Seller did not disclose missing door in bedroom You’d be…
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Seller did not disclose missing door in bedroom
You’d be surprised how fucking hard it can be to figure out the age of a roof. You might wonder who would care about roof age. Insurance companies. That’s who cares about roof age. They want to know how likely they are to have to shell out money to repair or replace your potentially old-ass roof. The feeling I get is, they would prefer not to shell out anything at all.
Anyway, I bought a house, and in order to get that house insured, I needed to know the age of the roof. And somehow no one involved in the entire transaction could tell me within a decade how old the roof on the house was. The buyer’s and seller’s agents sure as hell knew how much fees I owed them, but didn’t know a thing about the roof on the house they sold me. I called every local roofer to see if they had worked on the roof, and managed only to get on the mailing list of every local roofer. I contacted the city to see if permits had been pulled to replace the roof in recent years. I got in touch with the listing agents for the previous three sales of the house. No one knew a God damn thing. I paid one of the local roofers to come out and give me an estimate of the roof age, only to find that an estimate was not good enough for the insurance companies. They don’t take any fucking chances when it comes to possibly shelling out for roofs.
I started looking through old listings for the house online. Maybe previous sellers had listed the roof age. Was that something they did? Knowing what I know now, I certainly would list it if I knew.
Finally, I found a listing from 2010: “new roof,” the listing stated. Bingo. 16 years ago. Did that mean the roof was 16 years old? I could hardly believe it, but the insurance company was satisfied. Don’t even ask how much it cost to insure…
But here I am going on about roofs and insurance and you couldn’t care less, I’m sure. Let me tell you about the door.
The first time I looked at the 2010 listing, I didn’t even notice. I liked looking at the photos of the house from past listings. It gave me some ideas about what the house had been, what it could be. One listing showed my current bedroom as an office, and it made sense as an office. I considered moving the bed to another room and making it an office again, but there was so much else to do after moving in, and I gave up on the idea pretty quickly.
But anyway, there was this one picture of the then-office-now-bedroom that had a door. An extra door. I didn’t even notice it the first time around because the room looked so much different, was staged as an office, not a bedroom, with different furniture in different locations, even different color paint on the walls. The whole room looked different, so a different number of doors didn’t register. And then I was getting ready for bed one night and happened to glance at the wall from the photo with the extra door, and was suddenly struck by the doorlessness of the wall. Like it suddenly felt like something was missing, like there should be a door there. I pulled up the listing again on my phone, and sure enough, there was a door in the photo and no door in the wall.
I got up close to the wall, and went along the whole length of it, checking for seams or lumps or any sign of a door. I did the thing where you tap your knuckles along the wall to hear where it is hollow. I swear my knuckles were bruised afterwards with how much tapping I did, but I couldn’t tell the sound of one tap from another if I’m being honest. Just when I thought I found a hollow stretch, I would compare the sound to another stretch that I swore wasn’t hollow before, and they all sounded the same really.
And there was something else: there was nowhere for the door to go. Nowhere it could have led to. The other side of the wall was a bathroom. And the door in the old picture didn’t make sense as a second door to the bathroom because it would have opened into the bathtub! So maybe they remodeled the bathroom, and it used to be laid out differently. Longer, or shorter, or the tub was in a different place—just some different layout that would accommodate a second door into the bathroom. But the bathroom in the listing looked the same as my bathroom.
So, OK, there was a door, and then there wasn’t a door. So what? But it just felt off to me. Like a picture frame that’s hanging at a weird angle and you just have to straighten it out or you feel like you can’t even breathe right until it is. It was like that. I started to feel like I couldn’t breathe right, like thinking about that door was taking up so much of my mental energy and was taking power away from the normally automatic processes that controlled my breathing, to where I had to really think about my breathing to do it right. Plus the Feng Shui of it all was fucking with my head. I don’t know Feng Shui from Chow Fun, but an ex of mine was pretty serious about the stuff and got it in my head that I should never have my feet facing a door. It was like the worst thing you could do Feng Shui-wise. Like it meant you were vulnerable to all kinds of bad energy that would flow through the door and right into your feet or something and cause all kinds of stress and anxiety and bad luck. This was what I was thinking about that first night after finding out the door was there. Even though the door wasn’t there anymore. But I just couldn’t get it out of my head. I even thought about texting my ex about what if there was a door and then the door wasn’t there anymore and would that still be bad for the Feng Shui of the room, like would I still get the bad luck and all—but I decided I sounded like a fucking maniac so I never sent it.
