The highs and lows of parenting and real estate.

Haunted in the Ranch

At the garage sale last weekend (which was very successful, thanks for asking) we had lots of neighbors poking around, looking at stuff, chatting us up. I even got a good lead on a possible listing (more later, hopefully!). The wildest neighbor encounter, however, went something like this (cue scary music):

Crazy lady with short, crazy blonde hair: My friends used to live down the street, but they just sold their house.

Me: Really, which house?

CL: The white one with the black gate right around the corner across the street.


It’s a house that was for sale for just over a month. It was vacant for quite awhile and lots bigger than mine. It had a pool and was somewhat remodeled on the inside. I always meant to tour it before it was sold and just never got a chance.

Me: Really? That looked like a nice house, why did they move?

CL: Oh, because it was haunted.

Me: Excuse me? Did you say… haunted?

CL: Oh yeah, the daughter had all kinds of problems with the house. The ghost threw rocks at them inside the house when the alarm was on and at the windows. Nothing had ever happened until she took a trip to Guatemala, so we think she might have brought something back with her. They even tried to have a minister bless the house and nothing worked. So they moved.

Me: (Trying desperately to suppress laughter, incredulity, horror all at the same time) Right… well, I guess then you’d have to move.

CL: Yeah, it was too bad.

I’m a skeptic by nature, with an analytical mind that requires proof, or at least a logical explanation, but I have a conflicting obsession with the idea of ghosts. I’m a perfect mixture of my parents. I have a father who is an atheist and downplays and disbelieves just about everything and a mother who has tried, on several occasions, to teach herself to be psychic. She was sure my grandfather’s house in Minnesota was haunted and tells stories about the ghost in the apartment they lived in in Boston 30 years ago.

So I guess it makes queer sense that I love the real life ghost story shows even though I don’t really believe in them (but if I watch too close to bedtime I’m awake all night).

Anyway, apparently we have a haunted house down the street. I cannot tell you how bummed that makes me that I didn’t tour it. Man. It was my chance to see a haunted house that has been blessed by a holy man even and I missed it.

Boy was that lady crazy. Gotta love crazy neighbors.

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