Yes - It Was Almost Perfect

{c}Copyright 2004 - Bruce Gaughran

Do you know that feeling that you get when something is just perfect? Well, that was the feeling Debbie and I had as the car wound its way up the long driveway towards the house. We had been house hunting for three days and both of us felt that perhaps this just wasn’t the right time or place to be looking for a summer home. Well, as we cleared the woods and saw the house sitting on top of the hill surrounded by trees, both of us felt this was it.

Carol, our agent, explained that the house sat on ten wooded acres, but what she didn’t tell us, nor could any picture portray, was the setting. As we climbed out of the car, Debbie and I held hands as we turned around in a circle – taking in the natural beauty that surrounded us. The crisp fall air coupled with the oranges, yellows, reds, and browns of the foliage had our hearts pumping.

A piercing scream startled us out of our trance. We looked skyward and saw two bald eagles soaring above the house. As they danced on the thermals above the mountain ridge, the two screamed and occasionally parried at each another as if involved in some mating ritual.

“Do you suppose they are our welcoming committee,” Debbie asked with a smile on her face.

“Look,” Carol said as she pointed down the hill towards the tree line.

There on the edge of the forest stood a nine-point buck and five doe. The buck stood rigid, hair raised on the back of its neck, watching our every move. A powerful snort challenged our presence on its turf. The buck stamped the ground twice as a warning. Then, with grace that only comes from strength, the buck leaped over a downed tree and escaped into the woods with the doe following close behind.

Yes, it was perfect! Even more perfect than what we had dreamed about for the last eight years. Before we even saw the interior of the house, we knew we had to have it.

Carol glanced at her watch and finally asked, “Would you like to see the house?”

The printout said the house was built in 1840’s. Yet, the rock and wood exterior was well maintained and the house could have easily passed for something perhaps thirty years old. I wasn’t keen about the separated garage that was originally a carriage house, but you could overlook quite a few things when you saw the view. Four bedrooms, two baths, a library, an eat-in kitchen, dining room, front porch, and a screened in back porch all made it sound even more perfect.

As we stepped up onto the front porch, Debbie saw the two wooden rockers. She ran over and sat down. “Frank, come here,” she begged. “Can’t you see us sitting out here sipping our morning coffee?”

I nodded my head and held out my hand, “Come on, Hon, let’s check out the inside.”

Carol paused, pointed at the front door, and commented, “They don’t make them like this anymore.”

She was right, the front door appeared to be made of solid oak with several iron bars bolted vertically in place. “Do you suppose this was to keep Indians out back then,” I joked.

Carol unlocked the door and stepped aside so Debbie and I could walk in first. Our first impression of the interior was as positive as when we first saw the property from the driveway. The living room was huge with a giant stone fireplace on the far wall. Next to the fireplace was a cutout for storing logs. The room had plenty of windows that illuminated it naturally. On the left, an open stairway wound up to the second floor.

Debbie walked over to the large window that faced the east and looked out into the woods. “Frank, come here. Look at this view.”

As I walked over, I noticed that the window had shutters on the inside. I glanced around the room and saw that every window had shutters, all mounted on the inside. What was more interesting was that these weren’t ordinary shutters; they were thick oak shutters with iron bars bolted vertically in place. Just like the front door. The shutters were the bi-fold type to minimize the wall space taken up on the inside. Two locking pins on each shutter gave the impression that they weren’t installed just for their looks. “Carol, I was joking earlier about the Indians, but these shutters sure make it seem like the original owners wanted to keep someone out.”

Carol looked at her watch again and then chuckled, “I’m not certain why the shutters are on the inside, but they do look sturdy, don’t they?”

Noticing Carol’s attitude had changed since we arrived, I had to ask, “Is there something wrong, Carol? You keep on looking at your watch. Do you have another appointment today?”

Carol blushed and shook her head, “No, I just don’t like driving on back roads after dark. You know, you could hit a deer or something. That’s all.” Carol turned away and asked if Debbie wanted to see the kitchen.

The kitchen was quite large with an eat-in area and a large bay window overlooking the back yard. And, I should mention, this window had four large shutters with locking pins.

“Look, Frank, the refrigerator and stove are new. There is even a built in microwave.” Debbie walked around the kitchen looking into the cupboards and the pantry. “Plenty of storage room in here,” she called from the pantry. “Once stocked up, we could live here for weeks without having to go out for food.”

