The Silence of the Socks

By popular demand (when I say popular demand I mean one commenter) I will not talk about my cold sores today. (Even though the first is completely gone and the second is little more than a rough spot on my lip.) Your welcome.

A couple of weeks ago I, along with a couple of other friends, helped a friend move. As my fellow movers and I trudged back and forth hefting furniture and boxes from the apartment to the truck we reminisced about our own prior moves. Jamie, who also helped with our last move, mentioned that the boxes, truck, and other moving paraphernalia brought back many memories. I nodded in agreement. Then I realized it wasn’t true. I had no memories of prior moves.

This struck me as a little odd. Misty and I have moved 8 times in our 15 years of marriage. That does not count moving her stuff to my place just before and after our wedding. 8 moves! And I barely remember any of them.

What I do remember, though, are house searches. Having moved 8 times, we have done our share of house hunting. What really sticks with me is the condition in which some people leave their homes for a showing.

Judging solely on the number of unpleasant houses that stick out in my memory, I’ll say that Paducah, KY gave us our most memorable house hunt.

Before I get into that, though, I have to get something off of my chest. HGTV, yes I watch, has become little more than the real estate. Show after show follows couples and singles as they try to find their perfect home. And show after show the seekers look at 3 houses then decide between them. As many times as I’ve sought a home, I’ve never, never, found something after looking at 3 places. Don’t buy into the HGTV myth!

One Paducah house, in particular, stands out in my memory. The owners, even knowing someone was coming to look, did not clean. There were dirty clothes in the floors. Beds were unmade. Dishes in the sink. This was not unusual. We’d seen it before. In fact, the house before this one actually had a plate with half-eaten pizza slices lying in the living room floor. What made this house stand out was the basement.

We opened the basement door and were met by the dank, musty air familiar to many subterranean spaces. We continued down the wooden stairs t the unfinished basement. As we stepped onto the concrete floor we were struck by a distinct sense of eeriness. The room was dark, even though all of the lights were on. The air was humid and clammy. In the dimness we could make out what seemed to be chains and ropes on the walls and hanging from the floor joists. We expected silence; sinister silence. We were again surprised.

We could just make out the faint sound of voices. At first we thought someone was upstairs having come home during our viewing. We noticed that the sounds were in deed coming from the basement. There was a blank wall in front of us. It continued to our left approximately 15 feet and then turned back to the right. We realized we were looking at the exterior of another room. One finished room in an otherwise stark basement. This room was the source of the voices.

I made a Silence of the Lambs joke. It didn’t ease the tension as I’d hoped. In fact, I think the joke made our heretofore unruffled realtor a little jumpy.

We cautiously walked the length of the wall before us. When we turned the corner we found the door, closed. Misty, our realtor, and I whispered back and forth debating whether or not we should enter. We paused our conversation and listened. One of the voices became familiar. Bob Barker.

I decided to enter the room. Misty and our realtor decided to stay behind. I slowly reached for the knob. When my hand reached its destination I paused and swallowed hard. I slowly began turning the knob, expecting it to be locked. It turned. The latch slid into the door and disengaged from the jamb.

I took a deep breath then pushed the door open. At this point I was about 85% sure I would find a pit inside.

The door swung into the room and Bob’s voice grew louder. I took a cautious step inside. The room was well lit and the air was not as stale as the rest of the basement. Something about the room seemed odd. I don’t remember many details, just a strong feeling of trepidation.

I never went further than one step into the room. I looked around. The first thing I noticed was the TV. Bob Barker held his unnecessarily long microphone while smiling into the camera. He said something about the Showcase Showdown.

To call the room finished would be a compliment. Wood paneled walls. Drop ceiling. A rug covering most of the concrete floor.

No pit.

I remember there was some furniture. Leather, I think. There was, at least, a sofa. I know this because that’s where I saw the feet.

Just as I started to move further into the room I noticed a pair of socked feet lying atop one of the arms of the sofa. It was the only evidence that the room was occupied.

I entered the room. They never moved. I blurted out a quick, “Oops, sorry.” They never moved.

I quickly backed out and closed the door. I looked at Misty and the realtor.

“There’s somebody in there. Laying on the couch.”

The realtor went into the room. The feet never moved. She cleared her throat. Nothing.

At this point my memory gets hazy. I vaguely remember a large dog, but that could’ve been a different house. All I know is that we left. Quickly.

7 years later I’m left with little more than a few images (Bob Barker, wood paneling, a cheap rug) and a lingering thought. I want to see that on HGTV!

ps. - Happy Birthday, Nancy! Hope it's a great one.