Shadow and shutter

Mar 8

My photography business is a revolving door of portraits, documentary, brand/content, and last but not least, real estate.

Real estate photography isn’t always the most creatively inspiring, and can sometimes feel a little redundant. But something is intriguing about being in a different place, on any given day. New places, new faces.

Hundreds of houses a year. Most blend into one another. Muddled between the mundane and ordinary.

Most that is .

But there have been a few that stuck with me. Lingering energies, unique or inspiring decor. And I meet some pretty interesting people and pets. A few overly friendly photo-bombing cats, or a dark and creepy basement. On that note, let me tell you a story about one of those places that I cannot -and having my wits about me- will not forget.

It was an overcast day in February. The weather was unusually mild. I pulled up to a typical 1980-ish bungalow. Light tan siding, white trim. Non-distinct in any way aside from a wheelchair lift at the front of the house. The property was vacant, and the agent was unable to meet me there, but had made sure I got the keys and had left the lock box for me to secure the keys once the job was done.

No problemo - not my first rodeo.

I was given the heads up by the listing agent about some ice that had built up on the front steps do to a leaky eaves trough. The ice was a couple of inches thick, and even though I was forewarned, it was treacherous to navigate with a large Camera and an attached flash dangling around my neck. Arms flailing for balance.

Lucky me, the key turned uneventfully (they can sometimes be finicky), and the front door opened without a hitch. My lucky day.

The inside was still in the layout to function as a care home. As per my routine, I started turning on all the lights so that once I started shooting, I could seamlessly move through the floor plan, doing my thing. The walls were a light whitish grey, and the windows were nice and big. Lots of natural light. The photographer in me is happy dancing. Can I get a hell ya to the exposure and toning fairies in the post-edit universe~

Photos of the upstairs were done in good time, with no furniture to work around or random items to move- toilet plungers, Kleenex boxes, used tissues on bedroom side tables- It’s a glamorous work, I tell ya.

Time for the lower level.

I open the door from the kitchen to the back entry. Two stairs lead down to a smaller landing. I’m navigating the best angle to shoot this back entry space, and decided to walk down a couple of steps of the basement stairs. I would take my shot from there.

As I look up from taking my steps down, I see a person standing at the bottom of the stairs facing me, that figure is watching me. In a split moment, they swiftly turn to what would be their left, and disappear.

Did they think I didn’t see them? Why didn’t they say anything? Every inch of hair on my body is standing on end. There is someone else in this house with me. Someone who never made themselves known when I walked in. Someone who had obviously been hiding undetected until now.. why? Any reasoning can’t be good.

Fuck.

I’m panicked, in a cold sweat, my mouth is dry, my heart is pounding- my mind is racing. I yell to myself, Run! In one swift move, I turn and jump up to the entry landing. I’m calculating how fast I can unlock the dead bolt, twist the doorknob in one smooth motion, fling the door wide open, and get the hell out of there.

I’m gonna run for my life and escape this creepy serial killer lurking in the basement.

Wait, something isn’t right. Am I seriously debating my fight or flight mode at this moment? What the hell is wrong with me? But my brain knows something is off about what I just saw. This person, this thing, made absolutely no sound when it moved. None.

And there were no discernible features. An outline. Shadows and light, darkness. It was in that moment that I knew, I just knew, that it was not actually a person.

Did I just see a ghost?

Holy shit, I just saw a ghost! I mean, it’s better than some psycho creep waiting for me in the shadows of a basement, right?

I let go of the doorknob and turn back towards the basement. Staring down the stairs, only now, no one or nothing is there.

I stand and listen.

I say Hello?

Nothing.

I listen again, for anything, any kind of movement, but aside from my heart pounding in my ears and chest, it’s just silence.

And like a dumb ass in a teenage horror movie, I proceed down the stairs. My periphery is hyper aware. As I’m scanning the walls for a light switch. I’m terrified but committed, because now I’m all the way down to the bottom of the stairs, mere inches away from where this thing stood. And to top it all off, I can now see that the direction this thing disappeared into was a wall.

Whoa.

I swallow hard, like the audible gulp of Ichabod Crane moving through the dark woods with the headless horseman looming up behind him. I start saying all the protective words I can think of. Lord’s Prayer - out it came, I knew every word. I’m calling on angels and guides, visualizing all things love and light. I need to get this done and get the hell out of here.

I walked into the laundry room to the right of the bottom of the stairs. There are way too many dark nooks and crannies for things to hide. Normally, I’d be trusting my so-called spider senses- but I’m so freaked out I feel sensory overload. Rational thought has apparently eluded me. I don’t feel safe. The back of my neck and scalp are tingling.

I’m being watched, I’m sure of it.

You know the feeling.

Moving into the open area of the basement, I was now looking at the wall this thing walked into. I take my shots as quickly as I can. Procrastinating until I can procrastinate no more, I head over to the bedroom that this apparition would have walked into.

I pep-talk myself; Let’s do this.

It’s just a room. No closet. No creepy corners, and well-lit, it’s mission complete. Entirely uneventful. This was all very anticlimactic, and I feel absolutely ridiculous about being such a chicken shit.

I quickly turn off all the lights in the basement and run up the stairs like a little five-year-old scared of the dark and of being the last one up the stairs.

I grab my coat, put on the boots, and I’m out the door. Keys locked up. I made my way down to the snow-covered driveway as quickly as the icy death trap stairs would allow.

See ya never.

As I sat in the safety of my vehicle, I had to take a moment and process. Did that actually just happen?

Yes, it did. I just saw a ghost. An apparition. A Spirit. Whatever you want to call it, I saw it- I felt it.

I could not explain this one away. It was the craziest feeling. Exhilarating yet scary and mind-boggling all at the same time.

Side note-

A couple weeks later, I’m hired to do some photography for the very same realtor who gifted me the haunted house on Balfour. I decided to lay the whole ghost story on him. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? He thinks I’m certified loco, never hires me again.

Not really beneficial to my financial security, but I went ahead and told him anyway.

Get this, with my mental stability sacrificed first - he then confides to me that he had some of his own personal experiences on his first visit to this place. Hearing noises and activity, as if people were scuffling and moving about when he arrived, only to find the house was empty. The realtor initially didn’t feel that passing this info on was in his best interest, assuming I’d think he was insane. Oh contraire, my friend. I can confirm, you were not the only one there.