You probably don’t want to hear this, but the way the house looks right now, painted stark white and as barren as a garden in December, is the cleanest it has ever been. This was a house of chaos. Of parties and arguments, of hoarding and giving. It looks so quiet now, in a way that feels unnatural and fitting. It’s the end of our era, I guess, but I hope you can hear the echoes and imagine the scenes.

And speaking of parties, there have been a lot. This is a house with a reputation. If you celebrate Christmas, I can promise you that the front porch is the best place in town to watch the fire station’s annual Christmas parade. Even if you don’t, the big old basement is the perfect place to host people. 

Yeah, the ceilings are low, and sure, the laminate floors look like something you’d find at a dive bar that solely caters to the 70 plus crowd, but something about being underground and enveloped in the warm glow of wood paneled walls makes it easier for people to cut loose. For some reason, the drunkest people always crowd the laundry room. Maybe it’s because it’s the most sober room in the house? A room that’s all about order and cleanliness? If I’m being truthful, it’s probably because the laundry room has its own exit, which makes it easier to duck out for a smoke, but you’ll figure this all out in due time.

You couldn’t count the number of injuries this house has seen, the same way you couldn’t count the number of ice cream cones devoured or cartoons watched or games of hide and go seek played. I fainted in the kitchen once. KO’d straight on the floor in front of the fridge. No one else remembers it this way, they all claim I fainted in the driveway of my uncle’s house, but I can still hear the panic in my mom’s voice as she ran across the room towards my body. I can still remember swimming through the darkness until I was lucid enough to see those white and blue tiled walls. I can remember every magnet on that fridge. One of them was shaped like a slice of bread.

There are a lot of secret little doors. Most are weirdly shaped closets that seem like they don’t belong, but some feel like they could lead you down a secret passageway. Check the top floor and the basement. As above, so below.

When I was little, like really little, we’re talking earliest memories little, the front yard had a cherry tree and a pear tree. They’ve been dead for years, whether they withered away or were torn up for some other reason, I can’t remember. Either way, the house has an entrepreneurial spirit. Ideas can take hold you wouldn’t expect. This house has seen businesses flower and fade like its a big city boardroom. You never know what will take root.

I know the house looks incredibly haunted. It’s old school, with those tiny rooms and that cavernous basement. Its position on the highest hill in the neighborhood doesn’t help, it looks like an imposing brick sentinel, like Dracula’s castle if it was transported to an east coast suburb. But I’m still sure it’s not haunted. Like 90% sure. If there is a ghost, they might be more amenable if you leave out a Bud Lite every once in a while or turn on an old western. That should take care of all your problems.

I can’t promise you won’t see me, but I can promise that I won’t be a bother. You probably won’t even know it was me. I promise not to hijack your time with stories you don’t care about and rumors that don’t matter, if you promise not to look at me funny when I drive by. I promise not to visit half as much as I visit in my mind.

Recommend If You Like is not owned or funded by a billionaire or even a millionaire. We do have a Patreon. Even sites owned by billionaires and millionaires have Patreons so please don’t hold that against us. And we’re paying all of our writers, photographers and graphic designers. So please consider our Patreon. If you can't afford to become a patron, please sign up to our mailing list. It's free and we're asking here instead of a pop-up. Pop-ups are annoying.