On Saturday, Mario and I took a drive down to Chillicothe, and on the way back, we stopped at this old abandoned farmhouse on Rt. 23. We trudged through the unkempt yard and cautiously made our way inside. The windows were all smashed, there was debris on the sagging floors, and it was dirty and cold inside. We could tell the place used to be grand. Sweeping staircases, six fireplaces, and old rusty chandeliers caught our eyes. The place hadn't been lived in in years, and I was just aching to buy this place and restore it. Outside it was a beautiful winter afternoon, but inside, it was cool, dark, and spooky. Every step caused a floorboard to creak and sag. I peeked in a few rooms, and in one room at the back, there was a pile of snow that had blown in through this house with no doors during the storm on Friday night. Mario and I were oohing and ahhing over all of the old historic details in the house, and decided it was time to go when the rotting floorboards were getting a little iffy to walk on. Something caught Mario's eye and he pointed - in that little pile of snow, there was now a bootprint. A bootprint that hadn't been there 5 minutes before. We both had on tennis shoes. That print was not ours. We both stiffened and strained out ears for any sounds or signs of life. Spooked, we quietly and quickly made our way out of the house and back to the car. Was someone in the house? Was someone standing on the other side of that wall, listening, waiting? We will never know for sure. But it's still creepy to think about.....
(after returning home, I googled the old house, turns out it's on the National Historic Register and known as the Renick Family Farmhouse).