For some reason those words didn’t comfort me. As she continued to look around the kitchen, I decided to check out some of the other rooms. I crossed the living room and went up the stairs. Three nice-size bedrooms, and a small, but useable bath, were on the second floor. All three of the bedrooms had good size windows allowing in plenty of light. And, each window had shutters – the same type as downstairs. I walked over to the window in the front bedroom, unlocked the hasp, and opened it. A slight breeze brought in fresh air filling the room with the smells of fall. The view was spectacular from up here. You could see for miles.

I closed the window and relocked it. Reaching out to the sides, I pulled the shutters in towards the window. With the shutters unfolded, the room darkened dramatically. I walked over and switched on the lights, then returned to the window. I slid the locking pins into place and then tested the shutters strength by attempting to shake them. They didn’t move. Interesting design. It was then I saw that there was also locking pins on the top as well as the bottom of the window frames. I tested these by sliding them home. Wow, it would take a battering ram to break through these.

I unlatched the framing pins and the locking pins, and opened the shutters. Not thinking about the mechanics of how they worked, I didn’t fold them away as I opened them. “What is this,” I mumbled as I ran my fingers along three long gouges in the exterior wood. “They almost look like claw marks ….”

“Frank, where are you?”

I was so involved in examining the gouges that Debbie’s shout startled me. “I’m upstairs, Hon, I’m in the front bedroom.” I folded the shutters against the wall and walked out to greet her. At the door, I paused a moment and glanced back at the shutters. Quickly walking back to the window, I looked down. There wasn’t any roof or ledge outside the window. How could the gouges have got here? It was then I noticed that the windowpane had been recently replaced. The putty was still soft to the touch. I ran my fingers down the left shutter while considering what all this meant, if anything at all. Something gnawed at my insides, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I then heard Debbie climbing the stairs, so I just shook the thought off and went out to meet her.

“You have to look at the master bedroom and library,” she commented as she stepped onto the landing. “They are both perfect. The library is everything you have ever talked about, and, the master is huge with vaulted ceilings and a fireplace.” I saw that far away look in Debbie’s eyes and knew she was on to something. “It will be so much fun to decorate,” she added. She started walking down the hallway and asked to no one in particular, “What are the rooms like up here?”

I caught up with her and placed my arm around her. “Oh, only three large bedrooms. The bathroom is a little small, but since there is only Katie, it shouldn’t be a problem; at least until she becomes a teenager, or, until we have more than one guest over for the night, that is.”

The comment about the bath caused her to remember something, “Oh yah, the bathroom. The master doesn’t have its own bath. We’ll have to go down the hall to use the bathroom. It doesn’t have a shower either. I am certain that a plumber can do something about that. Perhaps we could add a showerhead above the tub, or, maybe tear out the tub and install a modern shower.”

“Wait a minute,” I exclaimed because all I could see was dollar signs at that moment, “I thought we weren’t planning on doing much work. This is to be our summer home, not our permanent residence. Can’t we get by without a shower for a few months? How about one of those shower hose extensions that fits over the tub’s faucet, wouldn’t that work?”

Debbie looked back at Carol who had followed us down the hallway, smiled, and commented, “Frank is so cheap sometimes. You would think we were paupers.”

I could tell Carol did not want to comment, so she just smiled and once again glanced down at her watch. I wondered what time it was and checked out my watch; it was 4:30. “Carol, I think we are almost through. What time does it get dark around here anyway?”

Carol smiled, nodded, and took a quick look over her shoulder as if she saw something. When she looked back, her face no longer had the smile. “I’m sorry, Frank, what did you ask?”

Concerned, I asked, “Carol, is there something wrong? You just don’t seem to be yourself today.”

“Wrong … no, nothing is wrong. I guess I am a little preoccupied with the drive back to town. I just don’t like driving in the dark. Do you think you will be ready to go soon?”

To help ease her concerns, I commented. “No problem. If that is all you are worried about, I’ll drive us back to town. That is, if you don’t mind me driving your car.”

Looking more worried now than anyone should be with that offer, she replied, “No … no problem at all, but I do need to be back by 6:00. I promised my husband that we would go out to dinner tonight. Will that be a problem?”