I started to have these fucked up dreams too. There was this one where I’m asleep in bed and the door is there again. A car passes on the street and the light from the car shines on the wall and the door is clearly there, and I turn on the bedside light and the door is clearly not there again. Then I turn off the light and I hear a squeaky door hinge sound like a door opening and I look over to the main bedroom door and it is still closed, so I look over to the wall where the other door used to be, and I swear I can make it out there in the dark. And then another car passes on the street and lights up the wall: no door. Then a louder squeak like the door has been pushed all the way open, and a sound like someone running through the door in the wall and into the bedroom, and I turn on the light again and the door is there and it’s open with just this dark hole on the other side. And now I am realizing that something came out of the door and I feel something slide into bed with me and I look over and the ex is there next to me but she looks wrong somehow. Like she doesn’t look good, but it’s hard to describe how. Like it was her, but she didn’t look like herself. And I can’t really see her face because she is shielding her eyes from the light and she whispers something to me and I can’t hear her so I say “what?” And she moves her hand away from her eyes and then I see that she doesn’t have eyes, or even a space for eyes, and she yells: “HANG A FUCKING CRYSTAL!” And that woke me up.
I turned on the light and got out of bed and did the whole tapping routine again like a madman, checking for the door that wasn’t there. And I kept thinking about the crystal thing, and then I remembered that I had been googling what to do about a door at the foot of your bed for Feng Shui purposes, and one of the suggestions was to hang a crystal to stop or reflect the bad energy. I didn’t have a crystal though, and I didn’t know if the same rules would apply to doors that weren’t even there in the first place.
I had this other dream where I was showering and there was a door right there at the end of the bathtub. People kept opening the door while I’m in there naked and showering and being like “oh shit, sorry,” and “oops, didn’t know anyone was in here.” And I tried to lock the door, but there was no lock, and then while I’m messing with the handle someone starts to pull on it from the other end, and I am trying to pull the other way to try and keep it closed. But whatever son-of-a-bitch it is on the other side of the door is pulling harder and harder and I slip on the tub and fall through the door as he’s pulling it open and I roll into the middle of my 6th grade math classroom—I know it was 6th grade because my 6th grade math teacher was there and I fucking hated him. Anyway, there I am soapy and naked in the middle of the classroom and I am trying to get up to cover myself up in front of all these 6th graders, and I keep slipping and falling into these embarrassing positions.
After enough bad dreams, I decided to move the bed. It was a pain in the ass because the room wasn’t that big and there were only so many positions for the bed that made sense. I couldn’t have the bed facing the main door, or the closet door after all. And I also didn’t want the bed too close to where the extra door had been, so I ended up compromising on a position that really didn’t make much sense. But it made a difference right away. The fucked up dreams just stopped.
Then a few weeks later we started having really heavy rain. Every day it was raining and all through the night for almost a week straight, and one night I start hearing this dripping sound as I’m trying to fall asleep. I get up and I’m looking all around and I can’t figure out where the dripping is coming from. It’s coming from the direction of the bathroom, but from the bathroom I can barely hear it. And then I realize it’s coming from right around where the extra door was. Now I’m starting to worry about permanent water damage and black mold and decreasing property values, and plus I still kind of want to know what’s in there where the door was, so I call out this general contractor to come take a look. They cut a little hole in the drywall and they detect a bunch of moisture in there but they need to really get in there and see, so the GC brings out a whole crew and they cut a big hole in the wall. Way bigger than I thought was necessary, but there was some miscommunication and they were working on it while I was at work and when I got back there’s this big fucking hole in the wall.
It was pretty anticlimactic. No secret room, or passageway, no Nazi gold or D.B. Cooper cash stash or anything. There was just this small little closet area. But not big or deep enough to even be a closet. It could barely fit one guy. I climbed in there and I could barely fit. My head was touching the top of the little boxy area, and if there had still been a door there, it would just about touch the tip of my nose if I had my back to the wall of the closet. There were these gross stains on the floor. A lot of it was from the water that had probably been dripping there all week—turns out the fucking 16-year-old roof had a leak, and I bet you can guess whether that was covered by the cock-sucking insurance. But some of the stains you could tell had been there forever. I swear you’d think it had been used as a meat locker or some shit. And there were these metal brackets along the wall of the closet: two near the floor about three feet apart, two more around waist level, and then one more at about chest height. The crew asked me what to do about the hardware in the closet and I told them just to leave it since they said it would cost extra to remove it. They found a little yellow kid’s safe in the closet too, with a little black combination dial on the front. The kind you might put a coin or rock collection in. There was something rattling around inside and the crew offered to pop it open with their tools, but I didn’t see the point and I figured they’d try to bill me for that even, so I just threw the thing in the trash.
