Chapter 11: Bottom Of The Stairs
This happened about four years ago. I live in a resort community and started working for a local real estate agent, taking photos of homes for sale. I usually photographed 3-4 homes a week; lakefronts and shacks alike. I had seen unusual things, like the occasional hidden room or unique art collection left behind. But I had never encountered anything scary - until this happened.
It was a summer day, warm and bright. I knew the neighborhood I was heading to and had no concerns about safety. The area was very suburban for the mountain with a large park and school nearby. I packed up my camera and drove twenty minutes to the home. Upon arrival, I began my session by taking pictures of the exterior. Nothing was out of the ordinary. After struggling to navigate the sharp slope the home was on, I managed to snap it's sides and rear deck. It was time now for interior shots. I proceeded to the front, entered the lockbox code and tried to unlock the front door. As I fumbled with it, I felt overwhelmingly uncomfortable. Something washed over me in that moment and I knew I shouldn't be there. I finally opened the door and found a house completely destroyed. The living room was a sea of debris. An EMT board laid in the middle, with a charred doll beside it. Holes littered the walls. Light bulbs were smashed all over. It was a scene straight out of a horror movie. I observed all of this without taking a single step further. I immediately closed the door, walked to my car as fast as I could, and called the agent.
I told the agent that she would need to find someone else to take pictures of this house. She asked why, and as I tried to explain it to her, I realized I sounded a little crazy. How can you professionally describe to someone the feeling of being scared shitless, for no apparent reason other than a disgustingly filthy house? She told me she had seen homes that were less than welcoming, but we both had a job to do and she couldn't complete hers without me doing mine. I left the property, but decided I didn't want to lose my job over this. I called my father, who lived locally, and asked if he'd accompany me to the house. In all my days, I had never heard my dad discuss anything remotely spooky. He's a very no nonsense kind of man and simply wouldn't tolerate talk of ghosts or witches. Therefore I thought he'd be perfect for this assignment. He'd keep my head in the game for sure. I arranged to pick him up at his house in 30 minutes.
My heart sank a little as I pulled up to my parents' house and my dad's truck was gone. My mom came running out, purse in hand, to tell me that my father had to leave for work reasons, but that she'd go with me instead. She brought along a flashlight and assured me that I'd be 'just fine!'. As we drove to the house I described to her what had happened. Her cheeriness level came down a few notches and I could tell she was slightly unnerved. We parked in front of the house and I knew she didn't want to go inside. I didn't want her to go in either. She came up with a solution - she'd call my cell phone and talk to me as I walked through the house. She'd stand right outside of the front door. I answered her call, turned on my flashlight, and headed in. Again, immediately upon entering, I was scared. And just for clarification here, I am not easily scared. I am not one to 'see' or 'feel' things of that nature. Ever. So the fact that I was actually feeling something terrified me.
By this time it was later in the day and the house was positioned in such a way that it was completely shaded from the sun. The electricity was off and it was dark. Very dark. My mother was on the phone telling me to 'breathe! I can't hear you breathing! Are you that scared?? Is it that bad?' I had a hard time speaking as I took in all that I saw. The toilets were completely black on the inside. The kitchen had blackish reddish smears all over the counters. Children's toys were mixed in with porn magazines lying on the floor. I just kept clicking, trying not to focus on any one of the deeply disturbing things inside this house. I went as quickly as I could through the main level. I then came to a set of stairs leading down. I told my mother, through the cell phone, that I was heading down. She continued to reassure me and told me to hurry up and get it over with. I began walking, extremely cautiously, down the steps - one at a time. The steps led to a landing and then turned the corner, so all I could see was a white wall at the bottom. I had this immense feeling that I was going to see something horrific once I turned that corner. I was two or three steps away from the landing when I heard it. A scream coming from my phone. Not a mild scream but a blood curdling scream. Like someone was being murdered on the other end of the line.
My Mom. I have never ran, nor have I since, as fast as I did running up those stairs. I completely expected to find my mom laying lifeless just outside the house. I got to the top of the stairs and there she was, standing there, looking completely terrified and perplexed. I grabbed her hand and we ran to the car. We drove for nearly five minutes before one of us said anything. Then she turned to me and said, tell me why you were screaming. I told her that I thought it was her. Neither of us were screaming, but both of us, for a certainty, heard a woman screaming for her life on that phone. We stopped at a grocery store parking lot and just sat there, trying to catch our breath.
When I got home, I uploaded the pictures, without actually looking at them, and sent them to the real estate agent. I told her she'd have to do editing on her own, as I would not have them on my computer. I then deleted the email and every single image. Because of that, I don't know the address of the house. Nor have I driven by it since. In hindsight, I would have liked to research the history of the property. Alas, I'll never know what happened there.