Something about Carol’s actions bothered me. I looked into her eyes; however, she wouldn’t make eye contact with me for more than a few seconds before diverting them elsewhere. She turned towards Debbie and commented, “If we are done up here, perhaps we can show Frank the library and master.”

Debbie grabbed my arm and turned towards the stairs, “Come on, Honey, you’re going to love this.”

As we walked into the library, I stopped dead in my tracks. WOW – this room is perfect. It must be 15 x 20 with 12 foot ceiling. Built-in mahogany bookshelves lined every wall from floor to ceiling. At the far end of the room was a double window looking out across the yard towards a pond – a pond that I hadn’t notice when we arrived. I walked across the room and looked out. The view was spectacular. I turned around and just took in the ambiance of the room. Perfect was the only word that came to mind. Just at that moment, something tickled the hairs on the back of my neck and I reached up to scratch them. I turned and immediately saw the double shutters with locking pins. I ran my fingers along the windowpane – the putty was also soft in this room. I unfolded the shutter and glanced at its backside. More gouges … interesting.

I turned to Carol and asked, “Have these windows been replaced recently?”

“I … I am not sure. I know that the estate wanted the house to be presentable, so they spent some money modernizing it. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, no reason really. I was just wondering.” I turned to Debbie and asked if she would like to show me the master.

It was almost 5:00 and I could tell Carol was more nervous than ever. She paced back and forth in front of the door; stopping occasionally to glance at her watch. Debbie and I finished looking at all the rooms and felt that this was as close to perfect as one could get. As we prepared to leave, I remembered one more thing I wanted to look at. “Carol, is there a basement in the house?”

Carol already had the door open and was stepping out when she stopped, turned, and with a puzzled look on her face commented, “I’m not certain. You would think that it would.”

Up until today, Carol had been a great agent. She had previewed every home we looked at and knew the interiors better than most of the owners. For some reason, this house appeared to be one she had never been in before. I walked through the hallway, opening every closet door, but couldn’t find anything. I asked Debbie to walk outside and check to see if there was an exterior entrance – something like the old storm cellars. I continued my tour, opening door after door, even looking for a trap door, but still nothing. I ended up in the kitchen where there was only the door leading outside and the pantry door. As I opened the pantry, sure enough, there was another door, a smaller one at the back of the storage area. I clicked on the overhead light to get a better look. Surprisingly, and maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised, the smaller door was solid oak and had wrought iron bars bolted into place – just like the front and back doors.

Even more interesting, there were two deadbolt locks on the door - spaced about three feet apart. I had to ask myself why a basement door would have two locks. I unlocked the deadbolts and turned the door handle. The door opened, but I could tell by the grinding sound in the hinges that it had not been opened for some time. There were old wooden steps – perhaps over a hundred years old – leading down into the darkness. This must be it. I looked for a light switch, but there wasn’t one. Oh well, I guess I can come back tomorrow with a flashlight to check it out.

As I turned around to close the door, I noticed the marks on the cellar side of the door. Gouges … plenty of them this time … they were all over the door. Some of them were quite deep – perhaps an inch or more into the wood. Just as interesting, there were wood splinters on the landing and first step. Funny, I thought, you would think that the last person to clean the house would have swept these up. I reached out and ran my fingers along the gouges nearest the door handle. They sure looked like claw marks. Perhaps the previous owners had a big dog.

As I placed my fingers into the deepest gouges, a cold, musty breeze tickled the hairs on my arm and the back of the neck. I looked down into the darkness – halfway expecting to see somebody standing there. I noticed something on the third step, but couldn’t quite make out what it was. My curiosity got the best of me, and I took a couple of steps down into the black hole. The temperature must have dropped twenty degrees, because I felled chilled all over. The object on the next step looked like a necklace of some kind. It wasn’t an ordinary necklace; it was something more primitive. I took another step down, paused for a moment to search the darkness in front of me. Not seeing anything, I took another step down, turned around, and bent down to get a better look at the object. It was a necklace; something like an Indian would wear because it was adorned in shells, beads, and … CLAWS!

I know this sounds crazy, but something made we want to pick it up. As I touched the necklace, I swear that I felt someone or something touch my hand ... and my entire body went cold. I jerked my hand back, dropping the necklace into the black hole behind the stairs. Sweat ran down my forehead and dripped into my eyes. I reached up, wiped away the sweat, and as I withdrew my hand noticed something on my fingertips. My God, is that blood!

