Dreamy House

By Bill Stack

A family is divided by disputed claims of paranormal activity in their home. While the wife/mother tries to prove their house is haunted, the husband/father tries to prove it isn’t. While the parents descend into childish arguments, the teenage daughter matures, succeeds at school, and assumes an adult role in her family. The novel delves into the stressful effects of everyone’s inability and unwillingness to see beyond their own belief systems. The story is deepened by myriad supporting characters associated with each of the three main characters.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill Stack
• Release date: Mar 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370687503

Bill Stack

Bill Stack is a retired management consultant.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The House

The rickety wood-framed screen door banged against a frail elderly man and woman wearing old ankle-length wool winter coats as they struggled to drag old suitcases out the front door of their old two-story Craftsman-style house. While he nervously turned the key in the deadbolt on this cold and gray morning in early January, she dragged her suitcase across the squeaky porch planks and down the three creaky steps to the flagstone walkway.

Starlings cackling in bare trees flew off in unison when they heard the commotion. Squirrels foraging on the frosty front lawn scurried out of the way as suitcases banged repeatedly on the uneven and cracked flagstones. Her bulging suitcase fell on the icy grass and burst open. He impatiently stuffed its contents back inside, latched it closed, and handed it back to her.

I told you there was too much stuff, he barked. It’s only for one night.

Never mind that, she snarled. Let’s just get out of here.

They rushed past a large commercial moving van backed up to the house. He nervously fumbled with the car keys to open the trunk of their rusty old sedan parked next to the van. Then he struggled to lift their heavy suitcases into the trunk one by one. Each suitcase bounced like a medicine ball when he hastily dropped them inside like an airport baggage handler. She dashed into the right seat and slammed the door while he whacked the lid shut. He quickly followed her into the driver’s seat. Gray smoke blew several feet out of the tail pipe accompanied by a high-throttle roar of the engine when he started the engine. The car lunged out of the driveway with a chirp of its tires on the old concrete. A cloud of smoke hanging in the cool air was soon the only trace.

Two young men wearing clean gray pin-striped uniforms closed and latched the back doors of their van and then simultaneously climbed into the cab’s left and right sides as though choreographed. Their van started with a diesel roar and cloud of black soot. Then it sluggishly exited the driveway and followed the car’s path down the road in that diesel roar and cloud of smelly diesel soot.

Birds returned to the trees, and squirrels resumed foraging amid the red-and-white for-sale sign standing silently in the front lawn. The old house stood mysteriously silent after the commotion only moments earlier.

***

The red and white for-sale sign was barely noticeable in the overgrown front yard when a shiny, dark-metallic-blue, late-model BMW sedan pulled into the driveway on a sunny morning in mid-January. The agency’s name as well as the agent’s portrait and name were featured on both front doors. All four doors opened simultaneously followed by four people stepping out: two women, one man, and one teenaged girl.

The glamourous, young, bleached-blonde, middle-aged agent wearing a tan cotton spring coat spoke first: This house is close to shopping, schools, churches, and parks, Rachel said enthusiastically upon seeing her clients staring blindly at the run-down house and grounds. I’ve sold quite a few houses in this neighborhood over the years.

Jules Reide, a middle-aged man wearing a brown broad-brimmed hat, khaki slacks, and windbreaker jacket, stood motionless next to the open passenger door while he stared at the house and grounds. His eyes darted from the dirty exterior siding with its flaking paint to the weeds dangling from the rain gutters to the broken window shutters. He frowned at the severely overgrown shrubbery that reached the eaves, blocked the porch railing, and encroached the front steps. His eyes panned across the front lawn with its widely scattered weeds and bare patches. He seemed eager to get back in the car and go somewhere else.

His wife, Vicky, a middle-aged woman with a dark brown bob, dark blue jeans, and navy blue jacket seemed eager to go inside the house. She walked a few steps toward the house and stopped when she realized that Jules and her daughter, Alena, weren’t following.

Like a skilled agent, Rachel immediately noticed Vicky’s interest and Jules’ apprehension. The grounds need just a little tidying, she said in a typically rote sales pitch intended to expand Vicky’s positivism and weaken Jules’ reluctance. Once inside, you’ll see its tremendous possibilities.

Jules walked up close to Vicky and whispered: Do you really want to see more of this place?

