MUST SEE
10 acres. Amazing view. Very few neighbours. Secluded. Private road. Completely fenced in property.
Six bedrooms, 4 baths, huge common room, distinctive dining room, huge kitchen, pantry, basement root cellar and workshop.
Third story sun room and large den with adjoining bath.
Multiple verandas, huge windows, old style mansion.
Completely furnished and all utilities hooked up including cable, satellite, internet. Cell phone accessible.
Owner wants to sell.
Negotiable.
Call Warren Whitesnake at 123-567-9876
I was in the market for a place of my own.
My parents had died years before and left me a small trust fund that I didn't get until I was 30 years old. I always thought most trusts matured by the time the person was 18 to 21, but their was a note attached to mine that the fund would mature before I did.
Whatever that meant.
But, whatever. The $50,000 trust was now worth over $100,000 and I wanted to use it to move out of the windowless, basement, bachelor apartment I had lived in for the last 10 years.
It wasn't that old lady Parsons was a bad landlady. Actually she was great, although she often forgot to ask me for the rent and there were times when I handed the money to her that she would say, "I don't do oral."
And she frequently called the cops saying there was an intruder in her basement. I actually became pretty good friends with the local police and they would always phone me first to inquire whether they would have to come out.
And she rarely recognized me when she saw me and even ran me off the property with a shotgun a few times. Luckily, it was not loaded. At least, I don't think it was.
Shit.
And of course there were the plates of scraps and milk she would leave at the top of the stairs. I am not sure if they were for me or for her cat, Johnstone, who had been run over by a garbage truck, five years earlier.
Maybe that's why she kept calling me Johnstone.
Anyway, I was ready to make the move.
I could not believe my luck when Mr. Whitesnake offered to take me out to the property right away. But I was confused by the garlic over his rearview mirror and the sharpened stakes in the back seat.
And the pistol.
And a clairvoyant. Maybe she was looking at the house as well.
I think I fell in love with the house as soon as I saw it.
"I love it," I said, giddily.
Mr. Whitesnake handed me the keys.
"Why don't you go take a look inside?"
I took the keys and started for the gate. Once I opened it, I turned.
Mr. Whitesnake, the clairvoyant and a priest ...
I have no idea where the priest came from.
were standing by the car.
I think the priest was praying. The holy water splattering thing was a bit of a giveaway.
"Are you coming?" I asked, happily.
Mr. Whitesnake shook his head, as he took off the trench coat he was wearing.
Why was he wearing a trench coat in 90 degree heat and why was he dressed like an Indian medicine man?
"You go ahead," he encouraged, as he began dancing around and chanting.
I shrugged my shoulders and continued to the house. Maybe he was blessing the house. There was a local Indian tribe that lived nearby.
The Cowar Dly Indians. They ran the casino on the outskirts of town.
I walked up the stairs to the front door. A gentle breeze blew across the veranda, as I reached for the door knob, stinging my eyes a little. In the distance the gentle sound of birds chirping filled the air.
Actually I think it was crows.
And they didn't sound too happy.
I put the key in the lock and turned.
I could hear the snap of the lock echo inside.
That was weird.
And of course the door squeaked as it opened.
Nothing a bit of oil wouldn't fix.
I looked back to the car.
Mr. Whitesnake was now dancing around a fire. The clairvoyant was dancing in circles and the priest was on his knees, hands clenched.
Now I was sure he was praying.
"Strange."
I turned and walked inside the house.
"Fuck me!!!"