A strange and unexplainable feeling came over me. The sensation was so powerful … and evil … that my entire body shook. I ran up the stairs, slammed the door shut – snapping the two deadbolts into place with one quick move. I took another step back, reached out to both sides of the pantry to help steady my wobbly legs, and studied the door, or maybe what I thought was behind it. For what seemed like an eternity, even though it probably wasn’t more than a few seconds, I couldn’t move. I know it sounds crazy, but all of a sudden, I knew I needed to get out of that pantry … in fact, out of the house … right now.

I trotted to the front door, looked over my shoulder once to make certain nothing was following me, and as I opened the door, I ran into Debbie coming back in. “Whoa,” I yelled, not expecting to see her standing there.

She looked up into my face and asked, “What’s the matter, Hon, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

My heart was beating a mile a minute. I took a couple of deep breaths to steady myself. It is rather embarrassing to be frightened of something … or perhaps nothing … when you are forty years old. I sucked it up, put on my best smile, and commented, “No, I’m fine. I guess my mind was elsewhere when I opened the door. I just didn’t expect to see you there.” For a second I debated whether to tell her what I had experienced, but thought the better of it. I knew she’d laugh and make some joke about 'her big, brave boy having nightmares' or something like that. I decided to play it safe and not mention it. Besides, I was probably just overreacting.

“I found the basement,” I commented to change the subject. “The door is inside the pantry. It’s funny that you didn’t notice it when you were checking out the kitchen.”

“That’s strange; I don’t remember another door inside the pantry. Well, did you check it out?”

I glanced over my shoulder again and saw nothing but an empty room. “No, I couldn’t find a light switch.” I looked down at my bloody finger and was very thankful there hadn’t been a switch, otherwise I might … well, you just don’t know what I might have done … actually, what I would have done if there had been a light switch.

“Maybe Carol has a flashlight in her car,” she commented. “Do you want me to ask?”

A sense of panic rushed over me, “NO,” I almost yelled, “No, we don’t want to make Carol late for her dinner engagement.”

“You’re right, we better get moving.” It was then Debbie noticed the blood and commented, “Did you cut yourself?”

I put the finger in the mouth and sucked on it for a moment. When I removed it, I studied the cut before replying. “No … I mean, Yes, it is probably just a sliver. I must have got it from the door.”

“Let me take a look at it, Honey, you don’t want to get it infected.”

As she reached out to touch it, I involuntarily jerked my hand back. “No … I’m fine. I’ll check it out when we get back to the hotel.”

Debbie studied my face for a moment. I could tell that she sensed there was something more going on, but didn’t want to ask. “Okay. Carol is in the car waiting for us. I swear that she has something else on her mind today. She seems so anxious to leave.”

Catching myself looking over my shoulder, I replied with a fake chuckle, “Yah, I know what you mean. You don’t think she is trying to get rid of us, do you?”

“I don’t think so, but between the way she has been acting all afternoon, and now the way you’re acting, I don’t know what to think.”

I wiped the sweat from my brow, took Debbie’s arm, and helped her out the door.

On the front porch, Debbie stopped and said, “I almost forgot why I came back in the house. I want to show you something in the garage. There are some really neat old things in there including some very old newspapers.”

As we walked around the corner of the house towards the garage, I noticed Carol sitting in the car with the engine running. I tapped on the window and she jumped. When she rolled down the window, I told her we were going to the garage because Debbie wanted to show me something. Carol glanced down at her watch and nodded her head.

Debbie was right; the converted carriage house was a museum of some sort – not a well-kept one, but still a museum. There were old bridles, harnesses, carriage wheels, horse blankets, a couple of whips, and even a few horseshoes hanging from the wall. Over in the far left corner were several cardboard boxes. Debbie walked over, pulled open the lid of the top box, and pointed at the contents. “This is what I was talking about. This top paper is dated June 12, 1911.” She began to rifle through the box, occasionally stopping to read something from the front page, before digging deeper. Meanwhile, I walked around the interior of the garage examining different objects as if I was a museum curator. Some of the stuff looked pretty old and might be worth something.

