As cliché and annoying as it is sometimes, I need to start this story with a little preface, a little background and an apology as it may be on the long side for this category compared to similar posts. I’m picking this particular experience out of a timeframe that lasted for a cumulative total of eight years. I say ‘cumulative’ because I actually lived in this house/apartment on two separate occasions, but purely by coincidence. Or at least I thought it was coincidence. I don’t live there any longer and, looking back, I am convinced that the house called me back as if it wasn’t done tormenting me, my family and my friends. Every week of every year I lived in that house was terrifying, to say the least. This experience takes place during my second stint in the house. Also, a little apology if this story sounds like it’s ripped straight from a horror movie, but I can assure you that it’s all true. This experience, in total, spans roughly a year and involves myself, Jamie – my wife, George and Lilly – our upstairs neighbors and my best friends Travis and his wife, Julie.
The Twenty-Eleven house is a large farmhouse that is one of the oldest structures in town; roughly 120 years old. For the last couple decades, it has been used as two apartments; the first floor and the second floor. It’s in the middle of a bustling town with many popular places to eat, drink and has a nice music scene. It isn’t some backwoods, middle-of-nowhere shack; it’s only a seven minute drive from the downtown area of a major city. I won’t give you a detailed history on the place, but, needless to say, it has had a long, jaded, destructive and violent past that has it infected.
When this experience first started, I was living on the first floor with another good friend, Kevin, and it had been almost a year, and a half-dozen people moving in and out of the second floor apartment before our landlord finally found a nice, married couple that loved the place; George and Lilly. They were sweet enough and kind of kept to themselves whereas Kevin and I were night owls and loved to stay up late drinking, playing video games, etc. For the first six months they lived upstairs, we were convinced they hated us because Lilly was awake before sunrise to leave for work and we weren’t the quietest of drunks. We thought she had OCD because at least a few days every week, she would move all – and I mean ALL – of her furniture around and run the vacuum cleaner across their entire apartment. The house was old and there wasn’t hardly a lick of insulation in the place, especially between our ceilings/their floor, so we could hear everything. She walked very heavily and slid the furniture with determination. It was assumed that she was doing it to pay us back for being so loud at night. This routine went on for the next six months until Kevin moved into his girlfriend’s place. After that, my place wasn’t so loud and neither was theirs.
Read more “The Twenty-Eleven house”