Full Disclosure
The century year old farmhouse sat towards the edge of town, hidden amongst more modern homes that had been built after the farm was split off and sold to developers. The overgrown gravel driveway seemed out of place for the neighborhood but the rustic charm of the rose bush lined house was undeniable. The sun was bright, the sky was bright blue, and there were giant puffy clouds high above as Marie, her dad, and her realtor got out of the car.
Mary, the realtor, said. “This one’s been on the market a while now, so there’s probably room for negotiation.” Marie admired the two story light blue house with wooden red shutters that had hearts in them. “The inside is a fixer upper, the electric is original to the house as are the hardwood floors.”
The first thing they noticed was the house was filled with furniture and knickknacks. There was even a board game spread out on the living room’s coffee table as though the occupants had just left. “Will this one be contingent on them finding a house?” She asked Mary. “No, it will be ready at closing according to my paperwork.” She replied
The air conditioner hummed outside as cool air pumped out of the vents. “For being a hundred years old, at least it’s got central heat and air.” Mary said as they all stood in the living room, the faded wallpaper showing its age. Marie’s dad noticed articles about the home’s history spread out on a table and began reading them.
“Y’all take your time and explore,” she said. “I’ll be in the kitchen answering a few emails. Make sure you see the spacious bedroom upstairs.”
Marie began exploring the house. She explored thoroughly taking her time checking for sloping or soft floors. If she had a concern or question she’d ask her dad first since he’d most likely be the one helping with the repairs. There was some concern with the height of ceiling in the living room. When Mary heard them discussing it, she chimed in from the kitchen and said “The first floor was here originally, it was built as a stage coach stop and pre-dates the rest of the house. We don’t know exactly when it was built, but know the upstairs and the back additions were added sometime around 1920. That ceiling you see was added after electricity was installed as a way to conceal the wires.”
She continued to explore the house, while her dad was now thumbing through a large binder filled with historical photos of the house and progress pictures of various remodel projects over the years.
Marie went found a bedroom on the first floor with a large four poster queen sized bed. She opened the bathroom door and peered inside before taking longer to inspect the closet to ensure there would be room for her abundance of shoes and clothing.
When she turned around there was an elderly woman sitting on the edge of the bed. She smiled at Marie and said “If you have any questions, I’ll be glad to answer them.” Marie smiled and said “Thank you” trying not to show that the woman’s unannounced appearance had startled her.
“I apologize if I startled you dear,” the woman said softly, as though she were embarrassed. Marie smiled and said “No reason to apologize, I just didn’t realize anyone was home.”
Marie glanced around the bedroom, noting the way the large ornamental rug that covered most of the hardwood floor seemed almost out of place. She looked at the light fixture and made a note to ask her dad how hard it would be to replace it with a ceiling fan before leaving. She smiled at the woman before continuing to explore.
Mary was busy on her computer as Marie explored the kitchen, so she didn’t bother her. Instead she tried to imagine if the work space would be big enough for her, and was in the midst of a daydream about hosting an elegant holiday party when her dad interrupted her thoughts when he laughed at one of the refrigerator magnets.
She stepped into the utility room and admired the view of the spacious backyard and then shivered as she imagined doing laundry at night and potentially feeling watched.
She stepped out onto the back deck and began to explore the backyard. It was the largest piece of property she’d toured yet boasting two full acres. She explored the overgrown vegetable garden and small utility shed. Then she turned around and admired the back view of the house. She found her eyes immediately drawn to an upstairs window where she could see the woman watching her through a sheer curtain. Marie tried not to stare and focused on the overgrown flowerbed surrounding the house before heading back inside.
“Well?” Mary asked. “What do you think?”
“It’s…” Marie struggled for words. “It’s beautiful. But it feels…lived in.”
Mary smiled. “You’re going to have that with any home that’s not new construction. Did you get a chance to go upstairs yet?”
“Not yet, I was headed up there now.” Marie replied.
As she headed out to the living room, she smiled at her dad who sitting on the couch scrolling on his phone. She invited him to check out the upstairs with her but the larger bodied man looked at the narrow staircase and said “Aren’t you funny” as she proceeded upstairs.
The stairs creaked as Marie ascended the narrow steps. At the top of the staircase, an equally narrow hallway stretched from one side to the other. There were small two bedrooms up there along with a bathroom that had a claw foot tub and slanted ceiling.
She entered the bedroom on her left and the matching twin beds, perfectly made. The faded wallpaper matched the comforters and the trim was painted the same color as the pillows.
“This room belonged to my boys, it seems like the other day
She stepped into another room, the one directly above the downstairs bedroom. It felt cooler, though no vent was visible. The ceiling slanted, and the wallpaper was a pale green with tiny white flowers. A sewing table sat near the window, a length of faded fabric still threaded through the old Singer machine.
