They Come Out Over There

My family owns two rent houses on Wedington, close to campus. These houses are maybe a block and a half from each other, and my sophomore year, when we first picked them up, we put ten fraternity members between both houses. 1627 Wedington prospered. I lived in 1915. It self destructed. Horror stories. They made a movie about it. It was called Avatar. They took some liberties with the plot.

I moved out of 1915 last spring and five younger members moved in. They prospered. I guess I'm the social disease. That's what the newspapers call me, when I practice vigilante justice anonymously.

Four late twentysomething guys have been living in 1627; Eugene, the guy I pick up rent from, works as a chef in Springdale. Each time I pick up the rent we talk about comic books. He's moving out in May, though. I don't know if I can find a better renter.

I took some fraternity brothers to 1627 on Thursday so they could tour the house. Eugene wasn't there, but he said his roommate Tripp would be. Tripp would give us the tour in Eugene's stead. When we pulled into the driveway at 1627, there was a man on the porch, shirtless and smoking. He was skinny, but it was an ugly skinny, like the skin was sagging down. He had multiple color tattoos on his shoulders. He was high as a kite.

As we approached and I explained what was happening, Tripp panicked. He stood up quickly and began pacing the patio, looking into the window. After he didn't respond to my question about touring, I said we could come back later. He asked us if we were cool, and when I said, yes, we are cool, he agreed to show us the house.

Because of his behavior, I was expecting the worst, but the house was actually much cleaner than it ever was when it was a BYX house. It's fully carpeted - even the bathrooms and the kitchen - but the carpet was still white, and there was no clutter. There were only a few mysterious moments: once, when Tripp opened then slammed shut his closet and said we weren't allowed to look in there, and then multiple times when we passed Andy's room. Andy's room had a sign that said, "DANGER: ANDY'S ROOM," and whenever we passed it Tripp would say, "That's Andy's room. You're not allowed in." And he would be completely serious.

He said this probably three or four times, and I honestly don't think he knew he was repeating himself. This happened a lot. We would walk into the bathroom for the third time, and he would give the same exact speil, which was really enthusiastic. Apparently, Tripp really loves the house, and it came out in his tour. He especially loved the bathroom, and the push button flush toilet, which he showed us probably four times. Each time it was like it was brand new.

I forgot to tell you this: he never put on a shirt. It never occurred to him.

After we finished the house and the backyard, Josh, one of my brothers on the tour, asked Tripp about the quirks of the house. He said that in his current house (1915), there are some funny spots, like warped floors or no garbage disposal. Without stopping to think, Tripp said loudly, "We have baggoos of ghosts!" We said nothing, flabbergasted. There was nothing I could think of to explain that comment. I think he could feel we didn't understand, or at least didn't believe him, because next he pointed behind him at an air conditioning vent and said, "They come out over there."