We owe it to ourselves to look, Vicky replied with a humbling grin.

Having succeeded so far, Rachel smiled enthusiastically before reading from the text-tour description on her tablet computer: Approximately 30 feet by 40 feet, 3,500 square feet of heated space with two-car garage, full basement, and attic. That’s typical for this neighborhood. She walked toward the house with keys jingling.

Come with us, Vicky entreated her 15-year-old daughter when she saw her standing next to the car and reading her phone.

Wearing denim shorts and an unzipped light-blue hooded fleece jacket despite the chilly winter air, Alena sighed and shrugged before walking toward her parents and the agent. When she reached them on the flagstone walkway connecting the driveway and the front steps, she stood rigidly. I’m not going in this dump, she flatly stated with an emphatic frown while staring at the house.

Rachel says it has a lot of possibilities, Vicky said while gently guiding Alena by the elbow. We should at least check it out.

This is worse than all the other ten houses we’ve looked at, Alena insisted. Can’t we just go home?

We’ll look at it now that we’re here, Jules told Alena in a consoling tone while guiding her toward the house with his hand on her upper back. He followed the women up the rickety front steps to the front porch with its squeaky plank flooring.

After removing the front-door key from the agents’ lock box, Rachel struggled to unlock the front door because the keyhole was so corroded. I envision a warmly decorated and well maintained home, she said to divert attention from the stuck lock.

Standing next to her father, Alena shrugged, shifted weight, sighed, and resumed using her phone while he waited patiently.

It’s musty in here, Alena complained as soon as they stepped inside the house.

Maybe it’s been closed up for a while, Vicky said.

From the foyer, a staircase rose four steps to a small landing with a stained-glass window and resumed toward the left. A kitchen could be seen beyond a short hallway straight ahead. A wide arch allowed unfettered view of a spacious living room to the left. Vicky envisioned it filled with furniture, area rugs, draperies, and pictures. Jules imagined costs of refinishing the scuffed wood floors, painting the dirty walls and trim woodwork, and cleaning the foggy windows. Alena grimaced at the cobwebs, dust bunnies, and pungent odor.

A house like this has so much potential, Rachel said in her unnerved effort to inspire a sale. She believed that Vicky’s positive expression and vibes were more than enough to sway the husband, and she hoped the child would go along with her parents’ decisions. There are so many opportunities to make it as homey as you want.

The rest of the house was no better, and Jules and Alena’s attitudes worsened as Rachel led them from one room to another.

This is the ‘updated’ kitchen? Jules asked while looking at the battered cabinets and countertops and the cracked linoleum floor.

Did people actually live in here? Alena asked while looking at moldy bathroom tiles and corroded faucets.

They left some stuff behind, Jules said as he descended the attic pull-down ladder in the hallway.

In the master bedroom, Vicky suddenly froze with her head held high, her arms slightly elevated to each side, and her eyes gazing into space. It was as though she was waiting for something to happen. Jules, Alena, and Rachel stood watching, waiting for her apparent trance to end.

I’ve just had a strange feeling, Vicky said quietly and calmly. It’s difficult to describe – basically a feeling of contentment with a tinge of resentment, as though I’m glad to be here but annoyed that somebody else doesn’t want me here.

Another reason to leave this place, Alena blurted. It’s too creepy.

Rachel held her breath while staring at the unbridled teenager for her stunning remark.

What do you mean by ‘creepy’? Vicky asked with umbrage.

It’s dirty and nasty, Alena replied. How could you feel contentment in here?

It’s been empty for a while, Rachel said to salvage what she hoped would be a sale. It just needs a little fixing, decorating, and cleaning.

Alena turned away in frustration. Jules looked at Rachel with disbelief.

We’ll discuss this and let you know, Vicky said.

Jules hoped Vicky was graciously ending this meeting instead of leading Rachel to believe there might be a positive outcome.

***

Since the owners are asking for best offer, what do you think it’s worth? Vicky asked Rachel from the BMW’s front passenger seat as it drove away. Jules’ eyes opened wide with surprise that Vicky would consider buying this house.

Appraisals and recent sales were in the six-hundred to seven-fifty range, she ambiguously explained in accordance with the customary real-estate negotiating game. It was intended to give Jules and Vicky enough wiggle room for a reasonable counter offer. The sought outcome would be a higher sales commission than otherwise.

