She finally had to be taken away. Distant relatives had arrived and found her and the House in such a state of decay and squalor that their was no other choice but to institutionalize her and place the house for sale in the hopes of getting something out of it…if only a few thousand just for the land.
She had been slowly going insane, inside that old majestic farmhouse, for over a decade since her husband had died. They said she had spent her days rambling aimlessly about the dark halls of the house. The neighbors stayed away and the only time people saw her was when she came outside to feed the many stray cats that had taken up residence in the large over grown yard. After she was gone and the house closed up, still filled with her lifetime… boxed and stacked inside, the house sat silent for six months—until it found me.
The house had been built in 1896 by a German immigrant—one with big dreams and a farmer’s budget. It had a wrap around porch that had once been grand but had now fallen into sad disrepair. As it is often in the south, each room of the house opened out onto the porch so that its inhabitants could partake of the night air on those hot and humid Texas evenings. The whole house was leaning somewhat and looked askew unless you cocked your head.
I needed a home. I had been given a full ride scholarship to the University of Texas at Austin and was set to start school in September-I just wanted to buy a place and as soon as school was out-- relocate. I found the house on the Internet and from the moment I saw it I was fascinated with it. It took some convincing, but I got my realtor to take me to see it. She was very concerned for me, as the house was in a rural area and away from the hustle and bustle of Austin proper, where I was going to be attending school. But I would not be swayed –I had to see the house.
We turned down a dirt road, the faded street sign read Hillcrest Lane. On the left, an expansive meadow and on the right an overgrown parcel of land… where you could see this immense Angular roof jutting out of the trees. It appeared, as if a spacecraft had landed in the trees, as you saw very little of the house itself. A large tree stood in the front yard--spilt into two halves, one alive and one dead, the victim of a fiery bolt of lightening in a summer thunderstorm.
When I got out of the car and got closer, I could see vines were growing up the side of the empty house. As I walked toward the front porch steps, to my left I saw movement and two small kittens (about 8 or 9 weeks old) went running into the brush (one black kitten and one Tuxedo). I saw this as a good sign, and when I looked down there was an odd object at my feet. I picked it up and knew instantly what it was-a femur (not human!). While this would probably freak most people out, I love bones and the femur was one of my favorites for anthropological reasons of course-another good sign.
The steps were in very bad repair but I managed—my real estate agent would not come in with me. The front door was lovely under the layers of grime and dirt I could see the etched glass in the door and the 100-year old hardware. I opened the door and it was like walking into mad confusion. Bright orange shag carpet covered the hardwood floors, the original 100 year old moldings were all there and there was even a stained glass window-but everything was dirty and covered in years of grime and worn from use. The house was stuffed with relics- from many different decades.
As I walked around, I noticed every cabinet had a nail holding the door shut and there was a band of black grime that was at arm level throughout the house-obviously many years of the same small hand rambling round and round inside this dark sanctuary had left its mark. The back door was wide open and I made my way into the back yard. Small plastic bowls and plates littered the ground everywhere and a majestic pecan tree that spiraled up 30 feet into the air was the centerpiece of the yard. Dark alien looking pecan pods littered the ground below the leaves. Everything was overgrown and foreboding and I did not want to go very far into unaccompanied.
I stood there alone and just listened. I knew I had found my house. The realtor told me I was crazy and she had some cute little condos near campus for me to look at. I told her to write up an offer. I never hesitated. Of course the offer was accepted … unconditionally.
When I drove up, after my long trip from Los Angeles with the U-haul loaded to the brim behind my Jeep, I was so excited. I opened the door of the house and went in and realized immediately that I was in for some serious work. It was so bad I knew I could not sleep there till I reclaimed at least one room (I did not want my Cat’s paws to touch the filth so in his carrier he stayed awhile longer).
I picked the room in the center of the house. I got to work ripping out the filthy shag carpeting and was rewarded with well –worn, but beautiful wood floors. I scrubbed walls and doors and cleaned that one room till my hands were raw. Finally by midnight, I had sanitized room with a bed set up, a small table, and an area for my cat J. Alone in my bed that first night, I realized that this house was different. As I laid in bed with J curled up on my hip, almost asleep, I was certain I could hear faint music coming from the front of the house. It was old music… melodies that would have been the rage in the thirties and forties. I was too tired to do anything and just drifted to sleep—thinking I was just overtired.
The next night (after another long day of reclaiming tiny parts of this house of squalor) I once again laid down in my bed. Almost at the instant of sleep, I heard the music again. This time I made my way to the front room. I did find an old radio buried in the corner and thought maybe it was coming on-no luck it was no even plugged in. With nothing else to give me a rational answer I went back to bed.
Soon asleep, my dreams were vivid . The same music from before was playing, but louder this time. It was definitely from the forties and the music was faintly familiar. I was still in the house, but all the dirt and clutter were gone. I went into the front parlor and there was a woman probably in her thirties standing by the window looking out at a garden that no longer existed in the present time. She was swaying with the music and seemed lost in her own revelry. The furnishings of the house were all old as well and the room had an amber and slightly translucent glow. When I awoke from the dream I was startled by its intensity.