Debbie looked up, “Frank, come look at this.” She was holding a yellowed newspaper in her hand. As I approached, she began to read, “This is from the Sunday Post, dated December 3rd, 1897. The headline reads, ‘Disappearance of Webster family still unsolved’. Frank, it says here that a family of four – named Webster, disappeared from their farm. Local authorities have no clues what happened to the family. Listen to this, ‘The sheriff will neither confirm nor deny that there was any foul play’. The reporter goes on to say that this is the third such disappearance in sixty years on the Webster farm. He says that he has credible reports that these disappearances are related to a Cherokee Nation petition that he came across as he was doing some research on the Webster farm. Anyway, the reporter said that ‘when he went through the archives in the deeds office, he saw a legal notice attached to the original deed for the Webster property stating that the Cherokee Nation had petitioned the Federal Government to return the land to them. In the petition, the Cherokee Nation states the Government stole the land from them when they were forced to leave their native lands and resettle in Oklahoma in 1838 and 39. The petition further states that the land, where the Webster house stands today, was the burial grounds for their chiefs and medicine men. The petition contends that the land is sacred … a place that should not be violated’.”

Debbie paused for a moment and looked up at me to see if I was listening before continuing, “The reporter than goes on to say that when the petition was denied, a Cherokee medicine man placed a curse upon anyone who owns the land.” She tossed the paper back into the box and laughed, “Credible sources … come on. Do you believe that this was the lead story in 1987? Isn’t that just a little ridiculous?”

Debbie looked up again to confirm that I was as astonished as she was with the story. I, on the other hand, just stood there with my mouth open. Indian curses … an Indian necklace … coincidence … maybe … maybe not! I shook my head in an attempt to clear my thoughts. Debbie took the gesture as my confirmation that she was right.

I now felt even more uncomfortable. I reached out for her and commented, “Come on, Hon, it’s almost 5:30. We need to get Carol back to down.”

Carol was still waiting in the car when we came out of the garage. When I tried to open Debbie’s door for her, it was locked. I tapped on the window and pointed at the locks. She reached across to open the door, and apologized. “Sorry, I must have locked them by mistake.” I noticed she wouldn’t make eye contact with me again. I reached around to the back, unlocked the door, and climbed in.

“Okay, Carol, we are ready to head back to the hotel. If you would like me to drive, I am certain I can handle this beast.”

Carol glanced up into the rearview mirror, smiled, and commented, “No … I’ll be fine. It is still pretty light out.”

As we drove down the long driveway, I caught myself looking over my shoulder several times. Thank goodness, neither Debbie nor Carol noticed.

I found it interesting that the further we drove away from the house, the more relaxed and chatty Carol became. By the time we pulled into the parking lot of the hotel, she was her old self again. After she put the car in park, she turned, smiled, and asked, “Well, we still have three more houses to see. What time should I pick you up in the morning?”

Debbie turned around and with a questioning look on her face, asked, “I thought we had agreed … anyway, if it were up to me I think we have found our house. Frank, what do you think?”

“Well, Hon, I agree that it had many of the features that we were interested in, but I’m a little concerned with the age of the house, you know, upkeep and maintenance issues, as well as the two old small baths. Another thing, that yard is going to require a lot of work. I thought we were finding a place where we could relax. Anyway, I just have a feeling we’ll be putting a lot of money into something that we won’t be able to get out of it later.” I glanced up at Carol in time to see the look of concern on her face. “What do you think, Carol,” I asked while trying to make eye contact with her, “is there anything we should know about the mountain home that would help us make up our minds?”

Carol didn’t reply immediately. After several moments of staring down at the floorboard, she turned and looked me directly in the eyes. “Yes, there is something.” She cleared her throat and continued, “I have heard some rumors …, and, when I originally heard them, I laughed them off as old-wives tales. But, after walking through that house today, I am not so certain anymore.”

I noticed her shoulders sag a little as she looked down at her hands. “Has it anything to do with the shutters and doors,” I asked.

Carol glanced up and nodded.

“And, the gouges on the shutters and doors,” I continued.

“Gouges … what gouges,” Debbie asked.

Carol sighed and her facial muscles relaxed a little. “Yes … I thought you saw them. I wanted to say something right away, but you were both so excited about the house … and … you kept on telling me how perfect it was. When I first walked into the house, I just thought I was reacting to the rumors, but the longer I was in ‘that house’ … well … the more I began to wonder if the rumors were true. I’m sorry. I know I am not making much sense right now, but I just don’t know anymore. There is something creepy about ‘that house’.”

