The House that Smiled.

The House that Smiled

         "Wasn't the Realtor supposed to meet us at two o'clock?" my husband, David, asked, glancing impatiently at his watch.

         We leaned against the trunk of our four-year-old Toyota, watching the street expectantly, like a child waits for an ice cream truck on a summer day. "That's what she said, honey. She'll be here," I assured him.

         Married five years, we were finally in a position to buy our first home and, hopefully, start raising a family. It was something we both longed for--a place of our own.

         Our enthusiasm was waning, however, after looking at several homes over the past two weeks. They were all either too expensive, too small, or in sections of the city which were in decline.

         I heard a car approaching and shaded my eyes with my hand, squinting against the glare of the August sun. "Here she is now," I said, as a powder-blue Cadillac with magnetic Best Realty signs on the doors pulled up behind us in the driveway.

         Margie Hamilton, fifty, plump and always "up", climbed out of her car juggling a clipboard, her handbag and a thick Multiple Listing Directory--the Bible of the real estate trade. "Hi! Sorry I'm late. I had a closing at noon that lasted longer than expected," she explained. "What do you think of the outside, Mr. Eastman?" she said, shaking hands with David.

         "It's nice. I didn't look around back, though."

         I thought the house was especially attractive. About twenty years old, it was built of red brick with white shutters at the windows and seemed to be in excellent repair. The lawn was a thick green carpet of St. Augustine grass and a towering weeping willow tree stood majestically on the west side of the yard. It's canopy would shade the house from the evening sun. The house was in an older, but well-kept neighborhood with first-rate schools within walking distance.

         Margie produced a key, led us to the door, and ushered us inside. The living room was large and boasted a homey-looking fireplace. The smell of fresh paint and new carpet filled my nostrils. "Isn't it nice!" Margie remarked gaily.

         "Beautiful," I agreed, looking at David. He nodded and raised his eyebrows in appreciation.

         "Come see the dining room. There's a bay window that looks out into the back yard. Do you like fresh fruit, Gloria?" Margie asked me, then, before I could answer, she continued, "There are peach, pear and plum trees spaced around the back yard and one monstrous pecan tree that is surrounded by a brick walkway, with a redwood picnic table and a barbecue grill."

         The dining room was spacious, but the view Margie had described was magnificent. The same lush green grass covered the ground and honeysuckle grew along the length of the chain- link fence surrounding the yard. "Great place for a bunch of kids, isn't it?" Margie suggested.

         "It reminds me of my grandparent's yard when I was little," David said, a boyish smile curling his full lower lip. "Safe. Lots of room to run."

         The dining room exited to a roomy country kitchen. I squeezed David's hand. "Cabinet space! And room enough for an informal breakfast area," I said, taking in the gleaming green and yellow linoleum, matching wallpaper, and the dainty lace curtains at the window over the sink.

         "Plenty of windows. Makes the house so bright," Margie enthused. "And during the spring you can open them up and get a really nice breeze. "Now, for the bedrooms," she said, leading us into a long hallway. "The master bedroom is at the rear of the house and has a private bath. The smaller bedroom at the front is perfect for that future addition to your family. The second bath is here in the hall."

         I looked up lovingly into the azure blue eyes of my husband. "Do you love it as much as I do, honey?"

         He kissed the top of my head. "I do. I really do."

         We followed Margie past the hall bath, giving it only a cursory glance. It was as clean and spotless as the rest of the house. As we neared the master bedroom, Margie said, "Wait until you see the closet space, Gloria. It's..."

         I didn't hear the rest of her sentence.

         An icy chill flashed through my body, freezing me in place. My jaws clenched and the skin of my scalp tightened as an unknown dread sent goose bumps racing over my skin.

         "Gloria? Gloria!" I heard David shout. "What is it...you're as white as chalk."

         I pressed a trembling hand against the wall and stepped backward. "I-I don't want to go back there."

         Margie, concern etched on her brow, took David's arm. "What's the matter with her?"

         David shook his head helplessly. "Gloria, baby, are you ill?"

         I took a deep breath and backed up another step. "I'm not sure. A feeling. Bad. There's something..."

         Margie turned, walked into the bedroom, and looked right and left. "There's nothing here, Gloria. Come see for yourself."

         "No!" I yelped, terrorized at the notion. "I want to leave. Now. Come on, David."

         "But, honey, I love the house... and so did you. What is your problem," he asked, a hint of anger creeping into his voice.

         "Outside," I said, walking away from them.

         Moments later the three of us stood in the driveway. The summer sun did little to melt the chill I still felt. David and Margie looked at me irritably, awaiting an explanation. I took a deep, cleansing breath. "All I can tell you is that I've always been sensitive to certain things," I began. "Not psychic, exactly, but able to...to feel the mood of my surroundings.

         "This house is wonderful--except for the master bedroom. Something back there frightened me. Made me sick to my stomach. I could never live here. Never."

         Margie, seeing her sale slipping away, defended the house. "That's ridiculous! What do you think...that the house is haunted or something? I assure you there have been no ax murders here. And certainly no ghosts."

         "A ghost I can live with," I said calmly, looking down at my feet, watching a column of ants snake across the concrete. "I had one for a playmate when I was little. She lived in my grandmother's house. Her bathroom, actually."

