a call from the centre of things; a dim,
almost lost memory, or perhaps a presentiment.
— Roger Caillois
During the week following the house tour, I thought off and on about Poppy and her Second Empire house. Something about the whole situation didn't add up.
She implied that purchasing the house was an impulse decision, yet she was reluctant to provide further details. As a house whisperer the first thing I want to know is if the owner chose the property or the house chose them.
I know, it sounds mystical, but it isn't. Not much in our lives happens by accident especially involving such a major purchase. One can acquire a property, but making a home is an entirely different matter.
And then there was the damp spot in the basement Poppy tried to minimize but I kept coming back to that in my mind
The fact that she felt uncomfortable in that space was unsettling and even more so because she went as far as to move the laundry room from the basement to the second floor. Why?
She hinted it was for convenience but I'm always wary when someone is uncomfortable in their home because it's supposed to be a sanctuary.
I decided to make the trek out to her tiny Victorian village alone the following Saturday without the distraction of Greg or Gail.
Perhaps Poppy was reticent about revealing her true feelings about the house because they were private and personal but she might be persuaded to reveal them to me if I assured her I would keep the information confidential.
The bond between house and owner can often be as intimate as the relationship between soul and spirit, or body and soul.
I wanted to respect Poppy's privacy but needed full disclosure if she was ever going to feel comfortable spending time in the house.
Saturday morning turned out to be a day of mist and rain—a perfect day for what I had in mind. Poppy said the dark stain on the basement floor became damp when it rained, but I was almost certain that rainy days accomplished even more.
I suspected there'd be a change in the atmosphere of the house that would be reflected in Poppy's mood.
From the moment Poppy answered the door, I could plainly see my suspicions were true. Poppy seemed definitely more subdued and I was convinced her low spirits were not simply attributable to a weather forecast.
She made an effort to be sociable but I could sense the strain.
"I made coffee, Laird, but was afraid you'd cancel because of the weather."
"Actually, it helps to see a house in various types of light and moods of weather. The brick of a house darkens in rain and the slate roof turns grey. It actually adds character."
"Good to know," she whispered, cradling her coffee mug in her hands as if trying to get warm.
There was a fire bubbling in the grate but a definite chill in the rooms.
"I want to ask you about the basement, Poppy. You say it makes you feel uncomfortable. Can you be more specific?"
Her eyes were huge as if she were frightened. "Well, it's kind of dark and damp, especially on days like these."
"I understand, but I was asking about what types of thoughts or feelings come to mind when you're down there—any unpleasant associations?"
"I suppose it's the underground stream. I have an aversion for rivers. But it's not visible really unless it rains."
I nodded. "I see."
It was plain she either didn't want to reveal more or couldn't, but I resolved not to press her further.
"I think I'll go down there," I said casually, "see what's going on—check the walls and drains—spend a bit of time there and get a feel for the place."
"That's a good idea," she nodded. "I'll be in the kitchen baking. Just call if you need anything."
Down in the basement, the whole atmosphere of the house changed. It smelled earthy and musty as if it still had a dirt floor. Even the whitewashed foundation stones looked darker and somewhat foreboding.
The world outside was a green blur seen through the basement windows, but within the walls, the space felt dank and claustrophobic, almost like a cavern. Poppy had tried her hand at wine making but abandoned it and now the various bottles and barrels lay neatly discarded in a corner.
As I was sitting on an old wooden barrel, I saw a dark blur at the side of my eyes. I quickly turned my head in the direction of what had been the old coal chute, but there was nothing there.
The atmosphere was oppressive, however, and gave me the sensation of feeling trapped.
There was no denying the melancholic nature of the surroundings and it wasn't something that could be relieved with better lighting.
There was something else going on beneath the ground in Poppy's house, and I wasn't sure yet what it was...
but I was determined to find out.
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