Hello boys and ghouls,
Today I want to tell you a story about the house next door. I am not sure what it is exactly about this house that draws me to it, but I have been feeling compelled to write about it for quite some time.
Here we go:
It was a cold and rainy evening, that first day of October in 2011. Neil and I walked hand-in-hand over the threshold into our home, which just so happens to be the home of my late grandmother, the home my mother grew up in.
I carefully took off my wedding dress and laid it across the bed and counted as I removed 36 bobby pins from my hair. It had been curled and fastened to the top of my head all day, it felt so good to let it down. I was telling Neil that my so called friends who invited us to go to a bar after the wedding to celebrate were pissed because we chose to hang out with my brother, whom I hadn’t seen in over a year, cousin, and other relatives instead. I should have known then that it was the beginning of the end of our friendship, but frankly, I was in too good of a mood to really care, so I put on a pair of comfortable sweat pants, and my new MRS. WEIGMAN hoodie and headed out the door. That’s the first time that house drew me in. I was standing on my front porch and I looked over at the house and I swore something passed by the upstairs window….
We got home late that night and left early the next morning to have breakfast with my brother and parents before we left for the mountains of West Virginia on our honeymoon. It wasn’t until another week or so had passed before I felt the pull again from the house next door.
This house isn’t a normal house, it’s a very run down, abandoned house, but the weird thing is, of all the time I spent at my Grandma Bateman’s as a child, I don’t recall this house. Maybe it was filled with life and didn’t look so dull and drab as it does today, or maybe I was just too fascinated with the tire swing my grandmother hung in the buckeye tree and the remaining sea shells that was used as gravel in the early 1900’s that still littered the ground in places.
The house is two stories, and what once was, as I imagine, beautiful brown shingles are now gray and lifeless, like the air has been stolen from the house’s lungs, and what’s left it a cold, dead, outer shell. There’s really nothing special about this house, the windows are still intact, and the one upstairs has a curtain, which piques my curiosity because it’s the only window in the house that has one. I think I’ve seen one too many Alfred Hitchcock movies, suspicious that the man who owns the property and still mows the lawn from time to time is hiding his mother’s corpse behind that curtain.
We have lived in our house for 8 years now, and we’ve never seen anyone go in or out of it, but I have seen critters come out of that house, for instance, a barn owl, a rabbit, and a groundhog have all come in and out of that house. I’m still waiting for the donkey, bear, and piglet to show up.
I don’t know why, but every time I pass by our dining room window in the middle of the night, I feel compelled to look over at the house, maybe to confirm my suspicions, not so much about the dead mother, but that there’s something hidden in that house, maybe I don’t want to know, but I just can’t seem to leave this be.
The pull is worse during the winter months. The first winter Neil and I spent in our house, I found myself sitting by the window in our living room, the one that looks directly out at the rundown, yet somehow charming house. I love to sit by a window in the winter, curled up with a steaming mug of hot chocolate and a good book, and just watch it snow, it’s so calming, but I found myself staring at that curtained window. And I saw the curtain move. Neil said it was probably a draft, and I’m sure he’s probably right, but the house seems to be boarded up well. I understand that it’s old, and we too, live in an old house, so I get how drafty it can be, but I don’t know. I just have a creepy sort of feeling that I can’t shake. If I had the kahunas, I’d try sneaking over there in the middle of the night and try taking a peek, but I’d probably end up shot, because one of the pros and cons of living in a small town is that everyone looks out for everyone.
Maybe I’ll find out what it is about this house that draws me to it, or maybe I’ll spend the remainder of my days in curiosity, but either way, I think I’m going to let my imagination run wild and write a story about this house and the possibilities of what could be hidden behind that curtain.
Wishing all of you a Spooktacular Hump Day!
Love & life lessons,