But so anyway, the entire fucking roof needed to be replaced in the end. And the big hole in the wall needed to be made into a wall again, and you don’t want to know how much it cost—less than the roof, that’s for fucking sure.
There was one night though before they closed up the wall again where I had to sleep in there with it all exposed like that. It didn’t feel good, I can tell you, but I wasn’t about to move the mattress out or sleep on the couch so I just taped a sheet over the hole, wishing I had a crystal.
My dreams that night were bad. Worse than before. All night I had these terrible dreams, but one I remember like it really happened.
I’m standing there in the bedroom and I’m looking at the foot of the bed. It’s dark, but I can see enough to make out the shapes of things. But it’s a weird angle to be seeing the bedroom, and I realize I’m in the wall, in that tiny little closet. And the bed is facing the doorway like I never moved it. And it is a doorway now, not just a hole. I can see the door open in front of me. For some reason I can’t move. I can’t even move my head to look down or around the room. And then I realize there’s something holding my head to the back of the closet, and my arms and legs are pinned to the inside wall of the closet too. I try to struggle and just feel metal rubbing against my wrists and ankles.
And there is someone else in the closet with me. I can hear them breathing. But I can’t look down to see who it is. They brush against my leg and walk out of the closet and head towards the bed, and I notice—it wasn’t there before—the little kid’s safe is sitting there on the floor in front of the bed. And it’s a little boy in pajama pants and no shirt that walks out of the closet and over to the safe. His back is to me, but I can tell he’s fucking with the safe and I hear this metal pop as it opens and he turns towards the closet now and he’s got a little toy car in his hand. He puts the car on the floor and it’s one of those pull-back cars where you pull it back and let it go and it rolls on its own. The kid is making these “vroom vroom” noises and cranking the car back too far so it makes popping sounds, and he lets it go and it comes rolling towards me. It bumps into my foot and I can’t see it but I can feel it there against my toes.
The boy comes back into the closet again, and I lose sight of him below me. And he starts vroom vrooming again, and pulling the car back and letting it go into my feet. And he’s laughing, and starting to get a little rough too. Like he starts taking the car and just banging it into my foot with his hand, not even letting it roll on its own anymore. I can feel the car against my toe at one point, and I can lift my toes up just enough to pin the car under my foot so he’ll stop fucking with it, and this really pisses him off. He starts pulling at the car and scratching and punching my foot. Then the little fucker bites my leg! He starts making these growling noises and biting my leg with his sharp little kid teeth, and I can’t do anything about it because I can’t move my God damn leg! Then the door is closing in my face. I can’t tell who’s closing it, but it bangs shut and now I can’t see shit. The kid is in there with me still growling and now he’s climbing up my leg, and then my torso, then he’s suddenly got his arms wrapped around my neck and he’s biting at my neck and my cheek and my ear. He’s just a kid and he’s just got these little teeth but they’re sharp and it hurts, but really it’s more annoying than anything, and I can feel my whole face is wet from his spit, and the whole closet has that spit smell.
This goes on forever. At one point I start to realize: OK, this must be a dream. But it goes on so long that I start to doubt myself, wondering why I haven’t woken up yet. Finally the closet door swings open again and someone is standing there in the doorway. They are so tall that I can’t see their face. I couldn’t look up, but even if I could, you can just tell that their face is well beyond the doorway. They reach into the closet and I think they are reaching for me but the boy screams right in my ear and I realize they’re reaching for the boy and that’s when I wake up.
That was it. I was done sleeping in that room. I made it into an office after all, but even after that, I barely spent any time in there. It just gave me the creeps. I even got the creeps outside of the room sometimes though. Sometimes out of nowhere I would get the feeling that I was still in that closet and that I was just dreaming of being out. I only had that feeling at home though, never at work or at the grocery store or whatever. So I decided: fuck it, I’ll sell the house.
One week. That’s how long the listing was up before I had multiple competing offers. At the top of the listing: “Roof replaced in 2026.” You’re welcome.
