In the early nineties there was a murder that occurred in the basement of the house across the road from my mother's house. The road that Mom lives on was very quiet and desolate at that time. For many years there were no neighbors for miles.
I remember my mother being happy that they were building a house near hers because we had problems with burglars. It was while the house was being built that the man was murdered because he owed some drug dealers a mere $15,000. The poor man was shot in the head at close range. He drove a red sports car. For three long days that summer when Mom and I would reach the top of our driveway in our car we would look across the road at the red car which sat with the driver's side door open. To this day my mother still does not know why she did not call the cops, but she says that she had a strong feeling that under no circumstances should she investigate herself. It was the contractor who finally found the man's body in the basement. The murdered person was a young guy in his early 20s. It took detectives no time to solve the case. The convicted murderers were a man and his mother (she was convicted as an accessory to murder) who lived over the hill and they had been using the property to make drug deals.
Some years later a very religious family from Oregon moved into the house. They were extremely stifling and judgmental toward me. Since I was a bit older (about 10 years-old at the time) they would have me over to babysit for some reason. I guess they were desperate since they had five kids. We would often play downstairs on our bicycles and tricycles. I remember seeing the huge blood stain on the concrete that, try as they might, the family couldn't remove.
One frigid and snowy winter's day we were all in the living room upstairs when we heard what sounded like struggling, muffled voices, and moaning downstairs. We all froze (four of us) and looked at each other in terror. The family's golden retriever was obviously listening to the sounds. The dog was standing up and her ears were alert. She was tilting her head from side to side. Since I was babysitting and I was the one in charge of everyone, I opened the basement door to hear better but could not make my legs move to carry me down the stairs to investigate. I heard nothing while the door was open. The family's golden retriever stood beside me. I told the dog to go downstairs to investigate but she just looked at me. I shut the door. There was an eerie silence in the house as we all huddled on the couch and waited to hear something more.
After a few minutes we heard the sound again and then I heard the sound of a man's voice pleading. That was all I could take. I shot out of the front door barefoot and I ran home through the snow as fast as my legs would carry me. The other kids and dog followed. There was just no way I could stay in there and listen to that tragic memory be replayed. They never asked me back to babysit (who could blame them?). It was many years before I ever set foot in that house again. The family moved back to Oregon.
After I was old enough to drive I would sometimes see the apparition of the man. It was usually only very late at night when I would see him. Usually I saw him as I was slowing down to turn into my driveway and my headlights would hit him. He wears blue jeans and a black hoodie. He walks with his hands in his pockets and he is looking down. He has long, stringy blonde hair that hangs down out of his hood. He doesn't scare me but I feel sad when I see him. I've gotten into the habit of averting my eyes so that I don't glimpse him. My best friend saw him several times as well before he committed suicide. In fact, the night my best friend committed suicide (completely unrelated I believe) he said that he had seen the sad young man walking.
Two other families have lived in the house since the Oregonians moved out. The second family from Florida was tragic. The woman and man made beautiful jewelry and had a store in historic downtown. They had a little jewelry shop in the basement. They were generous people and they taught me how to make jewelry in the basement. They said that sometimes they felt a sad energy in the house. The woman later had a nervous breakdown. Sadly the family lost their business and eventually they lost the house in an upside down mortgage. For some reason they completely trashed the house before they moved out. It sat empty for years.
Now a Puerto Rican family lives in there. They had heard rumors about the murder in the house and had felt some heavy energy--especially in the basement. Mom and I told them everything we knew. I told them there is nothing to be scared of, that the guilty people are in jail and that it's been over 20 years now. The family is superstitious and religious, but pragmatic. Their response is that they will fill the house with love and that is what they have done.
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