Moving On

As an anxious introvert which an extreme penchant for procrastination, the idea of packing up all of my belongings and transferring them to a new address is moderately disconcerting. What will my neighbors think of me? What if I can’t afford the house? What if someone breaks into the garage, sneaks upstairs and decides my rather beautiful hind-quarters look ripe for a buggering? Where will I buy my groceries!?

Despite my completely reasonable and founded fears, I’ve spent the last week or so first preparing for and then actually performing a move from a smallish two bedroom apartment to a much larger three bedroom townhouse. Throughout the arduous process, I learned several important details about moving that I want to share with the world to ease the transition for others.

1.Invite Friends

No matter the task, it is always nicer to have additional hands to help. Look at the pyramids, through a set of mutually agreed upon goals, a group of like–minded individuals came together and did something great.

Also, I personally believe that if two spouses are left to the task alone then one of them shall surely perish. No two people should be subjected to hours of arguing with each other, saying things like, “is that all you’re carrying?” and, “stop dropping your fucking end!”

So, if you have friends assisting in the move, you will likely be on your best behaviour and avoid spousal confrontations. You will be able to shave hours of moving time off of the ordeal and postpone the inevitable murder/suicide culmination to your relationship for a few more years. Possibly.

2.Prepare For The Move Prior To The Move

Do not, under any circumstances, leave it to the day of the move to start packing your personal belongings into boxes. For my move, I was well prepared, I had collected a forests worth of apple boxes from a nearby Safeway and had been packing bit by bit for several weeks.

This masterful level of preparation pales in contrast to several of the occasions in which I have been asked to help friends move. One particular time, a friend (Bob) and I responded another friend’s (Not Bob) plea for help moving out of his house on the first of the month.

We arrived to find nothing in boxes. Literally, nothing was packed. The silverware was still in the drawers, the coats still hung in the closet and the blu-rays sat, dusty and forgotten, on the shelves.

I looked at Bob and we shared a moment of telepathic rage. Was Not Bob kidding? As it turned out, Not Bob was not kidding. He handed Bob and I each a box and directed us to start in the kitchen.

“Sorry,” Not Bob said. “My stupid wife was lazy and didn’t pack. Also, we only have about ten boxes. Did you guys bring any?”

3.Make Certain The House Isn’t Haunted Before To Moving In

My partner and I accepted our new home without actually seeing it first. That probably seems very stupid but we had a family member who acted as an intermediary who assured us of its quality.

Luckily, it is a lovely home and if it weren’t for one tiny little factor, I would be ecstatic. The issue that has arisen is that after the first two nights here, I’ve come to believe the house is haunted.

Like all good horror movies, the terror is starting small. I keep finding that things have been moved around without my knowledge. For example, I set some clean laundry on top of the washing machine and left to get something. When I returned the clothes were on the ground. Now, it is entirely possible that I was simply lazy and dropped the clothes at my feet but don’t you think it is also possible, perhaps even certain, that a malevolent spirit has started to taunt me and knocked the clothing on the floor?

There is more, of course. At night, once I’m lying in bed, I can hear the creaks and groans of the house as the terrible force that resides within move about. The garbage disposal in the kitchen sink yawns invitingly at me, as if some force is compelling me to see if my hand would actually fit inside. I don’t trust it and I’m committed to keeping a cautious distance from its hungry mouth. Even now, from the furnace room, I can hear a steady rumble as if some tentacled Old God is about to burst forth.

My partner is not immune to the negative forces at work here, either. I can see the gleam in her eyes. The pale and clean walls of our abode are infecting her, driving her to watch me with a manic intensity whenever I carry an item within a scant meter or two of the wall surface. I know that if I ever inadvertently scuff any one of them, my partner will assuredly stab me to death in my sleep at the request of these haunted walls.

Please, if I am not heard from again, please know that the house killed me.


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