Here’s the story of how living in a real haunted house changed my marriage, started me on my spiritual journey, and taught me to
trust my intuition.
It started in August 2013, right before my younger son’s first birthday when we decided to move into a less expensive house in the
small town of Issaquah, Washington.
We we're looking to save a little money (which eventually backfired on us!) and found a quaint rambler on the banks of Issaquah Creek.
It was sort of dingy and a little smelly, but the rental market was very, very competitive then and we were running out of time to find a place.
As we toured the house with the leasing agent, she mentioned the previous owner had recently passed away from a long battle with cancer
and her son had hired them to rent the house out. I always knew I was sensitive to energy so I immediately asked if the lady had died in the house. She reassured me three
separate times in that showing that the lady had died in a hospice facility and not in that house.
Against my better judgement, I believed her. Plus, the price was right and I figured dingy and smelly were two things we could handle
with a little elbow grease. We moved in a few days later.
From the first night we slept in that house, I knew something was wrong.
It felt bad.
Oh, and the smell...I will never forget the smell. It seemed as though as soon as we moved in, it got worse. It became more and more
pungent on an almost daily basis Always looking on the bright side, we chalked it up to the house being old and just needing a little TLC.
Over the next few days, we scrubbed. We washed windows, steam cleaned carpets, wiped down walls, cleaned every nook and cranny we could
find. I even pulled up the carpeting in the master bedroom and rented an ozone machine (which apparently kills any smell). It didn’t help. I bought every type of air freshener you could find. It
seeped into our hair; our clothes. It was disgusting but there was nothing we could do.
My next move was to decorate. I think I thought that if I could just make it homey that it might feel like home and
maybe the smell would eventually go away. I unpacked every box, hung every picture, mounted the curtains, and organized every drawer.
This is when things started to really go bad.
I first noticed my personality changing when the depression started to kick in. It went from feeling like there was a weight on my
shoulders and an overall sense of sadness to me crying from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to sleep. All day long I would cry. The only way the crying would stop is if I left the
house, so that’s what I did.
Every morning, I would wake up, pack my son in the stroller, and escape that house.
For hours, I would camp out in local restaurants, hang out at the library, or sit by myself on a park bench...anything to avoid the
house. I would hide out in town until 6:00 pm when my husband returned from work. Even then, we would eat dinner away from the house and only return when we had to.