text: “Why are you selling this house?” the realtor asked. “Well, it's a long story” I replied and launched into my narrative. “Last month Aunt Veronica died. Two weeks ago Aunt Veronica’s will was read. I didn’t attend the reading of the will because I wasn’t expecting anything to come from it. Yesterday I was informed by her attorney that I was bequeathed her house up in northern California. Today I was presented with the keys to the house and I started making plans to view the house and see how sell-able it was. Tomorrow morning, I plan to make the 960 mile from my home in Phoenix to where Aunt Veronica once lived in the outskirts of Weaverville, CA. I made arrangements to fly in to Sacramento and rent a car for the 200 mile drive to my final destination. I hoped to have it all wrapped up within a week so I would not need to take any more time off from work. The biggest surprise thus far was that Aunt Veronica remembered who I was in the first place. It has been decades since I visited her...and my Mom was the one to drag me along when I was only five years old. Mom and her sister seldom spoke, so I had assumed that everything Aunt Veronica owned would not be including me in the bequests. She had no other family, but she did love animals. I had assumed that she would leave everything to local animal charities which according to her attorney received the bulk of her estate...all except the house and the land surrounding it. Now that manor was mine.” “The flight into Sacramento and the drive up I-5 to Weaverville were uneventful. Since it was such a long day of travel, I checked in to a local motel for the night. It would be easier to locate the property in daylight. The night passed peacefully and the morning found me looking up the address and plotting the trip to the manor...one that had been three decades in the making. Something was lurking in the corner of my mind...something long forgotten, but it began pressing its way to the forefront of my mind like a persistent pest.” “After breakfast at a local cafe, I started the drive up highway 3 and towards the depths of the Trinity Alps. After several attempts, I located the tiny side road that would lead to the manor gates. The gates were well hidden by underbrush. Once I located them, and moved aside the brush, I unlocked and pushed them open. I slowly drove up the unkempt driveway and eventually found the house. Time was not kind. It appeared to be dilapidated and run down. If appearances were the key to selling a house, this one would need bulldozing. I took my time checking out the house. The front porch was looking rather unstable at best. I decided not to tempt my luck with the front steps, after all, I wasn’t sure if the paramedics would be able to find this place since I had so much trouble with locating it in the first place. I wandered off to my right, looking for another entrance to the house. The right side was just as dilapidated as the front. The back of the house was somewhat more hopeful...there were indications that power was coming into the house and the back entrance seemed to have been used much more than the front. The underbrush was cleared away and there was a place to park a car without trekking through tall grasses and bushes. The yard was better maintained than the front. It seemed clear to me that Aunt Veronica preferred this entrance to the front one. I opened the back door and entered a spacious kitchen. I was surprised! The interior of the house was very well maintained! Everything was clean and in excellent condition. I wandered from room to room. The attorney told me that everything in the house and on the property was mine to dispose of as I saw fit. Plans to have the estate evaluated and sold began to swirl through my brain. I went into a parlor, music room, dining room and eventually found myself in the front hall with the seldom used front door to the manor. I cautiously opened the front door and looked out on my parked rental car. I closed the front door and noticed the deep walls on either side of it but thought nothing of it. I wandered up the stairs and checked out all the bedrooms and bathrooms. It was beginning to get dark inside and I decided that I’d had enough for today. I started down the stairs and was planning on trying the front door exit towards my car when I heard a very eerie sound emanating from the wall just to the right of the door. I decided not to check it out today, and cautiously made my way down the front steps to my car. The shadows around the house were deepening, and I could have sworn that I saw movement in the vicinity of the front door. As I turned to get a better look, the movement seemed to stop. Thinking nothing more of it, I returned to my motel room for the night.” “Now, it’s the second day of my week in Weaverville and I’m back at Aunt Veronica’s house. This time I drove around to the back and parked my rental car. I brought enough provisions for a few days and my luggage. Since I owned this house, I might as well be staying in it. I spent most of the day contacting estate brokers and real estate agencies. I planned to sell everything. I started inventorying what was in each room. Finally, it was just about dinnertime, and I was in the kitchen when I heard that eerie sound again. It was louder than before, and seemingly more persistent, too. I followed the sound to the front hall. In the deepening shadows that were slowly engulfing the room, I had difficulty determining where the sound was coming from. I switched on the overhead light and noticed nothing. I started slowly examining the area, and a puff of air escaped from the wall to the right of the front door. I felt it just as surely as I am standing in front of you!” “I don’t doubt you” said the realtor. “Go on...” “Well, I’m standing there trying to figure out where the breeze was coming from. I knocked on the wall in several locations to no avail. In exasperation, I leaned against it, and it gave way! I had fallen into the hidden passage! I scrambled to my feet, located a flashlight, and followed the passageway. It led down a flight of stairs across what I presume to be the basement, continued for over a hundred feet and back up another flight of stairs. At the top of the stairs was a trap door. I opened the trap door and found myself in an old barn.” “I decided to do further research on Aunt Victoria’s house. According to the local historical society, this house was used in the 1920’s as a speakeasy and the passage was used to smuggle liquor into the house.” “Interesting” said the realtor. “The history does add something to the value of the house.” “Now, I’m not so sure I want to sell it. I think it should be deeded over to the historical society. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. I think I want to think about it for a few more days.”