At least two houses in my neighborhood are “cursed.” This may be because of narcissism, greed, and other related character flaws. I say these houses are cursed not because of supernatural forces, but because the company that built the homes sold some of them to real estate speculators, who then rented them out. The housing development was considered very desirable. The builder-developer allegedly had a one-home-per-family policy in place. However, simple greed apparently corrupted this policy.
I would not be surprised if these homes were sold at a volume discount. I consider the developer and the speculators to be co-conspirators, and responsible for the houses being “cursed.” Some of the houses in our development were sold to investors who figured that market conditions would improve and they would be able to sell the homes for a profit. But we all know that around 2008 during the waning years of the Bush administration, the real estate market collapsed nationwide. Tough luck.
Part ONE: The House Behind Our House
1. First, the people with the loud barking dogs lived there. The man who lived two houses up the street from us saw me mowing the lawn one day and complained about the dogs. At first, he thought we owned the dogs. I told him we did not own any dogs, but he continued to complain about their incessant barking. I told him, “Look man, why tell me all this? Why don’t you go complain to the family that owns the dogs? To be honest with you, I never really paid any attention to the barking.”
“Yeah, but I can’t get any sleep! They never shut up!” To the best of my knowledge, he never went around the block to talk to the people with the dogs. However, within a month he moved back to southern California. A week later the people with the dogs moved to parts unknown. They all moved. I think this was for the best, for neighborhood peace.
2. The next family that lived in the house behind ours was the one with a loud abusive husband and father who cursed and yelled at his wife and little children. They also had a dog, but the man had a louder bark. One night, after a loud harangue from the husband, I called the police and told them about the man’s verbal abuse. His yelling disturbed the peace! I looked over the backyard fence and saw a patrol car a few minutes later and after a half hour or so, the police left without making an arrest. I resolved to call the police or child protective services if there had been another outburst from the man, but just like the dog barking dog people, they moved away.
I always wondered what happened to them.
3. Next, a family from southern Asia lived there. Well, I suppose they could’ve been Indian, Pakistani, or possibly from Bangladesh or even Sri Lanka. In any case, the son of this family, a teenaged boy, got beaten up by some gangsters who apparently spoke the same language as the kid they assaulted. I never learned the reason why the young man was roughed up by the gangsters.
This family installed some extremely bright lights on the rear of the house in order to illuminate their patio. I think because they had motion detectors attached to them, these bright lights came on at random times during the night and made it difficult to sleep at times. They were bright enough for us to be able to read by them even though all the lights in our bedroom would be turned off. This family also had a large dog, although it wasn’t very noisy.
Before they left, they had a huge party. The women stayed inside the house around the dining room table and the men stood out on the brightly lit patio talking loudly and smoking the foulest-smelling cigarettes you could ever imagine. They moved soon after the beating. They apparently took their bright lights with them.
4. The next family in the house behind us was there, and not there. These people were like phantoms; the only reason I knew anyone lived there was that an occasional light would come on inside the house. This phantom-like family was composed of a husband, a wife, and a couple of toddlers who sometimes played on the patio in the backyard. One time the back door of this house was left open. I knocked on their front door to tell them that the back door was open. When someone finally answered the knock on the door, I saw an overweight, slovenly man who appeared to be about 30 to 35 years old. I introduced myself and told him that his back door was open and I couldn’t tell if anyone was at home. I thought I was trying to be a good neighbor, but he was totally disengaged from the conversation; he sent text messages on his cell phone the whole time I attempted to talk to him. He seemed to care less about my concern for the safety of his family. I thought to myself, “He doesn’t even care! If I see the door opened again, I won’t say a damned thing!” They moved a few months later, on July 4 of that year.
5. The next family that lived there did not really appear to be a family, in the traditional sense. The people who lived there appeared to be a group of young folks in their early to mid-20s. They were relatively quiet, although every few months, they threw a party, and played loud music until about 1:30 in the morning.
Believe it or not, they also had a dog, a tiny dog whose bark sounded more like a cat’s meow than a bark. One time the little mutt crawled through a hole in the fence we shared, and wandered into our backyard. A young lady knocked on our door and asked to retrieve the little fellow. She was friendly and introduced herself. She told me her name was Amber. I let her into the backyard, but the dog had already crawled back through the hole in the fence. I spent the next morning repairing the fence. This group moved away after a year or so.
6. The latest family living in the house behind our house is a group of three African-American women in their thirties, my people. I spoke to them one day when I watered my garden. I was surprised to see that yet another family moved into the place. I stood on a patio chair in order to talk to them over the fence. Sadly, all three of them were smoking what looked like tobacco cigarettes, the ones with the warning printed on their packages.
“Hey sis,” I said to the one closest to the fence, “When did you all move in?”
“Oh. hi,” she said, “Maybe about a year ago.”
“Really? I thought the place was empty again.”
“That’s ‘cause we spend all our time going to work every day,” one of the other women said, “but not for much longer.”
“So, you have big plans for all your hard-earned money, right?” I asked.
“That’s right,” the third woman said, “We got things to do.” Then she teasingly asked, “How come you so nosy, old man?”
“Aw, ain’t no thang, just curious. There have been so many people in and out of that house that I started to think it is haunted or something.” Hearing those words, all three abruptly turned and looked at me. This was somewhat startling.
“Haunted? What do you mean haunted? What do you know that we don’t about this house?”
“Oh, I just meant that no one seems to stay there for very long.” Then I told them about all the people I observed living there over the years. This seemed to reassure them somehow and they all took a huge draw on their cigarettes.
“You know, I don’t want to sound like I’m trying to get all up in your business, but aren’t you worried about getting lung cancer from smoking?
The tallest of the three said, “Oh, these aren’t cigarettes, they’re…” she didn’t complete her sentence because the oldest of the three gave her a sharp look and quickly shook her head.
The oldest one told me, “Hey man, nice talking to, you but it’s time for us to get ready for work. You have a good one, OK? Come on, y’all. Time to get ready for our shift.” Curiously, they all put out their cigarettes in an ashtray on their patio table and put them into their pockets. I haven’t seen any of these three ladies since, but as far as I can tell, they still live in the house.