When we bought our house in 2002 the real estate agent told us all it's good points. He explained the benefits of buying such a treasure even tho' it would cost us more than we could afford. The newly wired electrics, the thoughtful restoration, the clever details, the shady, easy care garden.
What he didn't tell us about was Charlotte!
No one did!
That is until after we'd signed on the dotted line and committed to moving 360 kms away from our city home and business to start life here, unemployed and in the country.
Then the locals couldn't wait to tell us we'd bought a haunted house. There is even a book written about it.
On moving day we
We made the decision not to sleep in that room, the one that felt so creepy........
At night she sobbed loudly, during the day she startled the pets and caused the hair to rise on the necks of everyone who came near.
A call to the local historical society filled in the gaps a little.
Charlotte had lived in our house in the late 1800's. Left jilted and pregnant by the man she loved, poor Charlotte was condemned to a life as spinster aunt to her daughter. Watching on as her brother and sister in law raised her baby with their own 7 children.
At least we knew why she was so sad and unsettled but what could we do about it?
Advice came from all quarters and eventually we filled Charlotte's room with pretty things, burnt sweetly scented candles and changed the name of the house to honour her.
The bloke, who spent most of the first year here alone as I wound up our business in the city, spent many evenings sitting in her room and talking to her. Gradually she settled and it's been some years since we've even noticed her about.
I like to think she loves it like this.