From the beginning, I sensed
something was wrong.
“This place needs work. The exterior has not been
painted for a long time.” I was heartsick. There were not a lot of viable
rental options.
Driving past the old house, I saw several infested,
thorny, wild rosebushes with weeds growing right through them in the
flowerbed. The grass was uncut, but tiny, pink and yellow flowers blossomed
everywhere. The driveway was full of potholes. The corner of the front
door step had been broken, but not repaired. I could deal with that, because
the rent seemed reasonable and thus, I contacted the owner to look at the
interior.
On the telephone, Ms. J.
sounded like a polite, pleasant, German woman, who acknowledged that the duplex
advertised in the newspaper, needed some tender love and care. It had been
vacant for seven months. She offered to show it to me and was sitting on the
doorstep, when I drove up.
Ms. J., as a potential landlady, made a
good first impression. She was a clean, well-dressed, elderly woman, who
was proper, gracious and sincere in her mannerisms.
“Let's be friends. I don’t have
many friends,” she said, tearfully. Ms. J. was divorced, and recounted incidents of abuse from her husband. She claimed to be a retired teacher and
recalled experiences in country schools, many years ago. She graciously invited
me to join their church choir.
“My grandson is doing the
painting and has to finish the family room. He has a full time job, too.”
The rest of the duplex had been painted. The windows were very dirty and everything inside appeared dusty.
There was a musty odor throughout the rental unit, but it had been hot that day. The living room carpet
needed replacing. There was a six-inch gap in the frame of one living room window. Someone had replaced the device that opens and closes the
window, but had not put the window frame molding back on. The kitchen
window had a one-half by six inch gap, just above the sink. All of the screens
needed repair.
“The windows will be replaced
and the locks changed. It will be ready for you, next month and then, you can
live here for the rest of your life,” she promised.
“The key is in the mailbox,”
she told me on the telephone, one month later. “I have another family who wants
to move in, if you don’t.”
On entering, everything
appeared exactly the same, except that the family room was painted. The closet had a foul odor.
Several days later, Ms. J.
telephoned to pick up her rent check and arrange monthly deposits to her bank
account. When she arrived, she was obviously upset. She had met her former
son-in-law and they had both been in tears over about her daughter’s marriage
breakup. He was still living in the other duplex, where he and his wife
had formerly resided.
“If you need anything, contact
him. The windows won’t be replaced until spring, but the locksmith will change
the locks.”
The locksmith never came. If he
did, he only changed the locks on the other unit several months later, when the
son-in-law bought a house and Ms. J’s grandson moved in, along with his wife
and dog. All of them were distinct by their absence. The patio decks faced
each other, so it was possible to speak to them, but everyone was
extremely evasive.
From the first day onward,
there were distinct signs of repeated break and entry. My furniture began
to show huge chips, cracks, cuts, nicks and scratches. Many other items showed
senseless, intentional damage. Groceries, household items, clothing and
personal possessions disappeared. There was evidence of someone smoking. What
they were smoking, one could only guess.
One morning in the early spring, the
furnace died. Ms. J. had her grandson's wife call for furnace
repairs. Shortly thereafter, there was a rental increase of several hundred
dollars a month and an eviction notice.
“Contact your insurance company
to pay for any loss or damage sustained,” Ms. J. said,
when she advised of what had been happening in the duplex.
“My daughter is homeless,” she said. "You are living in her children's home, so you have to move.".
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