Reduced For Quick Sale

      My phone chirped on a Sunday afternoon on 11 November 2007. That ticked me off immensely because I was immersed in the Giants vs. Cowboys match up. The two division rivals duked it out twice a year, and I didn’t welcome the intrusion. But I’d forgotten to mute my phone, so I had only myself to blame. But Caller ID said Celia 20thCentury. I had known her for over twenty years, and she was more like a friend than a realtor. Even so I picked up thinking, This had better be REALLY important!

And as it so happened it was. She was more excited and animated than I ever recalled her being. Don’t get me wrong, she was always upbeat and chatty like any successful Realtor, but she was way past that now. And a minute later so was I.

Rather than relate our high energy conversation word for word I’ll summarize it: there was a ‘beautiful home in a gorgeous setting’ and, miraculously, it was now in my price range. The owner had lowered the asking price by 20%!

                                  ——

Two days later I found the home using my Garmin plug-in unit and pulled into the long asphalt drive. But I came to a halt a third of the way up the sloped driveway and exited my Land Rover. I couldn’t help but stare at what was, as the Zillow listing described it, ‘four acres of deciduous woodland paradise.’ The autumn foliage was a sunlit treat for the eyes; a mix of hardwoods in seasonal regalia. Gold, red and orange maple leaves stared at me everywhere I looked. I’m sure they made the Halloween pumpkins green with envy.

All of which made the price reduction, from ‘way past affordable’ (at least for me) to a comparative bargain, hard to fathom. The property was obviously a flat-out steal. Coincidentally, that was the exact phrase Celia had used to entice me into a hurry-up viewing of the home. Why she was giving me a first shot at this bargain was less obvious.

For whatever reason, Celia had tossed this unique opportunity my way. And I was one very happy camper as I took in the landscape. So I settled on the idea that the owner must be desperate to sell to pay off huge debts, legal or otherwise, or equally exorbitant medical expenses.

My overactive brain turned left again and I pondered other much more daunting possibilities; perhaps the home sat over an incipient sink hole, a very rare phenomenon in Basking Ridge, New Jersey. Or something else equally horrible. But none of that really mattered now. I was hooked.

When I drove up close enough to see the clearly well maintained home, that huge price cut puzzled me anew. Yes, the sprawling one-floor dwelling was a tad unusual in design, being part Frank Lloyd Wright and part Jetsons faux-futuristic. And those oval skylights looked out of place in the tube-shaped west wing. But not unusual enough to scare off someone who saw an extremely good deal. Maybe the interior was ravaged by mold and mildew?

And then I gazed at those spectacular trees one final time and shrugged; if the home required any structural upgrades, they could be accomplished without breaking a sweat, money-wise. What I saved on the sales price would more than pay for such work, as unlikely as that appeared from the exterior. Worst case, my contacts in the home restoration business would jump at the chance to work on a project like this.

So I shrugged again and drove up to the brick-paved parking lot where Celia stood. She waved as I approached and flashed her trademark smile. She was clearly born with Realtor DNA.

“How are you, Robert?” she inquired excitedly as I exited my car. Her smile widened even further as I walked over to her, a reaction to my own goofy-with-happiness expression, I’m sure. We shook hands and shared a conspiratorial expression, as if we’d just pulled off a major deal with no one else the wiser.

I finally realized she’d asked a question. “I’m wonderful Celia! Absolutely wonderful. Please don’t bring me back down to Earth and tell me the house is off market!”

“Nope. It’s still available and could be yours for $1,750,000.”

I shook my head in puzzled amazement. “This is like a dream Celia. The land alone is worth more than that. So what I really hope to hear from you is there are no major problems with the home. Or even worse, someone just unearthed a toxic waste dump in

the woods!”

She said, “No worries on that score Robert. This has always been a high-end residential area. There were no factories within twenty miles.”

“I was pulling your leg Celia. But even so, all this virgin woodland and 2500 sq. ft. of modern dwelling too? Come on! What’s the catch?”

“There isn’t any Robert. But you’d want a full home survey in hand anyways. And if it sets your mind at ease, I’ll bet you $500 against $100 the survey won’t uncover any glaring problems. It’s just a very rare gem waiting for you to pluck!”

We walked to the solid oak front door and I stood back as Celia accessed a key in the Lock Box. She hesitated for a moment and said, “In case you were wondering why I decided to call you about this rare gem, I’ve always liked you. And you’re not the slimy

type, unlike so many of my high-end clients.”

I was so taken aback I was speechless. Ethics were apparently still alive and well. So I just stood and watched as she unlocked the deadbolt and waved me inside with a

flourish.

“Thanks for doing this, Celia. I’m already in love with the place.”

I looked up at the ornate wood ceiling before turning back to Celia and froze. Celia was making the sign of the cross with her fingers also crossed. And she looked very serious, almost frightened. She stared at the floor for a moment before meeting my

gaze. She saw the look on my face and said “Don’t fret my friend. It’s part of a ritual I make whenever I enter a home up for sale.”

I waxed skeptical again, but my brain did a 180 and talked to me. You just stepped inside the house of your dreams, Robert. Lighten up!

I followed Celia from the entryway into a long corridor. Our steps echoed along the hall and I swear I heard someone whispering as well. The voice held an elderly woman’s aspect within it, and I half expected to feel her hand brush my shoulder. Because I knew someone else stood there beside me. And unlike Celia, she wasn’t visible. I’d have screamed had that happened.

So she took a different tack to reinforce her presence; the hallway now echoed with a third pair of footsteps. One with a quick, light pace, very much different from my heavier one or Celia’s heels tattooing the floor tiles.

