"So, Chad's mother wants us to look at another apartment."
I was driving my oldest, Annie, to the supermarket, preparing for a fabulous Mexican feast. "I'm well confused," I said. "You've already picked out another apartment."
"You've already signed the lease."
"You've already handed over the security deposit."
"I know!" Annie sat in the passenger's seat and held her belly, as her baby squirmed around inside her. "But she says this is a bargain that we can't turn down. The place is about $950, and--"
"I'm right bamboozled," I said. "That's more than what you're paying now."
"And it's more than some of the places where I live, which you thought were great."
"And you said you couldn't afford those places, but this is more."
"I know!" Annie giggled. "But this one is a three bedroom."
"What does that matter? If you can't afford a lower-priced one, how can you afford--"
"It gets better." Annie paused and looked out the window, still holding her belly. "I didn't tell you why she knows the place opened up."
"See, Chad's sister lives in the apartment above, and the guy on the floor below used to be a family friend. Notice I said 'used.' He died last week."
I shook my head. "Annie, do you really want to live in a dead man's apartment?"
"It gets better. Then Chad's mother told us exactly how he died. Said it was horrible. Said he had this weird disease that caused all his blood to flow out of every orifice as he was dying. Apparently the stains are so bad that they still can't get some of them out."
Well, that's a keeper.
Paint me a superstitious one, but I don't like to move into places that have histories like that, especially recent histories. Josie and I, when we bought the Homestead, knew that the previous owner had passed away there. He had been rather obsese and suffered a heart attack on the second floor. They had trouble getting him downstairs, from what I hear.
However, his wife had lived there for years after he died, so it hadn't been recent. Even so, both Josie and Ashes see things on the stairwell where they would have carried him down.
In our first apartment together, Corb and I both had numerous instances involving the ghost of the old man who lived there before. He used to come to visit Corb at night. Not that Corb's adverse to old men, but this one was too little creepy. Our cat Thumbkin died in the apartment, too, and for months afterwards, Corb would feel something move to the foot of the bed at the end of the day, as we were preparing to go to bed.
Bottom line, bargain hunters: I'm a bit happy that Annie did not decide to take advantage of this fabulous offer. Sometimes what came before can have a huge influence on what comes afterwards, if you ask me. Better to let sleeping corpses rest.