There’s no way that house is worth the same as others in that neighborhood, Jules snapped. All the others are well maintained. This property has been neglected.

What specifically do you think it’s worth, Vicky asked, in your professional opinion?

You could get this house for around five-ninety-nine.

Forget it, Jules instantly scoffed in his blunt effort to dismiss this house as having any potential for his family.

It provides a lot of opportunities, Rachel replied in her salesperson’s attempt to polish this dull medallion.

Fixing and cleaning will cost a lot of money, he complained.

My accountant husband, Vicky said in her dismissive attempt to explain his remark.

It’s dirty, dusty, and full of creepy cobwebs, Alena added to her father’s objection. And it smells putrid.

Those are all fixable, Rachel said in a skillful attempt to move the negotiation forward.

Eleven houses in three days is wearing us out, Jules told Rachel in his courteous effort to end this discussion. Four today. We need a rest.

Other people are looking at those houses, Rachel countered. They’re good deals that won’t last long.

We’ll discuss them and let you know, Vicky assured with a courteous smile. Alena shook her head, scoffed, and mounted her earbuds to resume listening to music.

***

CHAPTER 2

The Proposal

I can’t believe you told her we’d talk about it, Jules told Vicky as soon as he drove their SUV out of the parking lot of Rachel’s real-estate office. And then you led her to believe we were interested by asking what she thought it was worth.

That green Craftsman house is cute, Vicky eagerly said. Her creative genes as an architect enabled her to see what Jules couldn’t: opportunities for customizing a once-lovely old house for their unique needs and likes. Settling for banalities that most people willingly accept was not in her DNA. Like Rachel said, it has lots of potential and opportunities.

That brick colonial was a better deal, Jules argued from his financial perspective as an accountant. It was newer and larger than that green Craftsman. It had more property. And the price was closer to our budget.

The Craftsman is a perfect size for our family, she insisted. And it had more than enough property. We don’t need all those lawns at that brick colonial.

Are you serious about buying that dump, Mom? Alena asked in a disbelieving tone.

She showed us ten other houses that don’t need as much work as the green Craftsman, Jules countered. Lots of money and lots of time, neither of which we have.

They were too big, too small, or in lousy neighborhoods, Vicky argued passionately.  The Craftsman’s neighborhood is charming, and the neighborhood is more like us. She read from the description page: College-educated professionals such as engineers, teachers, accountants, and business owners; families, singles, and empty nesters.

Alena scoffed and grimaced with impatience and disgust before putting earbuds in her hears for listening to music from her phone.

Jules remained focused on costs. "Emphasis on lots and accent on money. You didn’t take a better job in a bigger architectural firm a thousand miles from home just to spend your increased earnings on fixing up an old, run-down house."

Schools are among the best in the county, Vicky continued as she continued reading: Close to shopping, schools, churches, and other destinations.

Most of them meticulously maintained their properties, Jules noted as they drove through the neighborhood. This house is the shabbiest.

Vicky continued reading: Low crime rate, high quality of life, and the resultant sound investments of these homes.

Jules shook his head. We agreed to a budget based on our earnings and our needs to save for retirement, Alena’s college, and the family’s health care. We didn’t agree to spend all our money restoring an old derelict.

Vicky turned her attention to Alena to move the conversation forward. We could decorate this house together, Alena.

The girl did not respond because she was listening to music. Vicky turned around and waved at her.

What? Alena said as she removed a bud from her ear.

We could have fun decorating this house, don’t you think?

It sure needs it, Alena sneered, but we’d have to spend the first year cleaning it first. Then she returned the ear pieces to her ears and resumed listening to her music.

Jules grinned smugly. Having his daughter on his side in opposition to that house was an advantage.

You liked that bedroom, didn’t you? Vicky asked Alena, trying to elicit positiveness from somebody besides herself.

Alena removed one earbud. The whole place is dusty, musty, and overgrown, she continued. They left in a hurry without cleaning or taking all their stuff. Just weird. She repositioned the earpiece and continued listening.

Getting no support from Alena, Vicky turned back to Jules to salvage the potential for buying this old, run-down house that appealed to her so greatly. Best offer could be substantially below the level of the neighborhood.

