The Attic Film

2017, Milford, Connecticut

It was perfect, a shingle-style home with a Dutch Colonial build. It sat atop a hill at the intersection of Bradduck Avenue and Alter Street. When looking at the front of the house, the room, an attic of sort, was the focal feature. It had a swing out double framed window that was large enough to climb in or out of in an emergency. There were nine rooms total in the house, as well as a raised basement.

Built in 1903, it listed for $1,500,000.00 at the current market value. That put it way out of her price range, but it did not deter her from making an offer, an unserious, sight unseen, low-ball offer. She ignored every alarm, every red flag, and every “Danger, Will Robinson” that screamed at her as she took possession of the keys. Her name was Avora Willis, and she couldn’t wait to get home and tell her wife, Blanka, of their good fortune.

They were apartment dwellers, always had been. But it was time to think of moving. They had been legally married for five years and had outgrown the apartment lifestyle. They needed space to expand. Avora hadn’t told Blanka she purchased a house. She would spring the news over dinner that evening. She was eager to see Blanka’s reaction.

They ate at The STONEBRIDGE RESTAURANT that evening and after the meal, Avora sprung the news about the new house on Blanka.

“You what?” she asked with a somewhat bewildered look.

“I know, right? Yes, I did, I mean we did,” she said.

“But baby, we can’t afford a house,” Blanka responded with genuine concern.

“Trust me, it was a steal. I picked up the keys this morning. You’re going to love it.”

Blanka put on a good front, but part of her was furious that Avora would make such a move without consulting her, and yet part of her was just as excited. She would confront her at home that evening about the financial aspect of such a move. She told herself she would remain calm and hold judgement until Avora told her all the details she had so brazenly committed them to.

Later that evening, over a glass of wine, Blanka calmly explained that she was concerned about Avora’s decision to make such a purchase without consulting her. Avora understood and when she finished explaining how the deal went down, how the house listed for over a $1,000,000.00 dollars and she got it for an unserious cash offer of only $80,000.00, Blanka’s concern flew by the wayside. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to see what “they” had purchased. The next morning would prove interesting.

⁂

The initial call was always the hardest to make. It almost always came with news that the house didn’t sell for nearly what they wanted. However, it sold, and that was the important part. The property at 1805 W. Bradduck Avenue was an absolute steal at $1,500,000.00, but they recognized no one in their right mind would pay that much for it. In fact, anyone having done even a cursory search of the history of the property would make an offer of much, much less.

Copeland Realtors had been in business since the early 1900s. The Bradduck House, built in 1906, sold to a family of means. They lived in it for approximately two years. Copeland Realtors brokered a deal to sell the house for a hefty profit to the owner, which was the sole reason for the initial purchase. Everyone made out financially.

The new owners began experiencing strange occurrences early on and complained to Copeland. Their complaints fell on deaf ears, as Copeland flatly refused to believe them. Eventually, the owners told Copeland they were interested in selling. Copeland, seeing dollar signs, drew up the paperwork and put the house on the market. It sat dormant for a few years. They didn’t realize the owner’s feeling a sense of obligation told potential buyers of the strange things they encountered, essentially scaring them away.

When Anton Copeland, the senior partner at Copeland Realtors, found out, he went ballistic and demanded the owners discontinue their righteous plight, saying he would handle all communication with potential clients. The owners agreed, but only after convincing Copeland to buy the house outright from them so they could move on. Copeland agreed and away they went. The house sold a couple of months later for a hefty profit. That was in 1910.

The new owners lived in the house for fifty years. Anton died in 1956 and his son, Anton Junior, took over operations at Copeland Realtors. About a year after Anton Jr. took over, the owners of the Bradduck House approached him and said they were ready to sell. Anton Jr. was all too happy to draw up a contract and put the house on the market. In fact, he was so eager to get them out of the house; he offered them the same deal his father gave to the prior owners. They accepted on the spot and were gone within a couple of days.

