About two years ago my family of three finally found the home of our dreams

or at least that's what it seemed like on the outside.

It had an enormous backyard that was almost out of a fairy tale.

It was obvious that it hadn't been tended to in years, but it was almost elegant.

The front yard and the home itself was simple and quaint,

giving off an almost European architecture style.

A home like this would usually cost at least a million dollars, but we got lucky,

grabbing it at almost 70% off that price.

A motivated seller for sure, which made me and my wife curious

about what made the seller so eager to get it off their hands.

Mold, asbestos in the walls, maybe annoying neighbors, or maybe it was because it was in such a quiet little town.

Whatever the case, we weren't exactly scared away by ridiculous little things that could be fixed or ignored, especially when it was at such a good price.

The moment we moved into the home, only weeks after we signed all the papers, it had an odd aura to it, almost as if as soon as you put your foot within the entrance,

your hair would stand on end,

almost as if the static from thousands of balloons were against your skin.

Odd, sure.

But moving into new homes and such, always had your mind making up crazy things,

since you're not yet used to the environment.

I'm not quite sure if my wife ever felt what I did that first day.

I never asked to be quite honest. I didn't think it mattered.

The one weird thing about our dream home's architecture was that the vents of the home were protruding out from the wall.

In order to let cool there or hot air inside, we had to physically use the small handle to do so.

...