Upgrading that house to the level of the neighborhood would cost a lot of time and money. Jules replied. "Emphasis on time and accent on money." His mathematical proclivity and accountant training kept his thinking focused on work, effort, time, and costs.

Why must you be so negative? Vicky asked in frustration.

Alena removed both her earbuds. You’re not serious about buying that dump, are you Mom?

We could get this house for a low price, Vicky persisted in a calculated attempt to argue on his mathematical level. The difference between that and the neighborhood rate would more than cover the cost of improvements. We would still be within your budget.

"This isn’t my budget, he argued defensively. It’s our budget that we agreed on before we started house hunting by laying out combined earning potential and expenses."

Would we have to live there while it’s being fixed up? Alena asked with disdain for the notion.

We can wait until it’s upgraded before moving in, Vicky replied using the age-old sales technique of psychologically placing her family in the house as though the skill was innate.

I guess, Alena said shaking her head. Then she continued listening to her music.

We’ll have to stay in that hotel for the duration of the remodeling, Jules argued. You’ll need to factor that cost into your estimates.

It’s less than the hotels where we usually stay, Vicky defended.

Add the costs of laundry and dining out, he said.

Why do you have to be such a naysayer? Vicky asked impatiently.

Okay architect, he conceded. Use your estimating skills to determine the cost of upgrading this house. Subtract that from the budget we mutually agreed on, and you’ll know how much we can afford to pay. We’ll make an offer on that basis.

Vicky turned around to face Alena, and Jules looked at the girl in his rear-view mirror.

Alena removed her earbuds. What?

We agreed to make an offer on that green house.

Alena shook her head and scoffed again. Jules winked at her in the mirror. He was playing along with Vicky because he doubted the seller would accept any lowball offer. Alena resumed listening to her music.

***

Sitting at the desk of their small hotel room that evening, Vicky used her laptop to find house values in the neighborhood of the old Craftsman house they had toured that morning. She looked at several real-estate websites that reported recent selling prices, current tax appraisals, and latest market trends.

Some houses in that neighborhood are even higher than the range the agent gave us today, she revealed. Here’s one estimated value at almost one million.

Jules burst out laughing. That definitely isn’t the house we looked at. What’s the average square-foot price for the neighborhood?

One hundred sixty-four dollars, Vicky read from the website. For that 3,500-square-foot Craftsman, $574,000, or twenty-six thousand less than Rachel said.

No way! he argued while building the pillow stack on the double bed so he could watch TV. The condition of that house is too far below the neighborhood standard for that figure to be meaningful.

This is the best deal we’ve seen so far, Vicky insisted. The neighborhood is nice, the house is undervalued . . .

And it needs too much work, he interrupted, shaking his head.

Must you be so negative? she asked with frustration. You didn’t like any of the other houses we looked at either.

"I did like that brick colonial."

I don’t want that colonial, Vicky asserted, so let’s stop talking about it.

Something’s going on with that Craftsman, or it would have sold by now.

It’s a dump, that’s what wrong with it, Alena said, having heard her parent’s conversation from the adjacent room. She had her own room for some level of privacy, but Vicky and Jules insisted the door between the rooms be kept open for the safety of their adolescent daughter.

Find out what’s keeping people from buying that house, Jules suggested, monetize it, and deduct from your estimate. That’s your bid.

A home inspector can tell us what’s wrong with it before any offers are made, Vicky suggested.

More money, he groaned.

***

I’m sorry, the woman on the telephone said after hearing the house’s address. None of our inspectors are available right now.

With frustration, Jules depressed the handset button on his office phone. Holding down the cradle button, he turned toward his computer monitor and read the phone number for the next local home inspector in the Yellow Pages list on the Internet. While waiting for the phone to answer, he glanced around the expansive, nicely furnished modern office to see what his accounting colleagues and clerical staff in the 30 or so cubicles were doing. When the phone answered, he tried to speak in low volume to prevent anyone else from hearing the nature of his conversations.

We’re unable to do that job, he was abruptly told by another inspector’s office after hearing the house address.

After the fifth rejection, Jules stared blankly from his cubicle toward the windows across the open office. After the seventh rejection, he muttered under his breath: What the hell is going on?

Where is that house? a receptionist for the eleventh home inspector asked. As soon as Jules gave them the address, she said somebody would call back. Nobody did.