Celia didn’t seem to notice or pretended not to. She stopped by an antique desk set into a shallow alcove in the hardwood paneled wall. She opened the Realtor logbook and we signed our names, also noting the date and time. I couldn’t help but notice the last entry was four weeks earlier.

Suddenly I needed to know more about the former resident, presumably the woman standing a mere arm’s length away. And whose aura somehow conveyed more than a bit of impatience. As if she were urging us to pick up the pace. Maybe if I inquired about her it would put this restless spirit at ease.

“I’m curious about the owner Celia. From the little I’ve seen already she must have been very particular about her home. But she’s been absent for some time, correct? You said she resided in an exclusive nursing home, if I’m not mistaken. But I don’t even know her name!”

Her already serious expression took on a somber aspect as she replied. “Her name was Emma Jameson, and she passed away two months ago. Very sad. Stage four lung cancer. We’ll deal with her son and the estate’s attorney. Assuming you come to an agreement on the house.”

I looked toward the end of the hall and into the huge living area. The floor to ceiling windows at the far end of the room were in shadow making the illumination less than ideal. I strolled ahead to get a better look and stopped in my tracks. To say I froze wouldn’t be an exaggeration; an almost wintry chill made me shiver.

I recovered and looked back at Celia. She was hugging herself and obviously felt the cold as much as I did. My voice quavered as I said, “That’s some potent AC system! I hope the heat works half as well.”

“The central HVAC system is shut off Robert. You’ve been my friend for over twenty years, so I guess it’s time we sat down and talked.”

Well, we didn’t actually sit on the fabric protected furniture, but Celia did speak forthrightly. She explained in detail why selling the home had proved so difficult. The strange whispers and echoing footsteps, temperature inversions and those creepy sensations (as if someone were standing close by you.) Apparently, everyone entering the home experienced them.

And the Realtor rumor mill guaranteed that word spread about the ‘haunted’ home which wouldn’t sell. Interest in the home plummeted. Which explained why I was here; Celia had convinced the estate’s attorney a steep reduction in price was necessary. And she had to enlist someone who didn’t know about the home’s ‘issues.’ Namely, me.

I swallowed hard and said, “Well, we’re here together and I don’t really believe in haunted houses. (Or, as I told myself, I didn’t until now.) So, let’s continue with the tour.”

Celia led me through a large modern kitchen and the elaborately furnished dining area. Since I neither heard nor felt anything out of the ordinary, my spirits rose, at least fractionally. We turned into yet another hallway, one which curved back toward the front entry. She stopped at the center-point of the curve and gestured towards a large door flush with the hall. She pushed it inwards and said, “This you won’t believe!”

I walked past her into a huge walk-in closet. Subdued lighting actuated as I entered. The closet had to be six feet wide by ten feet deep. And the air held a trace of an exotic perfume. The shelves on either side held at least fifty pairs of obviously expensive shoes. The end wall displayed a collection of handbags, hats and other accessories. (Now I knew something else about the prior owner; she was a fan of Imelda Marcos.)

The walk-in also conveyed the strongest evidence yet that she was present; out of the corner of my left eye I saw the shimmering profile of a very beautiful woman. I stifled a scream and prayed she didn’t touch me.

“Very impressive.” My voice squeaked as I hurried from the closet. On the plus side I no longer felt a chill in the air. I was perspiring through every pore of my body.

“I’m saving the four bedrooms for last. They’re spectacular. Before that you must see the garage.”

We turned 90 degrees and walked outside along the brick paved lot. Celia activated the garage door opener, and I stared as both doors slid up almost silently. Inside were two Jaguar XJS model grand touring cars in mint condition. One light blue, one a metallic convertible. I was tempted to ask if they came with the house but figured to save that for later.

But what really caught my attention was the larger-than-life portrait. It was clearly prepared by an expert. And it was also very clearly the woman who had showed herself in the closet. This stunning portrait was very much out of place in the garage. And someone had propped it up in front of some household mover’s cartons, making it stand out all the more.

Then I noticed her eyes, the sort that follow you wherever you walk. Like a low budget horror movie, but without someone standing behind a false wall, staring at you through cut out eyeholes. Her eyes were luminous and very much in place. They locked on mine like Velcro. If I had any lingering doubts she accompanied me every step of the way, this dispelled them. She might be deceased elsewhere, but in her home, she was very much alive!

I forced my eyes away from Emma’s with an effort. I looked at Celia instead and tried to speak but couldn’t utter a word. My cramped vocal cords finally untangled long enough for me to say, “There is no way on earth I could ever spend a night under this roof!” Without another word I turned away and hurried to my car.

Celia didn’t call the next day or ever again. I’m quite sure she knew I wouldn’t answer.

But Emma wasn’t through with me yet. I had a vivid dream a week later. The statuesque brunette with whom I walked along a Riviera beach stopped to stare at the lemon-yellow sunset. She finally turned to me and said, “I want to thank you, Robert. No one could ever live peacefully in my home. But I sensed you were the nicest man to enter within since my husband died, and I almost hoped you would purchase the property. I’d have been as kind to you as any restless spirit could be.”

A few months later I read that the home had been demolished and the land was sold for development. I may drive by on occasion and scope out what the developer came up with. I hope she treats the property with the respect it deserves.

But I’ll only stop by on one condition: that Emma continues to decorate my dreams. Is a serious relationship with a beautiful spirit breaking all the rules? I hope not. Moreover, now that I’m a believer, I’m sure I could give Emma the peace and serenity she needs more than anything else. If her husband chooses to join us, I’ll try not be overly jealous. And I pray we’ll walk, and talk, amongst those beautiful maples.  

Robert Dutson 31/10/2024