         I chewed my lower lip nervously, realizing how this must sound to my bewildered husband. "The first time I saw her, it really scared me. I ran screaming, wet from the tub, to my grandmother's arms. Grandma was aware of the ghost, though she couldn't hear or see it the way I could. She could only feel its presence."

         David put his arm around my shoulders. "Gloria, I think the excitement of getting a house has..."

         I pulled away from him. "I'm not crazy! Grandma told me about the previous owner of the house. A woman. She died of natural causes. In the bathroom.

"She also told me not to worry about the ghost-woman. 'The dead can't hurt you, honey,' she told me. 'It's them live s.o.b's you gotta watch out for'," I said, hearing my grandma's voice in my head.

         Margie crossed her arms over her breasts and snipped, "You had a pet ghost, right?"

         "I had a friend I could talk to. Then, when I turned thirteen or so, something changed. I couldn't see her or hear her any longer...but I could still feel her energy."

         The frigid wind that had frozen my heart suddenly left me. "I'm sorry, Margie, but this is an unpleasant house. A sad, sad house."

         Margie tapped her foot impatiently. "You wait right here while I make a telephone call," she huffed. She walked a few steps away from us and punched buttons on her cell phone.

         Sheepishly, I told my tall, angular husband, "I hope you don't think I've lost my mind, but..."

         David pressed his finger to my lips. "Anything that makes you this uncomfortable ain't gonna fly with me, either. Why have you never told me about your ghost friend?"

         I felt my face flush. Shrugged. "Would you have believed me?"

         Margie returned after a few minutes, visibly upset. "I apologize, Gloria. I called the owner, Mrs. Carter, and asked her about the house...whether there was anything that might fit with what you were saying. I was hoping to prove you wrong."

         "But?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

         "Mister Carter spent the last year of his life in that back bedroom, fighting a losing battle with pancreatic cancer. But he didn't die here. He passed away in the hospital. So, what is it you're feeling?"

         I tugged at my ear, trying to decide just what I did feel. Finally, I explained. "His spirit isn't here. But the awful, searing pain he endured and the hopelessness he lived with have left a permanent sorrow in the house. At least for someone like me, who can feel it. This house will be perfect for someone else...but not for us. I'm sorry, Margie."

******

         The sweltering August gave way to a refreshingly cool September, unusual for Dallas. David and I stood on the porch of a small, white, wood frame house we noticed while out visiting friends. A "For Sale by Owner" sign was staked crookedly in the front yard. David knocked again on the aluminum screen door.

         A gray-haired, but youthful-looking lady answered the knock. "Yes? May I help you?" She asked, peering up at David through the top half of bifocal glasses.

         "Hi. I'm David Eastman and this is my wife, Gloria. We saw your sign," David said, pointing toward it. "We'd like to look at the house if it's convenient for you."

         The woman held the screen open for us. "Look all you want. Ain't fancy, but the price is right!" she chuckled. "My name's Nell. The couch spud over there is Horace, my lesser-half for the past forty-three years."

         A heavy-set man slouched on a worn sofa watching "Wheel of Fortune" on television. He looked up at us, smiled a toothless smile, raised a plump hand in greeting, then returned his attention to Vanna turning letters.

         The top of the television and every square inch of the coffee table, end tables, mantle and most of one wall were covered with framed pictures of children. Probably the couple's children, grandchildren and maybe even great-grandchildren, I thought.

         "You kids go on and look around. You can't cuss and discuss things with me traipsing along behind you," Nell said, shooing us out of the living room.

         We walked from room to room. The house was very small--under twelve hundred square feet, I guessed. The two bedrooms were pitifully small by present-day standards, with single, crank-open windows in each. The closets were minuscule.

         The plumbing and fixtures in the single bathroom and kitchen were antiquated and the linoleum in the kitchen, which may have been blue a long time ago, was cracked and peeling up in several places. The whole house needed painting.

         I peeked out the kitchen window at a small yard of brown, dead grass and bare spots where the earth showed through. A gnarled tree held a tire swing and remnants of a tree house. A sandbox, one side about to give way to gravity and rot, was built around the base of the tree.

         David frowned. "Hear that? A train."

         Sure enough, not more than ten yards from the back fence of the property a freight train came growling along unseen tracks. The whole house vibrated slightly until the train passed by.

         Heading back toward the living room, I nudged David in his ribs. "What do you think?"

         He counted the fingers of his right hand with the index finger of his left. "I think it's too old, too small, too noisy, too rundown, and not at all what we had in mind."

         I inhaled deeply, my chest swelling. "Can you feel it, David?"

         He nodded. "Guess I've been around you too long. Houses do have personalities, don't they? Some are sad, some neutral, and some are..."

         "So, what are you saying, honey?" I asked, holding my breath.

         He brushed a stray strand of hair off my forehead then kissed me above my right eye. "I'm saying that, like you, I can feel the love and togetherness in this house...the joy of many, many children and a romance that has lasted for forty-three years. It's a happy house."

         I pressed my cheek against his chest; heard his loving heart throbbing inside him. "I can feel it smile," I said. "Tell the lady we'll take it."

The End

DM