The House

Some people swore that the house was haunted. All I knew was that it had been underwater. Not literally, I wouldn't have bought it if it was. I mean financially underwater, worth less than the original mortgage. Not a surprise, since the mortgage was taken out in 2006. A bad time to be buying real estate. A really bad time.

I’d bought this house at a foreclosure auction so I could rent it out as a long-term investment. What else could I do with my savings to build my nest egg? Bank accounts and other safe investments paid less than inflation. I’d been forced to gamble. Maybe this house was a bad idea. 

My maid told me it looked haunted when she first walked through it.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Everything is still here," she said when she called me on the phone. "It’s like everyone suddenly disappeared. Nothing’s been moved. Nothing."

"Well," I said, "the previous owner’s name is on the address page I gave you. Try to find out where he is so we can give him back his stuff. I bought his house, not his life."

"Okay, I’ll try to find him."

"Thanks," I said, "I'm driving over there now. Is there anything else I need to know?"

"I hope you like Coca Cola."

"What?"

"You'll see."

Once I got inside the house and into his den, I could see what she was talking about. The guy collected Coke memorabilia, especially old serving trays and tin signs. When you have one, it’s a knick-knack. When you have a hundred, it becomes a shrine. Happy images from the past surrounded me on the walls. Everyone’s smiling. Even the neatly-dressed attendants in white uniforms, proudly handing us our soft drinks. Quite a collection.

The centerpiece tray hung right over the middle of his desk, also with a uniformed attendant. But this time, we’re looking in from behind at a couple being served at a drive-in restaurant. She’s contently sipping her drink. The man’s face is in full-view. He’s wearing a white shirt and tie, as though he himself had been a server earlier in the day. But not now. He’s reaching for the glass, but he’s looking at her face with a tender smile. Confident. Radiant.

I glanced elsewhere on the desk, and saw an empty picture frame. There had been something there that couldn’t be left behind. This previous owner reminded me of my dad, who also collected memorabilia. I missed my dad, and I hoped someone missed this guy. Then, a wave of sadness came over me. Maybe this house was haunted after all. I called my maid to get an update on the search.

"I found him," she said, "he’s living in an extended-stay hotel. But he says he doesn’t want his things."

"That doesn’t make sense," I said, "give me his phone number."

I called the number. The guy seemed really calm, considering the situation.

And I had a solution.

"Look," I said, "I need a renter for this house, and I’ll give you an option to buy it back if you want. How about it? It still looks the same as it did before you left. Like nothing happened. Do you want to do that?"

There was a long pause, and I thought I heard a quiet sigh. The kind you make to yourself.

"No, I don't want that" he finally said.

"What?"

"I can't go back inside that house again."

"Why not?" I asked.

Pause.

"My home is gone."

Click. Silence.

Nothing was ever the same again after that.






©2010  John Gerner