Crazy!
“How about you? Kids?”
“No.” I shake my head and pull up in front of the first house we’ll see today, already thinking it’s a no. That entire roof needs to be replaced, and on a house this size, that’s a large chunk of a reno budget. But it doesn’t hurt to look.
“Ever married?” he asks as he joins me on the porch.
“Nope.” I flash him a smile. “Too busy with work and other things to get there.”
He simply nods and unlocks the door, pushes it open, and gestures for me to go first.
“It’s empty,” I say as I enter a small foyer and look left into a formal dining room.
“It’s been empty for about three years,” he says, consulting the information on the papers he printed out on the property.
“Not good,” I murmur and continue through. There’s obvious water damage along the ceiling in the living room, and the brick fireplace is crumbling.
But there is a gorgeous staircase with a solid oak banister that, with some wax and elbow grease, would be magnificent.
The kitchen is small and sorely outdated, as are the two small bathrooms upstairs. The bedrooms just need new flooring and paint.
“What do you think?” Pete asks as he locks the door on our way out.
“I think this is a no,” I reply, inspecting the porch, and not happy to see evidence of termites. “This place is going to have to be gutted, and I think that’s outside my budget.”
“I understand. I have one more to show you today.”
This house is only a few streets over from the first one.
“This is better,” I say. “The roof is in better shape.” The house is larger, too, and definitely needs work.
“This is empty too, but only for about a month, so there shouldn’t be extensive damage inside.”
“Let’s have a look.”
He unlocks the door and when I walk in, I stop in my tracks and cover my mouth and nose with my hand. “I think you were wrong, Pete.”
“Holy shit,” he mutters. “This just went on the market yesterday, and it’s obviously not been cleaned.”
“They’ll have to tear it down,” I reply, stupefied by the sight before me. There is a hole—a hole—in the ceiling, all the way through to the second floor, and a bed, the object that obviously caused the hole, is in the middle of the living room. There is garbage everywhere, and it smells like a sewer.
“Do you want to see the rest?” he asks.
“Is it safe?” I turn wide eyes to him and then shrug. “Meh, I’m always up for an adventure, and I’ve never seen anything like this.”
We move carefully through the living room, stepping over garbage and God knows what, to the kitchen, where I have to will myself not to throw up.
The fridge is standing wide open, and no one bothered to empty the contents, so rotten food permeates the room.
“They tore off all of the cabinet doors,” I say in surprise. “And how in the bloody hell did they manage to crack this granite?”
“I have no idea,” he says, obviously as taken aback as I am. “I’ll call the other realtor as soon as we leave and tell him that he needs to take care of this before he shows it again.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I reply in awe and open the French doors leading out to a back yard with a pool. “Pete?”
“Yeah?” he says from inside.
“You’ll want to see this.”
He comes out behind me and gasps. “Callie, there’s a car in the pool.”
“Yep.”
“I’ve officially seen it all.”
I giggle and shake my head, my eyes surveying the back yard. “I wonder where that toilet is supposed to go?”
“I’m assuming that the rose garden isn’t the right answer,” he says and leads me back inside and upstairs, where we find the home of the toilet now living with the roses, along with a dead squirrel. “Someone had a campfire going in here.” I follow Pete into one of the bedrooms and stare at the perfect circle of rocks and burned wood in the center of the room. “They left the sticks they used to roast marshmallows.”
“Or, you know, body parts, because this place has the vibe of a serial killer’s house.” I laugh, but I’m not really kidding.
This place gives me a serious case of the willies.
By the time we reach the master bedroom, I can’t take any more. “Are those shackles on the wall?” I ask quietly, on the verge of tears. This isn’t fun anymore. It’s scary.
“They are.”
“I think you should call the police before you call the realtor.” There’s another toilet, just sitting against the wall, not actually hooked up to anything. The carpet was ripped out, exposing just the sub-floor. There is no hardwood.
“Let’s go.” He wraps an arm around me and leads me down and out of the house and to my car, but I’m not ready to drive. We both stand outside as Pete dials the cops and tells them what we discovered, then calls the other realtor and gives him the same report, along with a tongue lashing for not inspecting the property before listing it.
When he hangs up, my nerves have calmed enough for me to drive, but we’re quiet on the way back to Pete’s office.
“I’m so sorry about that,” he says softly and wipes his hand over his mouth. “That’s not only unprofessional, but so disturbing. I never would have taken you there if I’d known, Cal.”