The House Hidden in Plain Sight (...and Its Gruesome Secret)

Photo by Tranquilpen

My husband, Leon, and I left our home in Oregon on our trip south in mid-October. We pulled our small RV trailer, which was a fun convenience, yet a burden when dodging traffic or wanting to explore unfamiliar roads.

As we wandered down some of the tiny red roads shown on our map, we marveled at what a beautiful time of year it was to be traveling. We didn’t want to use the GPS, because she, Mavis, we called her, or The Bitch at times, would only take us on well-traveled highways with the fastest routes, and we didn’t want that. I had the atlas to let my finger be our guide to paths we wanted to follow.

The deciduous trees were ablaze with all the warm pigments of a color wheel, from brilliant reds to pale yellows and every orange hue in between. My camera was only at rest when I had to look at the map to guide us through a crossroad for a decision to turn or go straight.

What an adventure. My heart was pumping from the excitement of seeing so much natural beauty and the occasional mysterious delipidated building glimpsed through the overgrowth. I’d make up vignettes in my mind when seeing a shack, wondering if it had been a home for a small family at one time.

I loved making up stories in my mind, not telling them out loud, as my husband needed to keep his mind on the road, and my stories, having no bearing on reality, wouldn’t be interesting to him, since he was a non-fiction kinda guy.

We had meandered down miles and miles of dirt or asphalt roads until we both began to complain about being hungry.

“I’ll go back and make sandwiches, if we can find a nice pull-off out of the way of all this traffic,” I suggested wryly. We had only had one pick-up pass us going in the opposite direction all day; however, to find a place to pull into — just in case — would be preferable.

Many times, when needing something specific, Leon seemed to have a built-in radar for finding that which was needed at that moment and would come upon it phenomenally fast, whether it was a gas station or a pair of blue jeans. And this case was no different. Within moments, that day, we rounded a curve and there was a lovely, lonely lane leading into a grove of trees.

“Perfect!” I yelped out.

It was a beautiful setting with varying reds from red maples, oaks, and sweetgums, and yellows and oranges from the hickory and sycamores and others I couldn’t make out. And there were no signs of anyone having been on this lane for a really long time. Neither was there anything to announce, ‘Keep the hell outta here, ‘Private Property’, or any other warning, so we pulled into the space between fence posts, which, to us, was an open invitation to enter, and drove toward the trees.

“Wow!” I exclaimed as I looked around. “This is some place!” I hopped out of the truck and walked back to the RV.

After unlocking the door and climbing in, I pushed the button to open up the slide-out to a point where we could move around easier. I could get in the refrigerator for sandwich makin’s and drinks and then we could sit more comfortably at the table, without opening it up completely.

Photo by Jan Huber 

“It’s so lovely out, do you want me to get the chairs from the back of the truck so that we can sit outside and eat?” Leon asked through the open door.

“Is there a smooth place to sit?” I inquired, leaning out to look. “It seemed a bit too weedy when I walked back here with the tall dry grasses.”

“Maybe under one of the trees,” Leon suggested. “I’ll go look.”

I watched my guy walk past a hedge of out-of-control wax myrtle and into the grove of trees. I then turned to finish my task of fixing lunch.

After making sandwiches, placing them on paper plates, and getting chips and sodas, I was ready to hand a plate to Leon when he finished determining our dining location, but I saw no sign of my husband.

“Leonardo!” I hollered, waited, but got no response. I put the plates onto the counter and was ready to step down to go in search of my husband when I heard, “Coming!” and then saw him walk from behind the hedge.

“Sorry, my sweet, I was putting the chairs up when I noticed a house over yonder and went over to see if it was being lived in.”

“And?” I asked, feeling a quiver of excitement skitter through my body, hoping there was a new adventure ahead having an empty house to explore.

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Years ago, while their dad was working on weekends, I’d take the kids for rides in the countryside looking for abandoned houses to explore. We had found some interesting things over those years, and we’d make up some interesting stories about the owners and where they came from, where they went, and why they’d left their homes. Unfortunately, it wasn’t long before the kids outgrew that adventurous spirit of going with mom to explore, preferring their friend’s company instead. But I never outgrew that sense of excitement of finding a place to investigate.

Leon knew this about me, and together we’d had some fun times being able to, with clear consciences, wander through someone else’s property, because there were no ‘No Trespassing’ or ‘Private Property’ signs to obey. Today seemed to be one of those times. I could hardly wait to eat and get it over with.

But I managed.

