“Silence of the Loans” –An underwriter and the houses of horror
Disclaimer: The following story is entirely fictitious. While the photos are real, the descriptions were not. They were concocted in the fun and spooky spirit of Halloween.
A Halloween Night
As I tiptoed across the long corridors of the empty office, I began to playfully hum a nursery rhyme my child often sang, “It’s Halloween Night. Not a soul in sight. I hear footsteps. Who’s that coming?!” No one, of course, was coming at this time of night on October 31st. The building was so quiet; I was able to hear my own thoughts. They started whispering to me about the unusual void and darkness that surrounded me.
The more I thought about it, the more intense it became. Suddenly, the words of a childish rhyme sounded more frightening than fun. I found myself sinking deeper and deeper into my chair and cowering behind the confines of my own cubicle to hide myself from what may lurk beyond.
Normally, I would embrace this quiet and solitude. I often worked late at night to avoid interruptions and maximize focus and productivity. Yet, this particular night felt hauntingly different than the rest. The air was still, but I felt no calm. An eeriness floated about the room, like the scenes in a scary movie where you knew something horrible was waiting to happen.
Carrie, the Underwriter
Where was I? I felt like I was back in high school and all the cool kids have just abandoned me. The workday went by fast. My colleagues left earlier than usual, and they seemed to have disappeared together. I was left alone, feeling somewhat forsaken in this dark and desolate space. The more I looked, the more the walls loomed tall and the doors seemed distant. Soon, I became entrapped by the shadows around my desk. Desperately, I tried to see out through the darkness of the windows but could not. Instead, they looked back at me like large, watchful eyes.
I turned away. My attention shifted to the sounds from my laptop as its hard drive spun and purred. The purring became louder as I listened. Did it know I was listening? Subtly, it called out to me, “Open my files.” Whether I wanted to or not in that moment, I knew I had to get the job done. This is why I stayed and why I had sacrificed my evening (or maybe myself). With a few quick clicks, I opened the files.
Warning: I am a trained underwriter and have seen hundreds of investment properties. However, the photos I am about to share made my skin crawl and my heart leap from my seat. View them if you wish but read the descriptions at your own risk (and peril).
The Witch’s Haven
This northeastern property instantly conjured images from “The Conjuring” wherein the spirit of an accused witch vowed to curse and haunt anyone who entered her land.
Black and purple are said to represent death. This witch covered her entire property in death.
The house was full of secret passageways leading to dark basements and horrific dungeons.
Did this cage once hold a demonic beast? Was it a torture chamber? Only the witch may know.
Some say that the witch held families captive and attacked them when they tried to escape.
Inside, every turn was a maze, every corner a hidden door for something more sinister behind.
Broken, evil, torture…Words cannot describe the horror of this picture or many others like it.
This is believed to be one of two blood splattered torture chambers used by the evil witch.
House of Massacre
This property in the Midwest is very similar to the house in “Saw” where a mass murderer, disguised as a corpse, has setup a game of death for his unwitting participants.
This unfinished basement was once the site of many gruesome and unexpected murders.
So much blood once flowed from above that the stained ceilings often caved from its weight.
This walk-in refrigerator held more than food. It was said to have kept organs and blood fresh.
Even in the bathrooms, one could see the harrowing signs of gruesome struggle and torture.
Body bags, blood containers, and cleaning agents were found in the cabinets and rooms.
Even the most normal room can be a façade. A quick glance at the ceiling tells the true story.
It’s all part of the murderer’s mind game. You may see beds, but no one has ever “lived” here.
