The Haunted House on the Hill

"We were just tearing down that house over there," one of the men said, pointing across the street toward a half-torn-down structure. We figured we'll be tearing this one down soon, so we just wanted to see what kind of work we're going to have on our hands." They all laughed. I don't know how they could laugh and keep a cigarette in their mouth at the same time, but they did.

Unbidden, I followed them to the door as they trudged inside. The door was unlocked, which felt strange to me. As kids, we had sometimes been bad and climbed inside through a broken window in the back, which I was almost inclined to do just then. Of course, a big difference now was that I am an adult, inquiring about historic property, instead of a teenager looking for a hangout.

The house had fallen into more disrepair since my last visit here. The spindles to the staircase were all missing, trash and leaves had accumulated inside, and watermarks around the broken windows showed that weather had crept in and abused whatever it could.

There were signs of things I knew so well. The door itself was a thing of beauty-a combination of decorative wood, arches and hand-cut glass. The hardwood floors were still evident, although dirty, and who could help but appreciate the grand circular staircase. There were decorative etched glass doorknobs still, with old-fashioned skeleton keyholes-although some of the doors were missing. There was evidence of a campfire in one area where trash was gathered, and I noticed a few charred staircase spindles. Although we had perhaps been bad kids at times, entering an empty house that wasn't ours, not once did we make a fire or damage any part of it. In fact, we cleaned up after ourselves, making sure we left everything as we had found it.