The Staircase, A Memoir

The sun was beginning to set, a cascade of reds and golds creating a vibrant backdrop to the statuesque three story, Second Empire home.  I eased my car down the long driveway, pulling up to the side of the residence at 1515 Jackson, noticing for the first time how isolated the house was from the rest of the homes on the block.  Stationed like a watchman, the structure was situated on a large wooded lot at the entrance to the historical district in town.  A low iron fence with spiked picket castings surrounded the perimeter of the property, limiting access to the dwelling by either the driveway or a long sidewalk from the street.  Lush landscaping encased a rear patio and serpentine pool, creating a small, private oasis.  Stepping out of the car, I inhaled the sweet scent of roses mingled with decaying sycamore leaves. The soft call of a dove cooed in the distance.

It had been a slow Friday.  The kind of Friday that made one antsy and full of regret about the passing summer. A conversation with the executors of the Jackson street home earlier that day hadn’t gone well.  The local real estate market was soft due to the banking crisis of 2008. Even though this was nothing I could control, other than continuing to harp on the sellers to reduce the price, the burden of selling the home fell to me.  Understandably, they were frustrated and wanted to settle the estate.  I had been the listing agent for several months and although I had procured multiple buyer leads, I hadn’t found any takers.  If I didn’t sell it soon, I would lose everything I had invested in its marketing.  

My phone rang. 

“Hey Karen, it's Chuck Borden.  I was wondering if you had time to show me the house at 1515 Jackson.  My wife and I have been eyeing it and love the exterior.”  

“Absolutely, I would love to!  The house is vacant so I can meet you there in a half hour.”  Grateful for another opportunity to procure a sale, I jumped in the car and headed to the house to get it ready for my showing.

I maneuvered the key in the ancient lock and with a huge push, the massive door gave way with a groan, opening into the vestibule.  Just as I started to close it, Chuck pushed the door wide open.

“Perfect timing!” he said, barging into the home with a confidence he no doubt displayed in the courtroom.  Chuck had recently taken a position at a local law firm and needed to be moved and settled by the end of the year.  We had great rapport, joking easily with one another and, after several meetings with him, a trust had developed between us.  I was sure I would sell him something.  I just didn’t know what or when.

“Oh, gosh! You scared me. I wasn’t expecting you yet, but come on in. I was going to turn some lights on for us.”  Taking a deep breath, I proceeded to the center hall of the home.  A grand stairway made of mahogany railings and treads flanked two sides of the entrance.  The open stairwell soared to the top floor allowing one to see the third level railings from the main level.  An alabaster chandelier dripping with crystals hung from the center of the space.  I rubbed my arms, warming them from a chill in the air.

“Wow, this is impressive.”  Chuck said as he stepped in behind me.  “I can’t even imagine what it would cost to rebuild that stairway.”  

“It is stunning for sure. We don't have many homes like this that hit our market, especially in this condition.”  I said, handing Chuck a detail sheet as we moved into the living room.

Chuck ran his hand admiringly along the burnished wood mantle of the fireplace.  “Do you know anything about the history of this home?” 

“The house was built in 1898 by a well known surgeon.  The builder constructed the home on a glass foundation so there's no basement.”

“Glass?  I’ve never heard of that before.”  

“Yeah, I hadn’t either but apparently they used crushed glass to somehow create a concrete like base.”

We moved slowly through the rooms of the main level taking time so Chuck could inspect the shimmering chandeliers, carved moldings and ornate cabinetry which adorned the massive rooms.  The scent of fresh paint and floor varnish mingled with the stale odor of days past.  A layer of dust had accumulated the last few months casting a sad and lonely pallor over the space. The home, like a broken hearted soul, seemed to be mourning the loss of its mate.  

We stopped for a moment to take in the view of the pool from the conservatory. “Look at that sunset!” said Chuck.  The soft light of the colorful sky reflected off the pool creating mirrored images of the arborvitae surrounding it.  “This will be the perfect spot for an evening cocktail.  I know Jane would love this.”

“It truly is special.  The way this home is situated you can see both sunrises and sunsets.  Wait til you see the rest of the home.  I can see you really appreciate the value here.”  The floors creaked and moaned as I led Chuck back through the center hall to the stairway.  Continuing my history lesson, “The family room addition next to the kitchen was completed in 1940. There was an old woman who purchased the home but ended up in a wheelchair a few years after she moved in.   An architect was hired to create that space because she could no longer use the stairs to access the upper floors.”

“Interesting.  It does make this home more functional for us, having a living room and family room on one level.” 

As we made our way up the stairway to the second floor, I felt a breeze flutter across my cheek causing gooseflesh to pop on my arms.  I had never noticed a chill in the home before. Maybe somehow a window had been opened so I made a mental note to make sure all the sashes were closed and locked after the showing.  The second floor included three spacious bedrooms and a full bath.  