I glanced at Debbie and saw for the first time today a frown on her face. Her eyes darted back and forth between Carol’s eyes and my own. She swallowed hard, reached back and took my hand in hers, and asked, “Tell us about the rumors, Carol.”

“No one has lived in the house for over twenty years,” Carol began. “It is my understanding that the previous owners just disappeared. No one knows what happened. One day they were there, the next they weren’t. When a member of the family called several times and finally stopped by, he contacted the sheriff. When the sheriff went out to investigate, he found the entire house locked up tighter than a drum. And, every window had the shutters closed and locked. He also noticed that several windowpanes were broken. The situation was suspicious enough to have a locksmith come out and open the front door.”

Now totally engrossed in the story, Debbie interrupted, “What happened to them? Were they dead?”

Carol shook her head, “No, as I mentioned earlier, the two of them just disappeared. There was no sign of them anywhere. Even more strange, all of the deadbolts and shutters were locked from the inside … that is … all except for the basement door.” She looked down at her hands for several moments before continuing. “The sheriff found that door open. Actually, the sheriff said the door had been knocked off its hinges. That was when he noticed the gouges – several deep gouges, like claw marks, were on the basement side of the door.” I noticed Carol’s body shudder as she recounted this last detail.

My God, maybe it really wasn’t my imagination running wild.

While Carol continued with the story, Debbie squeezed my hand harder and harder until I lost circulation in my fingers. When I tried to let go, she shook her head and squeezed even tighter. “No way,” she commented, but this time with less enthusiasm. That sounds too much like a Halloween story to scare some kids.” She looked over at Carol and asked, “So what do you think really happened?”

The expression on Carol’s face reflected that she believed the story. “All I can tell you is what my boss told me and what I read in the newspapers. My boss said that this is the reason why no one locally has snatched the house up. It is beautiful, the property is great, and the price is right; but no one will touch it.” Carol paused again for a moment to collect her thoughts before continuing. “Anyway, after several years the family eventually petitioned the courts to declare the couple dead. A few years later, they decided to put the property on the market. Because no one had lived in it for so long, and because none of the family would live in it, they hired a contractor to refurbish the entire house and yard … including putting new locks on the doors … even the door to the basement.”

Debbie interrupted, “Frank, what did you mean when you asked Carol about the gouges? How did you know about them?”

I questioned how much I should tell her, but felt she needed to know more to help corroborate Carol’s story. I looked into her eyes and replied, “I saw them, Hon. Actually, I touched them. The gouges were on several of the shutters – both upstairs and down.” I looked up at Carol before making my final comment, “The ones on the basement door looked fresh.”

Debbie ripped her hand out of mine, swung her arm at me, and nailed me hard on the right bicep. It hurt. “Why didn’t you say something while we were there,” she challenged.

As I rubbed my arm, I shook my head and commented, “I probably should have, but the house and especially the property were just so … perfect. Anyway, I also thought I was overreacting and didn’t want you to laugh at me. I kept on telling myself that the previous owners must have had a big dog.” I reached out and took her hand again, “I’m sorry. I should have said something right away, but you were so excited about the house – telling me how perfect it was. I think we both wanted it so bad that we weren’t thinking logically.”

Her nostrils flared for a moment. “I knew it! I knew there was something wrong when we ran into each other at the front door. The look on your face was something I had never seen before. Frank, I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me.”

Debbie’s forehead wrinkled and the eyes showed a different kind of determination as she turned to face Carol. “I just find the story preposterous. The house is 165 years old. How about the owners before the last ones, did they disappear too?”

Carol didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded her head.

“What,” Debbie yelled. “Oh, come on, this whole thing is just ridiculous! I’m sorry, Carol, but I just don’t believe you. I think someone is pulling your leg and you fell for it.” She turned and looked at me for support. “This sounds as crazy as that story I was reading you in the garage about that family who just disappeared from their farm back in 1897. What was the name of the farm again, Frank?”

“The Webster Farm,” I replied.

Carol looked back and forth between the two of us with a worried look on her face. She finally commented, “I hate to tell you this Debbie, but the place we just looked at is called the [b]Webster Farm![/b]”