The chair beside it faced outward, toward the backyard.
Marie moved slowly, careful not to step on the warped floorboards. She brushed her hand along the back of the chair and noticed a faint indentation on the seat cushion, as though someone had been sitting there recently.
The closet door stood ajar. She nudged it open with her foot and saw a row of empty hangers and a single floral housecoat hanging at the end. The smell that wafted out was faintly sweet—lavender, dust, and something faintly metallic beneath it.
She turned back toward the window and froze.
The elderly woman from downstairs was standing by the sewing table.
The light framed her softly, her silver hair gleaming as she looked down at the fabric on the machine.
“Oh,” Marie said, startled but trying to sound polite. “I didn’t realize you came up here.”
The woman didn’t look up. “I wanted to show you the best light in the house,” she said. Her voice was calm, deliberate, like someone explaining a memory. “It’s brightest here in the afternoons. It’s where I used to sew.”
Marie took a hesitant step forward. “It really is nice. The view, I mean.”
The woman nodded. “It’s peaceful here. You can see the garden from this window. I used to plant zinnias and marigolds every spring. They’d come up no matter how harsh the winter.”
Marie smiled faintly. “That’s beautiful. I like flowers too.”
“They keep the loneliness away,” the woman murmured.
Her tone lingered in the air like perfume—soft but heavy.
Marie glanced at the woman’s reflection in the window. For just a moment, the face looking back seemed younger, almost glowing. When she turned to face her directly, the woman’s expression had changed—still kind, but distant now, like someone remembering rather than living.
Marie shifted her weight uneasily.
“Well,” she said softly, forcing a polite smile, “it’s a lovely room.”
The woman finally looked at her. “It was always my favorite.”
Something about the way she said was made Marie’s stomach tighten.
Downstairs she could hear faint sounds—her dad’s voice laughing at something on his phone, Mary’s keyboard tapping in the kitchen. The normal sounds grounded her, reminding her she wasn’t alone in the house.
“I should probably get back downstairs,” Marie said.
The elderly woman nodded slowly. “Of course, dear.”
Marie stepped past her toward the hallway. As she did, she noticed something strange—the floorboards didn’t creak beneath the woman’s feet the way they had beneath hers.
She paused at the top of the stairs and glanced back.
The woman had returned to the sewing table and was smoothing the piece of faded fabric with careful hands, as though finishing a project she’d set aside years ago.
Marie descended the staircase slowly, the steps creaking loudly now.
When she reached the living room, her dad looked up from his phone.
“Find anything interesting up there?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she said absently. “A sewing room. And two bedrooms.”
Mary poked her head out from the kitchen. “See? I told you it was bigger than it looks.”
Marie nodded, still thinking about the woman upstairs.
She walked over to the table where the newspaper clippings were spread out and glanced at them again. One headline read “Local Garden Wins Parade of Homes Award.” Beneath it was a photo of the backyard, filled with bright flowers instead of weeds.
There was a picture of an elderly woman standing proudly beside the garden.
Marie stared at it for a moment.
It looked familiar.
But before she could place it, she turned toward the kitchen.
“Mary,” she said casually, “the older lady upstairs mentioned the garden used to be full of zinnias and marigolds. Do you know if she planted those herself?”
Mary looked up from her laptop with a puzzled expression.
“The older lady?” she asked.
“The one in the bedroom upstairs,” Marie said. “Gray hair, sweet voice. She said she used to sew in the room by the window.”
Mary blinked.
“There’s no one upstairs,” she said.
Marie frowned. “The homeowner.”
“The homeowner passed away,” Mary replied gently. “The house has been empty since her family listed it.”
Marie felt the room go strangely quiet.
Her dad looked up now too.
“What homeowner?” he asked.
Mary walked over to the table and picked up one of the articles Marie had been staring at. She tapped the photograph with her finger.
“This was the last owner,” she said. “Mrs. Eleanor Whitaker. Lived here nearly sixty years.”
Marie slowly looked down at the photo.
The smiling woman in the article had soft gray hair.
Kind eyes.
The same gentle expression.
The same face that had been standing beside the sewing table upstairs.
Marie felt a chill crawl slowly up her arms.
Her dad noticed the look on her face. “You alright?”
Marie forced a small smile and looked back toward the staircase.
For just a moment she thought she saw the faint movement of the sheer curtain in the upstairs window.
“…Yeah,” she said quietly.
Then she looked back at Mary.
“So,” she said carefully, “just to be clear… the owner died here?”
Mary nodded.
“According to the obituary, yes. Peacefully. In the downstairs bedroom.”
Marie glanced down the hallway toward that room—the one with the four-poster bed where she had first seen the woman sitting and smiling.
Her smile faded.
Because suddenly the house didn’t feel lived in anymore.
It felt occupied.