Tales from a haunted house

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1. 

   Lynne on November 1, 2012 at 5:46 pm

   This one is going to be short. I took someone to see a home in Newport Beach. It was a one story in an expensive neighborhood, with a great location across from a park that backed to a beautiful view of the Back Bay. The house was in fine shape, had good curb appeal, and we walked up to the door, eager to see the inside. As I headed for the lockbox, this strange, eerie, cold feeling all of a sudden hit me and I stoped in my tracks. I asked the woman with me, “Do you feel that?” and she replied, “Yes.”

   With some trepidation I opened the door and we went in. The home was furnished, but no one was home. We went from room to room, wondering what the eerie feeling was about. Then we came upon the den. There on the walls were head after head of dead animals from all over the world the occupant had obviously hunted and killed. I don’t know if dead animals have spirits that haunt an area but I’ll never forget that cold, weird feeling that had unexpectedly crept over us. It was the first and only time I’d ever experienced something like that…..and all I can attribute it to was our awareness of the “death” inside. In fact, it even made me wonder if a body was buried somewhere. Needless to say, the woman wanted nothing to do with the house, and we left. To this day I wonder who ended up buying it.

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2. 

   Mike in Westlake on October 30, 2012 at 5:30 pm

   When I was young and rode bareback in Malibu Canyon we often rode by a ramshackle place south of the 101 where the coastal air collided with the heated air of the San Fernando Valley, creating swirling dust devils. This place was legend among our group of kids. Everyone “knew” it was haunted. These hills are rife with tales of intrigue, betrayal and passion by the early settlers. The horses refused to pass farther than the outskirts of the property, and more than once spooked out for no reason, taking its rider on a quick rodeo of skittish horse exuberance. While riding by at dusk once with one of my relatives from the other side of the border, we heard a ghostly howl on the wind that seemed to come from within the old ranch house. He looked at me. “La Llorona”, he said, nodding reverentially. “La Llorona” was a mythic ghost tale popular in these parts, a kind of “headless horsemen” for the southwest. It was a morbid tale of a heartbroken woman whose soul mourned so deeply her cries of sadness were often heard on the night wind. This place was cursed. Give La Llorona the solitude and space she demands with each cry in the night.

   So we gave the place a wide berth, especially after a body was found just inside the creaky old gate, and local EMTs claimed the guy had a wide eyed look of horror on his face when they turned him over.

   A few years later my friend Henry was playing ball with some pals, and chased an errant fly into the ranch where he fell over a nest of hornets and was swarmed. He narrowly escaped with his life and went to the hospital.

   Fast forward to adulthood, October 2010. I’m an experienced Realtor specializing in Calabasas and Hidden Hills. There it is on the Hotsheet! This place has been de-spooked, all spiffed up, and is on the market for $ 899,000. Not bad for an acre in Calabasas, an actual slice of the old west, built in 1916, 3 BR 2 BA, 1700 Sq Feet. 1.2 acre parcel, a far cry from the past days when this ranch was probably six thousand acres or so, and stretched eastward through Mulholland to the Stokes family compound and south all the way over to the Tapia Hacienda and Casa Medina farther up the Malibu Canyon.

   I tentatively enter the front door and am greeted by the builder’s rep. It looks pretty good. I tell her I know the place well ( I do, kind of…) and venture out to the grounds. As I step off the porch, something catches my slacks and I do a header into the Calabasas dirt. While I’m lying there, a Santa Ana swirls up a huge dust cloud, and I hear “whoooooooooo….” I stand, clapping the dust off my clothes and look up to the upstairs window. There she is, gaunt face, stark frown, chiseled face, dark hair pulled back tightly, Looking from the window down at me. She smiles like a jack o lantern, then a glint of late morning sun hits the windowpane. And I realize she is gone. As I walk back to the back porch, I hear the “whoooooooo…..” of La Llorona once more. This time on the hill, like a coyote in the daylight.

   “Are you ok?” asks the builders rep. “Yes” I reply. “Just curious, is anyone else here?” “I don’t think so” she replies. “Why?” “I just thought I saw someone upstairs, but it might have been the light”. “Oh, THANK GOD!” she exclaims. “I thought it was just me! Did you see her? You saw her too? I’ve been seeing someone in the upstairs windows all week”

   “I don’t know” I say, shaking my head. “But I think it’s safe to say you’re not crazy. So long, I’ve got to get to my next appointment.” I leave without closing the door. It’s original, and the hardware sticks a little; the door starts clapping in the breeze. I turn around, and waggle the lock; except now it’s stuck closed and the door won’t open. As I’m leaving a car pulls up. Obvious broker. She stops and motions me to open my car window. My window hums down. “So sorry I’m late” she says. “I couldn’t get the lock to work.” She holds up an old keyring and it glints in the sun.” Would you like to see the place? ”

   I smile as visions of the past dance in my imagination. . “No, I know the place really well, Thanks”

   And I’ve never gone back

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