Last House On The Right

When the weaver and I were starting out, we lived in a small concrete house on the fringe of the warehouse/industrial area of North Minneapolis. Our landlord lived next door, in a somewhat shabby duplex. They moved out and we moved in, eager to live in a "real" house. That house was real alright, with dozens of doors leading to strange, odd little rooms and additions. On the second floor was a porch, used mostly for storage, that had an irregular hole in its ceiling- an entrance to the attic above. When winter rolled around, I thought it prudent to see if there was any insulation in the attic area. Of course there was none. There was, however, a huge pile of old liquor bottles. Some of those bottles went back to the prohibition era, with the disclaimer "For Medicinal Use Only" neatly printed on the label.

Later on, we learned from an old neighbor (who had lived for years in a house that was on the other side of the back fence) a little more about our property. It seems that in the twenties and thirties, before our landlord owned it, that house had a bit of a reputation- our neighbor told us of seeing young men going in the back bedroom (our bedroom) to see a "horse-faced woman", she didn't elaborate. Parties and perhaps a little "tippling" went on there, and of course we did our best to uphold those traditions.

Later on we actually bought those properties with a group of friends (mostly in the music biz) and ultimately ended up selling it for 'urban renewal' years later. There were no ghosts, it was just an old house that served its tenants well for over a hundred years.