Near the end of the workday, Jules found a home inspector in a neighboring town who was willing to inspect this house. Jules agreed to meet him there the following morning.

***

Light-falling snow collected on the windshield of Jules’s SUV with its engine running and heat blasting while he waited in the driveway of the green Craftsman house. About ten minutes after nine, he saw a red Ford pickup truck in the rear-view mirror arriving behind him. I’ll cut him some slack because of the snow, he muttered. When he saw the truck’s driver door open and a burly man in a western style coat step out, he turned off his engine and exited his car. The two men shook hands and commented about the snowy morning while walking to the front porch on a thin covering of snow.

Steps and porch need work, the man said after hearing the floorboard’s creaking and squeaking.

That much we know, Jules replied with a courteous smile.

I’ll inspect your home from foundation to rooftop, Van Doyle said while giving Jules his business card.

It has a basement, too, Jules said.

Crawl spaces are included, Van said, but full basements are extra.

Jules’ accounting mind churned. Why would that be? he asked with a frown. It’s part of the house.

It’s another floor for me to examine.

Wouldn’t walking through a full basement be a lot easier than crawling beneath the house? Jules argued.

Van shrugged.

How much more? Jules asked.

The city tax rolls online say the house is 3,500 square feet, Van replied while looking at the synopsis on his clipboard. He looked upward to cipher in his head. That’s 1,750 feet per floor. At $200 per thousand, that would be . . .

Three fifty? Jules asked with disdain.

Yeah, that’s about right.

Forget it, Jules said without hesitating. Then he turned toward the porch steps to return to his car.

Okay, Van said. I’ll throw it in for free. Your point about crawl spaces makes sense.

So we’re back at $700? Jules asked.

Yep.

Well then, Jules said while removing the house keys from his coat pocket. Let’s have at it.

Once they were inside the house, Jules sought to clarify the services. You will inspect the floors, walls, ceilings, windows, doors, plumbing, wiring, heat and air, is that right?

Yep, and the visible joists, rafters, foundation, and roof.

What if the house fails your inspection?

There isn’t a pass/fail to our inspections. It’s not like a city inspection. All I’ll do is report what I find.

What if you find a serious defect, say in the heat and air system?

Van smiled assuredly. I’ll report it to you.

Then what?

That’s up to you. All I do is inspect and report.

Is there a guarantee?

I guarantee what I see and test. I can’t guarantee anything I don’t see or test. If it’s not in my report, it wasn’t seen or tested.

Jules hesitated then agreed. Okay, go for it.

For another hour or more, Jules followed Van around the house observing the inspection. He was careful not to get in Van’s way or chat too much to avoid distracting him, but he closely watched everything. Van promised to return his report within a week.

***

The house’s condition is worse than I thought, Jules complained to Vicky while reading Van’s home-inspector’s report at the hotel a week later. "The plumbing and electrical are below current building-code requirements and need complete replacement. The furnace and steam pipes needed cleaning. The roofing shingles and rain gutters needed replacement. He looked up at his wife. All that in addition to painting and cleaning."

Jules constructed a spreadsheet on her laptop computer by listing each item in Van’s report followed by cost formulas Vicky knew from her architectural work.

Total cost for addressing everything in the report, he said while looking at the bottom line, $115,000.

Instead of replacing the furnace, steam pipes, and radiators, Jules said, we should replace the entire system with central heat-and-air.

She balked. That would require all new duct work in the ceilings and walls.

We’ll have to put central air in the house anyway, he insisted.

She looked up her formulas. Ten thousand.

Jules shook his head and entered the number. We’ll have to get real estimates before we spend any money.

Five thousand for home furnishings, Vicky said.

What? Jules exclaimed. We can’t afford Saks.

We need draperies, area rugs, bedding, towels.

What’s wrong with the bedding and towels we have now?

We can’t put that old junk in our newly remodeled house.

It’s an old house, he argued. It can have old stuff.

You want that much just for a lawn and landscaping.

That amount is based on contractor estimates.

It’s an old house; it can have an old lawn.

Every person who drives or walks by this house will see that crappy lawn and landscaping. Only people who come in our house will see your new linens.

She sat quietly without arguing further.

And we can’t claim costs of draperies, bedding, and towels in our offer.

Then we’ll have to work it in somehow. Persuading Jules