We have been living in this house for a long time. Not really a handyman special but lots of work went on to make it our home. The fridge broke first week we moved in. The oven had been cleaned with who-knows-what: We thought we had a gas leak and called fire department.
Gone-with-the-wind wallpaper! Murky dark paneling, except in the back bedroom. There each wall was covered differently, one with wallpaper, two with paneling (one wall dark the other oak light) and one with fake linen. The room had a depressive feel to it. The renovations started in that back room.
An old man lived there. Not really lived, but his spirit did. He smelled slightly of tobacco, but not a heavy smoker. Slightly of moist wool jacket, but not really wet. I smelled him often. I heard him walk in the room. It was not scary. Not comforting, but not scary. One night my son said: “Did you know that on old man died here?” No, I did not. Neither did any of our neighbors. We could not ask the previous owners since we did not know them. So we lived with him in peace. Even after the room was completely done, he lingered. We told him to go the white light. He did not listen.
Ten years ago we opened the back door from the kitchen and built a sunroom. Just like a miracle, he left.