I padded into the bathroom. I wanted a cigarette, but I wasn’t in the mood to get dressed for a smoke. From the doorway, I glanced back at the bedroom. We met a few hours ago on a blind date. After we spent the night dancing and drinking, he was now passed out, snoring. It was time to go home. I left before things became uncomfortable.
He lived in an old house he’d been restoring for the past few years. Seeing it from the inside was a treat—it was one of my favorite houses in the area. He had given me a grand tour before we tumbled into bed.
The house was Queen Anne style, built in the early 1900s. Details within the woodwork, flooring, and fireplace mantels were unbelievable. He was doing an amazing job, and I couldn’t wait to see what it would look like when he finished.
I took a scalding hot shower, letting the bathroom fog until I couldn’t see. It was heaven to stand and let the hot water beat down on me for a bit.
As the steam faded away, I stared into the mirror over the sink and watched with curiosity as a message appeared.
Start searching now. There is money hidden around the house.
I looked around the bathroom. I peeked into the bedroom. My date last night was still sleeping. Was there a camera hidden somewhere?
“Is this a joke or set up for a TV show? How do you know this? Are you a ghost?” I whispered, not wanting to wake him up.
The mirror clouded over, and another message materialized.
This is not a joke. The previous owner stashed money all over the house. Some places are easier to find than others. A few you might have to work at accessing. Go look. I will guide you.
“Why are you telling me this? Where do I start?”
The mirror fogged up again.
Get dressed and start in the basement. I will guide you. My name is Elizabeth.
As I grabbed my clothes, my date stirred in the bed. I put on my clothes from the night before in the living room and found the steps to the basement.
The basement was unfinished, but it was clean. A faint female voice spoke up. In the corner, by the back door. That bookshelf hides an envelope.
I looked around but didn’t see anyone. “Elizabeth? Who are you?”
“I am the wife of the farmer who built this house. We raised our family here. I died after falling down the steps and breaking my neck. The bookshelf, the envelope should be towards the bottom.”
As I searched through the bookshelf, I asked Elizabeth why the previous owner hid money all over the house.
“The previous owner didn’t trust banks. His children thought he was unstable and tried to force him to leave, but he refused.”
I found the envelope stashed between two encyclopedias. It was yellow with age and taped up well.
“Look in the crawl space under the stairs. There should be another envelope.”
“Why are you telling me this? How did you discover the hiding place of all this money? I whispered.
“My husband grieved for me before moving away. I’m unable to leave, and am a guardian, if you will, of the house. The previous owner hid his money during the time he lived here.”
I allowed that to sink in before I asked, "Is my date from last night aware of you? Does he know about the money stashes?”
“He has heard rumors. I do not know whether he knows the full history of the house or is aware of my existence. I’ve never made myself known to him. I suspect the previous owner was aware of me, but he was unstable; he didn’t trust banks.”
Elizabeth guided me elsewhere in the basement, to a loose floorboard in the kitchen, then to a small closet in the hallway. That one I had to stand on tiptoe to reach. Each one had a sealed business-size envelope. Each one was bulging with what I guessed was cash.
The final envelope was behind a loose upstairs baseboard in another bedroom. Elizabeth said there was more, but my lover from the night before was stirring. I thanked her and let myself out the back door. The money was heavy in my purse. I wondered how much I had found and what was still in the house.
Lighting a much-needed cigarette, I ordered an Uber and started looking up any history of the house that I hadn’t already read about.
There was a lot out there via newspaper articles, neighborhood associations, even Wikipedia, including more about the previous owner. As Elizabeth had said, he never trusted banks, and after his wife passed away, his mental state turned to mush. He never told his children that he hid money anywhere. It made them unhappy that he left them only the house. They sold the house and split the money earned from the sale.
Elizabeth’s husband built the house around the turn of the previous century. He raised his family there and lived to be one hundred years old. Elizabeth died in her sixties after slipping and falling down the stairs. None of the articles I read mentioned that her spirit lingered in the house. My date from last night didn’t know about her. I wondered why she could not leave.
I double-checked the money to confirm the amount. It was enough for me to do whatever I wanted for the rest of my life. I knew then that I wanted to buy the house from my lover and finish what he had started.