House of horrors

Flickr photo by BarelyFitz.

When you're in the real estate business, sooner or later there will be a house that someone says is haunted. The story below is true. Were these events just coincidence or were they something else?

When I was working on my doctorate, a friend and study partner was living in a new house in Orange County, Calif. She was in the antique business. Her home was like a showcase: every last inch of it beautifully decorated. When I met her, she was in the process of getting a divorce.

Although her house was a little over a year old, it already had the makings of a strange history. While the house was being built, a little girl was reportedly raped in it. A few months after my friend and her husband moved in, she said he had become manic-depressive. I was told he had numerous confrontations with the police and was refusing medication. Unbeknownst to his wife, he had allegedly placed a warranty deed on the property to access part of the equity and moved to Hawaii, where he was reportedly living in the bush outside the Honolulu airport.

My friend and I would normally study together at her house about twice per month. The lights would flicker periodically. If we went out for dinner, it was common for pieces of the furniture to be moved away from the wall. Since my friend had changed the locks and placed a security system on the house, there was no one who had access to move the furniture. There was also a window in the family room overlooking the canyon that would vibrate for no apparent reason. You could put your hand on the window and tell it to stop vibrating and it did!

After spending the afternoon preparing for our upcoming qualifying exams, we decided to go out to dinner to take a break. When we returned, the lights were flickering and a number of pieces of furniture were moved again.

As we sat back down to hit the books again, there was a loud rustling in the garage where she refinished her antiques. Her German shepherd, a very mellow dog who never barked, started barking and scratching crazily at the door to the garage. Although this didn't disturb my friend, I made sure the dog was between me and whatever was in the garage. As soon as she opened the door, the dog broke away from me and raced into the garage. The dog raced to the other side of the garage, sat down, and acted as if nothing had happened.

After consuming a carton of chocolate ice cream to soothe our jangled nerves, we decided to watch "The Ghost of Flight 401," a movie based on a 1972 plane crash in the Florida Everglades. This probably wasn't the smartest choice, but that was the best of the evening's shows back in the days of seven TV channels and no cable. ...CONTINUED

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