Just trying to put my house in order

The Amityville Horror: A cursed house or not?
The Amityville Horror: A cursed house or not?
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I’VE never really believed in curses.

The curse of King Tut? We’re talking a well-timed mosquito bite and a few excitable reporters.

The Amityville House of Horrors? Well yes okay, that WAS a little weird...if indeed things happened as they said they did. Please understand I’m not suggesting they made up the green goo pouring down the walls, but if I lived in a house where an entire family had been slaughtered in their beds, my imagination would probably run away with me from time to time too.

Having said that, here it is: my house is cursed. I’m convinced of it. Nothing on the scale of the Amityville house, but a horror show in its own right.

Let me give you a little back story. A year ago my boyfriend asked me to move in with him. Now he – Adam – was a bachelor through-and-through. What I mean by this is, everything in his house was black. His idea of decorating had been to mount monstrous speakers on the living room walls for surround sound and place a black leather mirror (yes really) over the fireplace.

The spare room consisted of an old double bed – on which various friends of his were known to ‘crash’ after too many beers – piled high with computer books, junk mail and something you might generously call ‘ironing.’

The master bedroom consisted of beige walls, beige carpet, plain beige bedding and long brown ‘blackout’ curtains. Horrible. The house also featured red handprints on all the walls from the previous Hallowe’en when Adam, after sampling the punch, somehow ‘forgot’ that he was dressed head-to-toe in red body paint.

No sooner had I dropped my cases into ‘our’ bedroom, than I dragged him to B&Q’s paint aisle and, being the wonderfully understanding guy he is, he didn’t question it. We set about remodelling the bachelor pad together.

I don’t know what we’ve found more soul-destroying: the brand new decking warping thanks to three feet of snow; the new bathroom plumbing leaking on to the newly-painted kitchen walls and ceiling, ruining a door in the process; the newly-installed bath that wouldn’t work for four months; the paper-thin walls which can’t hold the weight of a simple TV mount; the new bed which already creaks loudly every time one of us rolls over in the night; the showers which turn ice-cold if anybody flushes a toilet; the kitchen lights which fall down every time we open a cupboard door, or the garage door which got stuck just last night, leaving us to sit and guard our belongings until 11pm at which point we decided to cut the wires and pull the door down (effectively trapping our belongings for the rest of time).

Then there’s the gorgeous dining room table and chairs which were quickly set upon by our two little kittens who simply adore their new scratching posts. The renovation project has been an absolute nightmare and we’re now at the point where neither one of us can wait to be rid of the place.

I swear, it’s cursed. One-hundred percent, completely and utterly, ‘gates of hell’ CURSED.

But if you come to take a look around once it’s on the market: it’s lovely, we’ll be really sorry to leave.

Honest.