The old Queen Anne-style house situated just off the Highway 149 was definitely a fixer-upper, almost to the point of being an eyesore.
The dark grey eaves were in immediate need of major repair, with the edges frayed like a block of cheese that had been nibbled by a rat.
The faded white wraparound porch seemed fine at first glance, but a closer inspection revealed badly damaged spindle work and several rotted boards that made for hazardous walking. The porch columns needed reinforcement, and at least one had to be completely replaced due to a large crack that started at its base and ran all the way to the top.
Some of the bay windows were broken, all of the window treatments were a mess … there was a laundry list of renovation and restoration needs. Frankly, it was a miracle that a This Property Is Condemned sign hadn’t been tacked to the door.
Still, the house could certainly be restored to its original glory, but it wouldn’t happen overnight. It was going to cost a whole lot of money – and countless hours of work – to make it both presentable and livable.
Frederick and Nettie were hopeful, though; they had seen a realtor come by twice in the last week with two different parties. Whether the potential buyers were looking for a place to live or a place to flip didn’t really matter to the couple as long as someone fixed it up and moved back in.
“It’s been what, 12, 15 years since the Williams family lived here?” Frederick wondered aloud.
“Fourteen years,” Nettie said. “They moved out on March 17, 2011. I hated to seem ‘em go. I’ll never forget waving goodbye to that little girl – Marcy was her name. Such a sweet child. The whole family was good people.”
“They were, they were … Jane and Daryl Williams,” Frederick said wistfully. “Remember that funny dog they had? Dipper. Ol’ Dipper would just stand there and bark and bark at us and Mr. and Mrs. Williams never could get him to quiet down. But Marcy would walk over, look at us and smile. When she did that, Dipper would walk away and go about his business. Course, the next day it all started up again. I guess dogs have short memories.”
A car slowed down in front of the house, and both the driver and the passenger leaned in to take a closer look. They talked among themselves briefly, pointed at the property, then slowly eased back onto the road and drove away.
“Don’t guess they were interested in buying,” Nettie said. “You never know, though. That’s how the Carters found this place, you recall. They rode up in that fancy looking Packard Caribbean and she had on those big sunglasses and that polka dot bandana, and her little bitty husband was gobbled up in that velvety sport coat. It tickles me to even think about it. She walked right up on the porch and decided right then she wanted the place and he just laughed.”
“Oh, yeah, Dee and Desi Carter,” Frederick said. “Now, he was plenty nice and friendly but she was something else … she was something else entirely, and I mean that in a good way. Lordy, she loved to have those big parties, didn’t she? All those people would come around from all over, dressed to the nines, drinking whiskey sours and having a big time. Thing about her, it was like she knew what kinda music we liked and wanted to make us part of it, too. Every Halloween she’d put Down Hearted Blues and Memphis Blues on the gramophone. Every single Halloween, long about midnight. It made me think about those days when you sang and I played and we toured all over the country with W.C. Handy and Bessie Smith. That was awfully nice of her, I think. She’s another one I miss.”
Several families had come and gone, all making an impact on the couple one way or another. Nettie peered outside one of the windows on the second floor and watched as several more cars whizzed by – but not one gave the house a second look.
“Frederick, you think maybe it’s the stories that keep people away? You know, the stories about the murders. Everybody had pretty much forgotten about it, but then those ghost hunter shows started popping up and the next thing you know people start talking about the evil in this house. It ain’t right.”
Frederick glided over to Nettie and put his arm around her.
“Well, sugar,” he said. “The man that killed us was evil, but he’s gone now … went to prison first and now I’m pretty sure he’s in a place I don’t think anybody wants to go. But you and me? We’re just regular ol’ spirits, and this is where we belong. Little Marcy knew it. Mrs. Carter knew it, too. Don’t think anybody was ever really afraid of us, except maybe ol’ Dipper.
“No, this is a happy place. It’s our happy place. If we can just get another family in here, you and me will make sure they’re looked out for. Our house seems more like a home when we have company.”