#entertainment
source
You’d be surprised how fucking hard it can be to figure out the age of a roof. You might wonder who would care about roof age. Insurance companies. That’s who cares about roof age. They want to know how likely they are to have to shell out money to repair or replace your potentially old-ass roof. The feeling I get is, they would prefer not to shell out anything at all.
Anyway, I bought a house, and in order to get that house insured, I needed to know the age of the roof. And somehow no one involved in the entire transaction could tell me within a decade how old the roof on the house was. The buyer’s and seller’s agents sure as hell knew how much fees I owed them, but didn’t know a thing about the roof on the house they sold me. I called every local roofer to see if they had worked on the roof, and managed only to get on the mailing list of every local roofer. I contacted the city to see if permits had been pulled to replace the roof in recent years. I got in touch with the listing agents for the previous three sales of the house. No one knew a God damn thing. I paid one of the local roofers to come out and give me an estimate of the roof age, only to find that an estimate was not good enough for the insurance companies. They don’t take any fucking chances when it comes to possibly shelling out for roofs.
I started looking through old listings for the house online. Maybe previous sellers had listed the roof age. Was that something they did? Knowing what I know now, I certainly would list it if I knew.
Finally, I found a listing from 2010: “new roof,” the listing stated. Bingo. 16 years ago. Did that mean the roof was 16 years old? I could hardly believe it, but the insurance company was satisfied. Don’t even ask how much it cost to insure…
But here I am going on about roofs and insurance and you couldn’t care less, I’m sure. Let me tell you about the door.
The first time I looked at the 2010 listing, I didn’t even notice. I liked looking at the photos of the house from past listings. It gave me some ideas about what the house had been, what it could be. One listing showed my current bedroom as an office, and it made sense as an office. I considered moving the bed to another room and making it an office again, but there was so much else to do after moving in, and I gave up on the idea pretty quickly.
But anyway, there was this one picture of the then-office-now-bedroom that had a door. An extra door. I didn’t even notice it the first time around because the room looked so much different, was staged as an office, not a bedroom, with different furniture in different locations, even different color paint on the walls. The whole room looked different, so a different number of doors didn’t register. And then I was getting ready for bed one night and happened to glance at the wall from the photo with the extra door, and was suddenly struck by the doorlessness of the wall. Like it suddenly felt like something was missing, like there should be a door there. I pulled up the listing again on my phone, and sure enough, there was a door in the photo and no door in the wall.
I got up close to the wall, and went along the whole length of it, checking for seams or lumps or any sign of a door. I did the thing where you tap your knuckles along the wall to hear where it is hollow. I swear my knuckles were bruised afterwards with how much tapping I did, but I couldn’t tell the sound of one tap from another if I’m being honest. Just when I thought I found a hollow stretch, I would compare the sound to another stretch that I swore wasn’t hollow before, and they all sounded the same really.
And there was something else: there was nowhere for the door to go. Nowhere it could have led to. The other side of the wall was a bathroom. And the door in the old picture didn’t make sense as a second door to the bathroom because it would have opened into the bathtub! So maybe they remodeled the bathroom, and it used to be laid out differently. Longer, or shorter, or the tub was in a different place—just some different layout that would accommodate a second door into the bathroom. But the bathroom in the listing looked the same as my bathroom.
So, OK, there was a door, and then there wasn’t a door. So what? But it just felt off to me. Like a picture frame that’s hanging at a weird angle and you just have to straighten it out or you feel like you can’t even breathe right until it is. It was like that. I started to feel like I couldn’t breathe right, like thinking about that door was taking up so much of my mental energy and was taking power away from the normally automatic processes that controlled my breathing, to where I had to really think about my breathing to do it right. Plus the Feng Shui of it all was fucking with my head. I don’t know Feng Shui from Chow Fun, but an ex of mine was pretty serious about the stuff and got it in my head that I should never have my feet facing a door. It was like the worst thing you could do Feng Shui-wise. Like it meant you were vulnerable to all kinds of bad energy that would flow through the door and right into your feet or something and cause all kinds of stress and anxiety and bad luck. This was what I was thinking about that first night after finding out the door was there. Even though the door wasn’t there anymore. But I just couldn’t get it out of my head. I even thought about texting my ex about what if there was a door and then the door wasn’t there anymore and would that still be bad for the Feng Shui of the room, like would I still get the bad luck and all—but I decided I sounded like a fucking maniac so I never sent it.
