Saturday, February 5, 2022

This Property For Sale: Ghosts Included

Could you be liable if you publicly say that your house is haunted and have your stories promoted through the media, and then sell your house without telling the buyer about the ghosts? Yes!

                                               The allegedly haunted house in Nyack, NY
                                                   

In the 1991 case of Stambovsky v. Ackley, the New York Supreme Court ruled that a house which the owner had previously publicly advertised as haunted was legally haunted  for the purpose of revoking an agreement with a buyer. Jeffey Stambovsky had put a down payment on the sprawling 1890 house owned by Helen Ackley in Nyack, NY, but wanted to back out when he learned that the seller had repeatedly alleged that the house was haunted. Ackley resisted, the case went to court, and eventually Stambovsky got his money back.

Note that the legal definition of haunted is based on the owner publicly advertising it as such. When the house went up for sale again in 2019, listing agent Nancy Blaker Weber said,“What I’ve heard is that …[Ackley] was drawing attention to the house, trying to create some kind of interesting buzz maybe, and it just backfired.”  In 2019 the residents claimed that they had experienced nothing paranormal, although that hasn't stopped would-be ghost hunters from believing in the haunting.

On the flip side of the coin, some owners don't tell anyone about ghostly goings on--or perhaps aren't sensitive to them--leaving real estate agents wondering why the property doesn't sell. Clark Plummer, sales manager for Calhoun Realty in Uptown Minneapolis during the 1970s, told me about two listings which were obviously priced to sell, yet hadn't attracted an offer, even though many potential buyers had looked at the properties.

The first listing, one half of a 1890's double house in South Minneapolis, had been on the market for months. It was beautifully maintained and had many of the period appointments that make a listing attractive. The owner, who had moved to another city, lowered the price twice, but the house still didn't sell. The listing agent asked Clark to go over and assess the property and pricing.

Clark went over to the listing and entered the vacant house by the front door. Immediately, he noticed a chill in the air. Although it was a sunny spring day, the interior of the house seemed gloomy and uninviting. Clark checked out the downstairs and couldn't see anything that would be a red flag. In fact, it was a very attractive home. However, when he started up the stairs to the second floor, he was overcome by a deep sense of dread. He felt as if some dark energy was at the top, defying him to come up. It was so intense, he turned around, locked up the house, and left. 

When he told the listing agent about his experience, she told him that she had felt the same chill whenever she went into the house. One buyer that she had shown the house to had had the same reaction as Clark: Don't go upstairs! Clark didn't know what to recommend. In those days ghostbusting was not a thing, and the agent was reluctant to say anything to the seller for fear he'd think she was nutty. Eventually, the house sold--for much less than the original listing price--and Clark heard no more about it.

The second listing was not of a house, but of an old rustic resort in Wisconsin. Clark had heard the story from one of the two commercial agents who had listed it. After the resort had sat on the market for nearly a year, the owner invited the agents to the resort to stay overnight and see what might be done to make it more saleable. One late autumn day agents "Smith" and "Jones" did the five-hour drive from Minneapolis to the resort on a lake in north central Wisconsin.

The owner met the agents and showed them around the resort, which was closed for the season. They examined the cabins, lodge, campsites, and docks at the lake. The buildings were over forty years old, but clean and well maintained.  After dinner the owner showed the agents to their rooms that he had prepared for them in the main lodge. Smith and Jones were in adjacent rooms on the hallway that had a shared bathroom at one end and a hallway to the lodge great room at the other. 

It was dark by the time Smith settled down in his room to read by the small heater. All was quiet for a while, but then Smith thought he heard voices and music coming from the great room. He must be imagining it, he thought, and went back to reading. But then, he heard the voices again. Smith put down his book and went to the door and looked out into the hallway. The voices abruptly stopped. He walked down the hall and peered into the great room. Dark, cold, deserted. 

                                             A Wisconsin lodge of similar style and vintage
 As Smith was walking back to his room, Jones came out of his. "So you heard it, too?" asked Jones nervously. Smith replied that no one seemed to be anywhere on the property; the only lights on inside and out were the ones in the hallway and their rooms. Smith invited Jones into his room, and they sat there in their coats, waiting to see if the voices would come back. They did. Again Smith looked into the hallway, and again the voices suddenly went quiet.


Jones grew more and more apprehensive. The resort was in the middle of nowhere, in a deep forest, miles from the nearest town of any size. Outside the window, it was so dark that they couldn't see a thing. On the verge of freaking out, Jones wanted to leave then and there. But it was really too late to do the return trip to Minneapolis, and so the agents sat in Smith's chilly room with the lights on, waiting and listening. It was not long before the sounds of a party in the great room returned. In fact, the noises grew louder and closer. The men began to hear footsteps and muffled voices coming and going in the hallway as well. While the agents stared at the room's door to the hallway where the sounds of partying continued, the hours crawled by.

Finally, at dawn the voices, footsteps and music faded away, and the men settled into their respective rooms to get a few hours' sleep before the drive back to the Cities. Meeting later with the owner for breakfast, the agents said they would send him a report. In the meantime, suggested Smith, the owner might considering spending the night in the closed lodge himself. 

At the time Clark told me this story, the resort hadn't sold, and the owner hadn't slept overnight in the lodge. Perhaps he waited until guests were on site in the summer to have prospective buyers over to look at it.

This is a somewhat unusual story in that it involves the sounds of many people. Some theorize that this type of paranormal phenomenon is not a proper haunting, but a sort of psychic audio tape that replays past events.

As these stories show, a haunting of a property can be a liability. On the other hand, it can be a marketing asset. Want to sleep in a haunted B&B or imbibe at a haunted tavern? An online search will provide plenty of options. Once the story of a ghost on the premises gains traction, it's inevitable that some people will want to jump on the bandwagon, telling of their experiences at the place--whether they've had them or not. 

                  Room 217 in the historic Stanley Hotel (of "The Shining" fame) in Estes Park, CO

I myself would not like to be awakened in the middle of the night by paranormal shenanigans in my hotel room. This in fact happened to me once at a resort in Florida: a bedside light turning off and on, swirling lights by the ceiling. I said--OK, lied--that I was concerned about faulty electrical service, and the hotel staff kindly moved me to another room. I spent the rest of my nights there in peace.


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