This one happened shortly after we arrived in Toronto. Dieter and I were looking for a place to stay and an estate agent showed us one house after another.
The first one was too big and expensive.
The second too far away from public transportation.
The third one was nice, but we spotted cockroaches in the kitchen.
On and on it went and we each passing viewing, we got more desperate.
Finally the estate agent announced that she had found the perfect house for us. Not too big, not too small, clean, affordable, close to public transportation and immediately available.
We held our breath. Would this be the one?
When we arrived at the available property, we gaped and let out an admiring “Oooh”. This house was not just a house, this was something straight out of a fairytale book.
It was similar to the picture, except that it had white washed walls and yellow trimmings.
The inside was just as charming. Hardwood flooring in the hall and living room and ceramic tiles in a spotless rustic kitchen. Upstairs we found three bedrooms and a modern bathroom, all freshly painted. There was still some furniture here and there, but those items would be removed.
I was ready to sign on the dotted line when we heard someone come into the house and up the stairs. The man, who introduced himself as the owner of the house, went from room to room and was clearly looking for something.
“Is something the matter?” the estate agent asked.
“Hm, no,” the man said. “Just looking for Fred and Ginger.”
The agent frowned. “Hamsters? Kittens?”
“Tarantulas,” the man said. “We couldn’t find them when we moved and my son ….”
What the man was going to say about his son I couldn’t tell you, because I already darted down the stairs with Dieter in my wake.
This fairytale house had suddenly turned into a place of horror.