I started to have these fucked up dreams too. There was this one where I’m asleep in bed and the door is there again. A car passes on the street and the light from the car shines on the wall and the door is clearly there, and I turn on the bedside light and the door is clearly not there again. Then I turn off the light and I hear a squeaky door hinge sound like a door opening and I look over to the main bedroom door and it is still closed, so I look over to the wall where the other door used to be, and I swear I can make it out there in the dark. And then another car passes on the street and lights up the wall: no door. Then a louder squeak like the door has been pushed all the way open, and a sound like someone running through the door in the wall and into the bedroom, and I turn on the light again and the door is there and it’s open with just this dark hole on the other side. And now I am realizing that something came out of the door and I feel something slide into bed with me and I look over and the ex is there next to me but she looks wrong somehow. Like she doesn’t look good, but it’s hard to describe how. Like it was her, but she didn’t look like herself. And I can’t really see her face because she is shielding her eyes from the light and she whispers something to me and I can’t hear her so I say “what?” And she moves her hand away from her eyes and then I see that she doesn’t have eyes, or even a space for eyes, and she yells: “HANG A FUCKING CRYSTAL!” And that woke me up.
I turned on the light and got out of bed and did the whole tapping routine again like a madman, checking for the door that wasn’t there. And I kept thinking about the crystal thing, and then I remembered that I had been googling what to do about a door at the foot of your bed for Feng Shui purposes, and one of the suggestions was to hang a crystal to stop or reflect the bad energy. I didn’t have a crystal though, and I didn’t know if the same rules would apply to doors that weren’t even there in the first place.
I had this other dream where I was showering and there was a door right there at the end of the bathtub. People kept opening the door while I’m in there naked and showering and being like “oh shit, sorry,” and “oops, didn’t know anyone was in here.” And I tried to lock the door, but there was no lock, and then while I’m messing with the handle someone starts to pull on it from the other end, and I am trying to pull the other way to try and keep it closed. But whatever son-of-a-bitch it is on the other side of the door is pulling harder and harder and I slip on the tub and fall through the door as he’s pulling it open and I roll into the middle of my 6th grade math classroom—I know it was 6th grade because my 6th grade math teacher was there and I fucking hated him. Anyway, there I am soapy and naked in the middle of the classroom and I am trying to get up to cover myself up in front of all these 6th graders, and I keep slipping and falling into these embarrassing positions.
After enough bad dreams, I decided to move the bed. It was a pain in the ass because the room wasn’t that big and there were only so many positions for the bed that made sense. I couldn’t have the bed facing the main door, or the closet door after all. And I also didn’t want the bed too close to where the extra door had been, so I ended up compromising on a position that really didn’t make much sense. But it made a difference right away. The fucked up dreams just stopped.
Then a few weeks later we started having really heavy rain. Every day it was raining and all through the night for almost a week straight, and one night I start hearing this dripping sound as I’m trying to fall asleep. I get up and I’m looking all around and I can’t figure out where the dripping is coming from. It’s coming from the direction of the bathroom, but from the bathroom I can barely hear it. And then I realize it’s coming from right around where the extra door was. Now I’m starting to worry about permanent water damage and black mold and decreasing property values, and plus I still kind of want to know what’s in there where the door was, so I call out this general contractor to come take a look. They cut a little hole in the drywall and they detect a bunch of moisture in there but they need to really get in there and see, so the GC brings out a whole crew and they cut a big hole in the wall. Way bigger than I thought was necessary, but there was some miscommunication and they were working on it while I was at work and when I got back there’s this big fucking hole in the wall.
It was pretty anticlimactic. No secret room, or passageway, no Nazi gold or D.B. Cooper cash stash or anything. There was just this small little closet area. But not big or deep enough to even be a closet. It could barely fit one guy. I climbed in there and I could barely fit. My head was touching the top of the little boxy area, and if there had still been a door there, it would just about touch the tip of my nose if I had my back to the wall of the closet. There were these gross stains on the floor. A lot of it was from the water that had probably been dripping there all week—turns out the fucking 16-year-old roof had a leak, and I bet you can guess whether that was covered by the cock-sucking insurance. But some of the stains you could tell had been there forever. I swear you’d think it had been used as a meat locker or some shit. And there were these metal brackets along the wall of the closet: two near the floor about three feet apart, two more around waist level, and then one more at about chest height. The crew asked me what to do about the hardware in the closet and I told them just to leave it since they said it would cost extra to remove it. They found a little yellow kid’s safe in the closet too, with a little black combination dial on the front. The kind you might put a coin or rock collection in. There was something rattling around inside and the crew offered to pop it open with their tools, but I didn’t see the point and I figured they’d try to bill me for that even, so I just threw the thing in the trash.