“The current owner of the home lived here for about 30 years until he passed recently.  He was a very prominent businessman in our community.  His wife died several years before him, so his daughters are the co-executors of the estate.”  I said as I continued the tour of the home.

What I neglected to tell Chuck, having decided it was irrelevant, was that the deceased owner of the home had two daughters and a son.  The son had been a classmate of mine.  When I toured the home the first time with the daughters they pointed out John's room which was tucked in the corner of the second floor.  Sadly, John had been killed in a car accident when we were in high school.  Every time I walked through this room I couldn’t help but feel melancholy.  There was no point telling Chuck and casting any unnecessary aspersions on the home.  

“Interesting.  So there have only been three owners in all this time.” Chuck said then continued with a bit of concern, “I was hoping for a 4th bedroom with a master suite.  I'm not sure this is going to be enough for us.”  

“Just wait until we get to the third floor.  It could be remodeled into the perfect master suite.  I can’t wait for you to see it.” I added, hopeful to regain his interest.  

Holding onto the railing with a tight grip, I headed up the stairway to the third level. “This was a ballroom when the house was built in 1898.  The original flooring is still under the carpeting and from what I am told, was custom designed for this home. The current owner used it as office space.”

The worn carpet in the long narrow room was threadbare in several spots.  A trio of large windows provided expansive views of the street and neighborhood surrounding the property.  High stucco ceilings carved into ornate medallions were painted in a soft gold; the once elaborate detailing had deteriorated and chipped, creating an odd disjointed pattern.  This area of the home seemed to have been forgotten, like a lost relic, neglected and ignored. 

“I can see the potential here.  I love the eyebrow windows and how it opens to views of the park.” Chuck said. The sunset was at its peak, flooding the room with natural light.  The room seemed to glow with warmth.  “I can envision the bedroom conversion but what about a bath and walk-in closet?  This is the only room up here.” 

“Here, let me show you.” I said, leading him to a walk-in attic.  I had to jostle the door knob just a bit before the door opened to an unfinished space.  I inched my way along the wall, batting at cobwebs, until I found the light switch tucked between two wall studs.  The room was oppressively hot, the cloying odor of mothballs and insulation permeated the space.

“Look how big this attic is.”  I said as Chuck walked around, trying to catch my vision. “It's so large you could create not only a beautiful ensuite bath, but also a huge walk-in closet.  There are eyebrow windows here too.  They could flank a large garden tub and….” 

Clop-Clop, Clop-Clop, Clop-Clop….

I was cut off mid sentence by a series of loud, rapid thumps which seemed to come from the stairway.  Confused, Chuck and I walked back to the upper landing.

“Are you expecting someone?” Chuck asked.

“No, not at all.” I said, trying to sort the sound out in my mind.   

“Well, It sounded like someone was running down the stairs.”

We looked over the edge of the railing and down to the foyer but it was vacant.  We then walked back into the office and peered out the windows to the driveway but there were no other cars there either. 

“Maybe it’s the furnace or some other weird house anomaly.  You know these older homes have some quirky noises, or maybe even a raccoon on the roof.” I whispered trying to convince myself as much as Chuck.

“Yeah, no way it's a raccoon.  That sound came from inside this home.”

In an effort to get the showing back on track, I headed to the attic to continue describing my plans for the space.  It felt as if my memory of the sound had dulled in those few seconds making me question what we heard, like being startled from a dream by a loud noise. That, and I had to get the home sold.  Fortunately, Chuck followed me. 

 “As I was saying, you could utilize this wall for a double bowl vanity and the space between these windows would be the perfect spot for….” 

“Clop-Clop, Clop-Clop, Clop-Clop, Clop-Clop….”  

Again, there was the sound of the successive pounding of footsteps on the stairway.  Not just a few steps but a full flight of steps.  The sound of someone or something running down that full flight of steps.

“Okay, someone is messing with us now.  I know someone is on those steps.”  Chuck said as he dashed to the third floor landing with me in tow.

We looked down the open stairway.  No one was there.  

I tried to keep up with Chuck as he ran down the steps to the main floor. All of the doors were locked except the front door which we could see from the third floor landing.  The rooms were all empty.

Pushing our way out of the house onto the porch, we proceeded to the lawn to see if someone was in the yard or driveway. Chuck's mounting agitation soon gave way to fear when he realized there was no one there.

Chuck, several feet ahead of me, out of breath and ashen, yelled “This ones not for me” as he loaded himself in his car and drove away.  I found myself standing alone, in the twilight.

I never did hear from Chuck again. I lost the listing the next week.  In my twenty two years selling real estate, I had never experienced anything like that.  All the times I had been in the home previously, I didn’t hear or sense anything odd or unusual.  I didn't believe in ghosts.  At least I didn’t until that late, fall afternoon.  I often drive by the home at 1515 Jackson and wonder. What was it that we heard? Was it really a ghost and, if so, have the new owners heard it too?