
I was at the house everyday; either cleaning, painting, or doing some other task to speed up the completion process. And everyday, I found myself falling more and more in love with the majestic Victorian. I would talk to the house whenever I was there alone. I figured everyone in town already thought me crazy just for buying the place; they didn't need to know that I talked to it too.
Sometimes, I would pretend the random creaks and groans of the old structure were replies or acknowledgments to the things I said. Of course, that was just silly thinking on my part, but talking to the house made me feel comforted, not alone. It was curious, I'd felt alone for almost half a year, ever since my parents died. Why a building should make me feel better I didn't know, but it did for some reason, and I wasn't about to question it.
Near the end of the month, when the repairs were virtually complete, the time finally came that I had to leave for a couple of days. I'd been putting it off all month, but I couldn't delay any longer. Things at my former place of residence needed sorted out.
Even though I knew it had to be done, I found myself reluctant to leave my precious Victorian for more than one night. I had yet to spend a single night in the house, but the joy that filled me when I saw it every morning was something I would miss terribly.
As I closed and locked the door the evening before I left, I rested my hand on the recently painted trim and promised I would be back in just a few days. The stairs on the newly built porch creaked as I stepped down them. I liked to think that was the house's way of telling me to hurry back.
The next day was one I was not looking forward to. I awoke early, before dawn, ready for the trip to be over as quickly as possible. The drive was long and uninteresting, the country side flat and dull as I sped along the near empty roadways. I found myself growing more and more miserable as the distance between my home and myself increased. I hated having to leave. I would miss my home greatly over the next few days. Not one night had been spent in the place, and yet I already thought of it as home. The thought of having a real home again made me smile in spite of the bleak landscape rolling by.
It was dark when I drove into the parking lot of the three-story apartment building where I formerly resided. This was where I would be staying for the next few nights. Though in the darkness you couldnt tell it, the whole building was made of sun-weathered grey brick and equally dull pale blue roofing. The image of the structure in daylight appeared unbidden in my mind. I grimaced at the drab and dreary look. I shook my head as I looked up at it, wondering how I ever could have happily lived in this place. And yet I knew at one time I'd been perfectly content to inhabit the tiny apartment that was surrounded by ugly gray stone.
I grabbed my duffle bag out of the back seat and walked up the sidewalk to the building. The door to my apartment was painted olive green, same as every other door. I opened it with a long unused key on my key ring. Inside, it was dark, and would stay that way the whole time I was here. I didn't have the time or mind to deal with getting the power turned on again. I wasn't some child who was afraid of the dark; I could deal with it for a few nights.
My apartment was small and sparsely furnished. The living room was directly to my right as I walked in the door, the kitchen area to my left, sectioned off from the door by a counter. A couch, desk, and chair were the only pieces of furniture in the front room. A computer sat on top of the desk.
The single bathroom down the hall held next to nothing. Most of what had sat on the vanity at one time had been packed up a month ago when I'd left to deal with my parents estate in Florida. It was on the return drive of that trip that I'd spotted the Victorian, spotted and bought on sight.
The bedroom wasn't much to look at either. A full size bed edged along one wall; a tan rug lay in the middle of the floor. I shook my head again. How had I ever thought of this place as home?
Unable to sleep because of road buzz, I placed a handful of lit candles around the apartment and proceeded to bag up all the clothes in my closet and dresser. When I'd completed that, I set the bags on the couch, ready to be loaded into my truck first thing in the morning.
The fridge was next, and it made me wish I had left the electricity on while I had been away. It's not like I didn't have the money now days. My parents had left me everything in their will, and while they hadn't been rich, they had been quite well off. Add to that the money I got from the sale of their house in Florida, and I could afford to pay an extra electricity bill. But my parents had raised me to conserve and save, and no matter how much money I had, it would be a habit I always kept.
Well, maybe not always, I amended, as I remembered the spontaneous purchase of my new home, the home I hated to leave. The home I couldn't wait to return to. But no matter how impulsive and rash it was, I couldn't feel a single bit of remorse about buying the place. It made me happy as nothing else did.
The next day I was in a rush to get everything done, hopeful that I could leave the following morning if I did so. My original plan had been to rent a trailer so I could transport the furniture from my apartment to my new place of residence, but after seeing the sad shape everything was in, I realized it would just be a waste of my time. There was no way I could subject the grand Victorian to my decrepit old furnishings. I would simply have to buy new ones.
Time for plan B. I phoned Zack, one of the few good friends I had in the city and called in a favor. He arrived a half hour later, an extra buddy in tow.
"You're really leaving aren't you?" he asked after a quick hug hello.
I smiled a little, "Yep."
I'd called Zack a few times since I'd been away, so he knew of the Victorian I had so spontaneously bought, and my intentions to live there.
He nodded in unspoken acceptance, "We'll miss you, Cindy and I. She'll be sad not to have someone to drag to the mall every week."
I chuckled, "Oh, I am sure she will get along just fine without me." Cindy was Zack's wife and another good friend of mine. She had a quirky sense of humor and a fondness for having her hair styled at the mall nearly once a week. I would miss her and her husband; they were nice people and had been very supportive in the months after my parents' deaths.
"It's good to hear you laugh again, Emily."
I smiled at him again, "It feels good to laugh."
There was a moment of silence before Zack broke it. "This is my friend, Dave," he said, gesturing over his shoulder to the guy that stood a few feet behind him. "Dave, this is my good friend, Emily St. Claire."
His friend, who'd hung back to allow our mini reunion, now stepped forward to shake my hand, "It's nice to meet you, Miss."
I smiled at him, "It's nice to meet you too, Dave, and thanks in advance for your help."
Between the three of us it proved quick and easy to remove the meager contents of my apartment. Thankfully, my place was on the first floor, making it easy to transfer things from the building to the back of my truck.
Once everything was loaded, minus the bed which I would be leaving in the apartment, I thanked Zack and his friend for their help, gave Zack a hug, and promised I would keep in contact with him and Cindy.
After they left, I drove to my favorite thrift store to donate the couch, desk and other items that I would not be taking with me. Next, I stopped at the local post office to close the box I had there and informed them of my new forwarding address.
Back at the depressing grey brick building, I gave my soon to be former landlord a check for the rent that was due and told him I would be leaving the next day. He wished me the best of luck at my new place. I thanked him with a small smile before turning back to my near empty apartment. Only the bags of clothes and my computer remained in the living room. Two boxes, one holding kitchenware, and other holding random knick-knacks, sat on the counter that separated the two rooms. In the morning, I would pack everything into my truck and return to my wonderful Victorian.
Having nothing else left to do for the night, I cleaned the apartment top to bottom. With everything either gone or put into boxes, it didn't take long. Afterwards, I made myself a quick dinner, which I ate over the sink, and then went to bed early, anxious for tomorrow to come.
Nice. St. Claire huh? Sure this isn't gonna tunr into a Moonlight fic? *snicker*
There was one thing. I'm pretty certain the norm everywhere is that the rent is paid at the beginning of the month, not the end. So, it'd be kinda weird to pay a months rent and move out the next day?
So ... I"m making another guess ... maybe this house was lived in by one or both of her parents and that's why it's so comfortable?
i think it will be cool
