The House was then bought by a woman who thought she could make her fortune by being a slum lord. The joke was on her when she unknowingly rented it to a family of hoarders. The occupants threw their garbage out on the deck instead of taking it to the curb once a week. When the wind blew in the wrong direction the stench was unbearable. I don't even want to think about what The House looked like on the inside. It took a very long time for the owner to evict them and she had had enough of being a landlord so once again, up went the for sale sign.
The next owners were a couple with a little girl. They seemed to be a nice quiet family until the day the whole neighbourhood heard the wife screaming at the top of her lungs, at the man I presumed to be her husband, "NO! IT'S MY HOUSE! THE PAPERS SAY SO!" Neither the husband nor his vehicle have been seen on the property since. I suppose the wife couldn't afford the mortgage because she and the little girl have moved out and guess what recently appeared in the front yard. That's right. The for sale sign. Now when I see a car of prospective buyers stop in the lane to check out the back of The House I fight the urge to run over to them and say, "No. Don't do it. Keep driving. This house has very bad juju."