Leon put the chairs under a red maple tree that had leaves on the ground to walk on before we sat in the cool of the shade to eat the lunch I’d prepared.

I kept looking toward the two-story house nestled amongst some oak trees but was also surrounded by overgrown bushes that once had been manicured and shaped near the house, but now were hiding much of its façade. I hardly tasted what I would put into my mouth, I was so excited to get to the surprise of not only the day but the whole trip so far.

I don’t know why exploring an empty house excited me so much since I would likely never know who had lived there or any of its history. But I could make up all kinds of stories of a macabre nature to make the kids squeal in fright and even frighten myself to a point when we’d all turn and run out the door. At the time, it was a silly yet fun moment.

Photo by Aswathy N

Thinking about those days made me smile. I wondered what kind of story I could make up with this house…not that I would tell it to Leonardo. He wasn’t much into being scared as the kids had been. He’d likely dampen the moment with sarcastic comments about me being ridiculous and having way too vivid an imagination for a grown-up. He wouldn’t say that to be mean, instead, he’d try not to think about how I could know so much about a situation just from sheer intuition when I should know nothing about it at all. And I couldn’t argue that point. I have always seemed to know a bit too much about people or situations without actual knowledge, and that was way too weird to think about.

Yet, those moments, even though scary, were thrilling, and I was eagerly looking forward to that thrill again today.

I put all the lunch leftovers into the RV while Leon put the chairs back into the truck and grabbed a flashlight. We were ready for our adventure and began our walk through out-of-control flower beds, bushes, and weeds that had taken over the pathway to the front porch.

Vines had walled in the porch, which had also protected it from the hot sun and bad weather, allowing us to see the once charming area that now held broken down wicker furnishings still in a position of prominence for tea, mint juleps or whatever beverage that was once served along with afternoon biscuits or the like to guests.

I gasped at the sight, imagining the scene. Leon walked to the large ornate door.

There was a long flat iron bar that was held in place by a large star-shaped bolt on one end and was sitting onto a ‘U’ shaped arm at the other. A barricade.

Was this to keep someone in or deter others from entering? I wondered.

Leon voiced his own opinion about the situation when he said, “Looks like someone didn’t want whoever lived here to leave, yet could come and go as he, or she, pleased.”

“My God!” I managed, as I visualized the scene.

In my reverie, I heard a screech and looked up. Leon had moved the rusted bar up to allow the door to open and was turning the knob to go into the house.

I suddenly felt a chill and a strong feeling that we shouldn’t go in and said as much.

“Are you kidding?” Leon stated. “You, Ms. Haunted House Hunter Extraordinaire, not wanting to go into an abandoned house, especially after I exerted all my muscle strength to get that bar up so that we could go in?” He shook his head and continued, “That’s a new one for the books. Well, you can stay out here, but I want to at least take a peek inside this mansion.”

He turned and opened the door, which also made a loud screeching noise from being rusty and not having been opened for decades.

I snapped out of my doubts, suddenly not feeling fear as much as feeling a sense of intrusion. Leon had already disappeared inside, and I knew I couldn’t let him explore alone. I walked into the entry, seeing an open door to the left, and stairs with an ornate balustrade and carved balusters winding up to a second floor to the right.

I saw fresh footprints in the accumulated dust showing me that Leon had gone into the room to the left. It was, as I would have guessed, the parlor. If it hadn’t been for the grey covering of years of dust, the room would have looked as if it was ready for guests to come calling with what appeared to be green velvet winged chairs and a long sofa. I saw that Leon was in the adjoining room. I followed.

Photo by Spencer Tamichi

He was just standing, looking up in a daze when I walked in. I gasped.

It was a dining room. The table had been moved away from the middle of the room where the massive light fixture would have hung over it. Instead, directly under the light was a chair laying on its side. But it was what hung from the now crooked fixture that made us both gape.

A rope was around the neck of a skeleton hanging from the light. It was dressed in what could have been a long silk flowered frock, baggy stockings, and tan leather shoes with a King Louie heel and cross-strap with pearl buttons, I couldn’t help but notice.

“Dear God,” I whispered. “Why?”

“This had been pinned to her dress with a hatpin and might answer your question,” Leon said solemnly, handing me a sheet of hand-pressed paper with faded ink writing.

The elaborate penmanship was beautiful. It said, “I was a prisoner in life, but in death, I am now free.”

“That explains the bar on the front door, also,” I said quietly. Tears began to run down my face as I whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

Just as we backed away, we heard the front door slam shut.