But so anyway, the entire fucking roof needed to be replaced in the end. And the big hole in the wall needed to be made into a wall again, and you don’t want to know how much it cost—less than the roof, that’s for fucking sure.
There was one night though before they closed up the wall again where I had to sleep in there with it all exposed like that. It didn’t feel good, I can tell you, but I wasn’t about to move the mattress out or sleep on the couch so I just taped a sheet over the hole, wishing I had a crystal.
My dreams that night were bad. Worse than before. All night I had these terrible dreams, but one I remember like it really happened.
I’m standing there in the bedroom and I’m looking at the foot of the bed. It’s dark, but I can see enough to make out the shapes of things. But it’s a weird angle to be seeing the bedroom, and I realize I’m in the wall, in that tiny little closet. And the bed is facing the doorway like I never moved it. And it is a doorway now, not just a hole. I can see the door open in front of me. For some reason I can’t move. I can’t even move my head to look down or around the room. And then I realize there’s something holding my head to the back of the closet, and my arms and legs are pinned to the inside wall of the closet too. I try to struggle and just feel metal rubbing against my wrists and ankles.
And there is someone else in the closet with me. I can hear them breathing. But I can’t look down to see who it is. They brush against my leg and walk out of the closet and head towards the bed, and I notice—it wasn’t there before—the little kid’s safe is sitting there on the floor in front of the bed. And it’s a little boy in pajama pants and no shirt that walks out of the closet and over to the safe. His back is to me, but I can tell he’s fucking with the safe and I hear this metal pop as it opens and he turns towards the closet now and he’s got a little toy car in his hand. He puts the car on the floor and it’s one of those pull-back cars where you pull it back and let it go and it rolls on its own. The kid is making these “vroom vroom” noises and cranking the car back too far so it makes popping sounds, and he lets it go and it comes rolling towards me. It bumps into my foot and I can’t see it but I can feel it there against my toes.
The boy comes back into the closet again, and I lose sight of him below me. And he starts vroom vrooming again, and pulling the car back and letting it go into my feet. And he’s laughing, and starting to get a little rough too. Like he starts taking the car and just banging it into my foot with his hand, not even letting it roll on its own anymore. I can feel the car against my toe at one point, and I can lift my toes up just enough to pin the car under my foot so he’ll stop fucking with it, and this really pisses him off. He starts pulling at the car and scratching and punching my foot. Then the little fucker bites my leg! He starts making these growling noises and biting my leg with his sharp little kid teeth, and I can’t do anything about it because I can’t move my God damn leg! Then the door is closing in my face. I can’t tell who’s closing it, but it bangs shut and now I can’t see shit. The kid is in there with me still growling and now he’s climbing up my leg, and then my torso, then he’s suddenly got his arms wrapped around my neck and he’s biting at my neck and my cheek and my ear. He’s just a kid and he’s just got these little teeth but they’re sharp and it hurts, but really it’s more annoying than anything, and I can feel my whole face is wet from his spit, and the whole closet has that spit smell.
This goes on forever. At one point I start to realize: OK, this must be a dream. But it goes on so long that I start to doubt myself, wondering why I haven’t woken up yet. Finally the closet door swings open again and someone is standing there in the doorway. They are so tall that I can’t see their face. I couldn’t look up, but even if I could, you can just tell that their face is well beyond the doorway. They reach into the closet and I think they are reaching for me but the boy screams right in my ear and I realize they’re reaching for the boy and that’s when I wake up.
That was it. I was done sleeping in that room. I made it into an office after all, but even after that, I barely spent any time in there. It just gave me the creeps. I even got the creeps outside of the room sometimes though. Sometimes out of nowhere I would get the feeling that I was still in that closet and that I was just dreaming of being out. I only had that feeling at home though, never at work or at the grocery store or whatever. So I decided: fuck it, I’ll sell the house.
One week. That’s how long the listing was up before I had multiple competing offers. At the top of the listing: “Roof replaced in 2026.” You’re welcome.
#entertainment
source
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