The old house was in shambles, a real fixer-upper and that’s putting it mildly.

I rode by it every day on my way to the woods and something about it really intrigued me. Since I was in between photography assignments and needed something else to occupy my mind, I decided to purchase the old house and remodel it. It was in a great location with ample land and the price was a mighty bargain. The former owners were only too happy to have someone take it off their hands. They were tired of paying taxes on something they got no use out of.  I never met the owners, and all transaction was handled and shook on swiftly through an enthusiastic realtor.

I was temporarily staying in the local motel while I was piddling around with some candid nature shots, and now that I had purchased the house, I would be basing myself there. Since my grandfather had left me, his only living heir, a sizeable inheritance, there was nothing stopping me from following through with my grand plans. Soon, I would convert this ramshackle hovel into a home worthy of my artistic endeavours.

I, however, hit a few snags when trying to hire help for the reconstruction. No one seemed to have any interest in working on that house. Then, when I finally did get a crew together, I would often catch the guys in a huddle, laughing, and acting like they had just heard a good dirty joke. They would get quiet or change the subject when I approached but I never gave it much thought back then. It was definitely a motley crew. None of the local contractors seemed to have time or inspiration to lend a helping hand even though the money I was offering to pay was far above the going rate. Most of the crew I managed to gather together were workers who were fired for one reason or another from the more reputable companies, with a few transients thrown in. At the time, I just thought in the town were lazy.

Though it was beginning to feel like it was never going to happen, the house was finally in a condition for me to be able to start sleeping there. Staying in town was becoming more and more inconvenient, so I got the largest bedroom fixed up and placed an air mattress on the floor. There was still much to be done, but finally being able to move in was a relief.

For reasons I couldn’t understand at the time, the workers seemed awfully interested in what bedroom I chose as mine.

I would find out why on my very first night there.

I was awakened in the wee hours of the morning by the sound of feminine laughter and the smell of cigar smoke and perfume.

I lay there listening for more and must have dozed back off.

Next morning, I figured I must have dreamed it.

The second night, I was again awakened by the sounds of laughter, both male and female, and the sound of a piano. I sat up and there, perched on the edge of my air mattress, was a plump woman clad in a filmy blue negligee. She had platinum blonde hair in a bouffant style and layers of make-up on. I reached out to touch her but she disappeared.

God, I must be losing my mind. That is really weird. I had thought.

I got up and opened a cold beer from the cooler I had with me. The kitchen wasn’t finished yet. I was really starting to get skittish. The next day, I approached one of the chattier workers who seemed to know everything about everything.

“Do you know who lived in this house before I bought it?” At that, he started laughing and looked at the other guys.

“Hey guys, he wants to know who lived here.”

I didn’t know what was so funny but I knew that I would find out before I went to bed again that night.

“Well…..? Are you going to tell me?”

“Um, the realtor didn’t tell you? No, no he wouldn’t, he had to make the sale.”

“All I know is that there are some strange goings-on around here.”

At the expense of looking like a fool, even though it sounded totally ridiculous, I told them of my experiences. They didn’t seem all that alarmed. They actually thought it was funny.

“Sir, have you ever heard of the infamous New Road Building in Kathmandu? Well, this was a smaller version of that. It was a brothel.” He could hardly get the last words out, he was choking on laughter.

“The town people shut it down but they had to threaten to burn it before the Madam would give it up and leave town. She swore she’d never leave it. They found her dead in the swamp a short time later. It was never explained how she got there or who was responsible. To tell the truth, I think everyone, including the police was just glad she was gone. I don’t figure there was much investigating done. Nobody will come near this place at night and most won’t even come in the daytime. She never really left. Leastways, not in spirit. She haunts the place; she and her girls. We all wondered if you knew about it but we couldn’t tell and no one would ask you. ”

“You mean I am haunted by a bunch of prostitutes?”

“Are you complaining?”

“Nah, I guess if I am going to live in a haunted house, that’s the best kind of ghosts to have.”

Still, I was a little uncomfortable with the situation. That night, the Madam returned, along with her girls. This time she chose to speak to me. I noted just a hint of an accent. Was it French?

“Did you come to restore my house? Will you return it to me? It is mine, you know. I will never give it up. No one will have it but me and my family.” Her eyes were glaring at me. It made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“Hey, I thought you were friendly ghosts. You certainly ran a friendly-type of business. This house can be of no use to you now; you’re dead. You’ve been dead a long time. Go haunt whoever put you in that swamp if you must haunt someone. Go away and leave me in peace. Cross-over or whatever you ghosts do when you go away.”

“Do not talk to me that way. This house is mine. It can never belong to anyone else. I will not give you a minute’s peace. I will continue to live here.”

And continue she did. She made my life a living hell. Some days I couldn’t locate my car keys. I was late for appointments with potential contractors, which made an already volatile situation worse. They didn’t really want to deal with me and then when I was late or missed an appointment, it made me look less than serious about my project. Over the course of the next few weeks, she tampered with small electrical appliances and tools, stole my clothes, took money from my pockets during the night, set a couple of small fires, turned the radio and/or TV up high in the middle of the night, and I Often awoke to the sound of laughter and piano music. I never knew when she would appear. She’d open windows to the cold air and steal the covers from my bed. I felt sure she didn’t act alone. She had a bevy of her girls assisting her. I was really up against a force stronger than I could handle.

Suffering badly from sleep deprivation and frayed nerves, I finally could take it anymore. I stopped the work on the house, packed up, and left. I continued my photography work. I took a loss on that house in a big way. Naturally, I put it up for sale but that was just a formality. There was no hope of actually getting any of my money back. Needless to say, I learned a valuable lesson about investigating thoroughly before making a business transaction of that magnitude again.

That was fifty years ago. I rode by the house the other day which gave me a cold, eerie feeling. The hair on my neck began to stand up the minute I turned onto the old dirt road. By the time I stopped in front of the house, I had goose bumps the size of oranges.

The house is really run down now.

Someone painted the door blue.

I haven’t a clue who it was, but I did remember the madam wore a lot of blue on her nightly visits. Maybe that was her favourite colour.

I chose not to stick around to find out.