I keep going back and forth on whether to post this.

Part of me thinks writing it out will help me process it, and part of me thinks I sound like

a lunatic, but...

Whatever. Here goes.

I do clean-outs for a living.

Foreclosures, mostly.

Some abandoned rentals, a couple of hoarder situations a year, basically once a bank or a landlord

takes a property back and they call guys like me to go in and we just get everything out

so they could sell it or they could rent it again.

It's not glamorous work.

Most days, it's just garbage bags and trying not to gag.

See a lot of sad stuff, you know, family photos, people left behind kid toys.

One time a dog crate with the door still zips shut.

I want to talk about that one.

Point is, I've been in a lot of empty houses.

I've never had anything happen that I couldn't explain.

That is, until three weeks ago.

This place was a foreclosure.

Been empty at least a year, probably more.

Had that wet wood smell that houses get when nobody runs the heat for a while. There's no power.

Windows were grimy, barely see through them. It's standard stuff, honestly. I've seen way

worse. It was working the upstairs bedrooms, tiny closet in the back bedroom, barely big

...