Unfortunately, the house went through several owners over the next forty years, and its value was in freefall. Every owner complained of the same thing, strange noises, and when listening closely enough, what sounded like moans, moans like someone was in agony. It was strange. Anton Jr. died in 1987. He was sixty-one years old and passed the torch to his son, Anton Copeland III, who managed the place for the next 30 years.

In June 2017, a lady approached Anton, wanting to make an offer on the Bradduck House. It had sat dormant on the market for a while, listed at $1,500,000.00. He knew he’d never get that and was prepared to accept any reasonable offer. That reasonable offer came in at $1,420,000.00 short of the listed price and he eagerly accepted. A Miss Avora Willis wrote him a check for $80,000.00 and became the proud new owner of the Bradduck House. She was ecstatic.

⁂

The moving truck pulled up to 1805 W. Bradduck Avenue and backed into the driveway. Avora and Blanka had lived frugally for years in an 1100 square foot, one-bedroom apartment. Their combined belongings filled just over half of a 15 foot U-Haul truck. Moving into their new 5500 square foot home would be a breeze. Filling it up with goodies would take some time. That day would be the first time either of the women would see the inside of their new home.

Avora was a nervous wreck. She could barely hold the keys to open the front door. Blanka, forever the calm one, took the keys, gently pushed them into the lock and then turned to Avora and gave her a loving embrace, followed by a short but passionate kiss. And then came the moment of truth. They entered a vast foyer, and both women stopped in their tracks in awe of what they saw.

It was the most beautiful and open entryway imaginable. It felt as though they had traveled 3600 miles across The Atlantic to The Netherlands. The architecture was stunning. Avora reached for her wife’s hand and squeezed hard to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. If what they saw was emblematic of the rest of the house, their $80,000.00 was an excellent investment.

Avora left for work early the next morning. Blanka was off, so she decided she’d discover every inch of the new house. She started with the bedrooms, the kitchen, the laundry, and then…

“Wait, what was that?” she thought.

She thought she heard a sound coming from the attic, approached cautiously and put her ear to the door to listen, but heard nothing. She was just about to admit that she had gotten a brief case of nerves when a cool breeze swept through the hallway. At that point, she began thinking of all sorts of weird things associated with creepy attics. She reluctantly opened the door and stuck her head in, saw nothing out of the ordinary, and stepped inside.

It looked as though whoever lived there before forgot to clean it out. There were tons of goodies to explore. And explore she did. There were old photos and kids’ toys and other family heirlooms. She glanced over in a corner and noticed a box. It looked sort of like a lady’s hatbox. She was so curious, she practically levitated to it. Inside was a bunch of old eight millimeter film on reels. She found a camera in an identical box a few feet away. She also looked for a projector but did not see one. Her curiosity about what may be on the film overwhelmed her, and she packed it all up to take downstairs to inspect later.

She continued rummaging through things for a while longer, but got distracted by the doorbell. She grabbed the two boxes and went downstairs to answer the door. It was Anton Copeland, stopping by to see how they were settling in. He seemed nervous, but she didn’t ask him about it. It appeared as though he was going to great lengths to see if they had noticed anything strange about the house. She told him no and again didn’t ask about his concern. It was as though she and Avora had natural talents for ignoring red flags. They exchanged a few more words, and Anton left.

That night, she told Avora about Anton’s visit and about the camera and film she found in the attic. They were both eager to see what was on it. They thought they’d be able to review the film through the camera, but it turned out not to be the case, nor did they have a light box. So they reverted to the old school method; using a magnifying glass. What they saw was shocking. Suddenly, Blanka remembered how nervous Anton seemed, as she reflected on the ridiculously low price they paid for the house. They were almost afraid to continue looking, but they did.

What they saw on the film was a room with people dressed as doctors hovered around a table. A man was on the table and it appeared they were operating on him. It didn’t appear the man was alive. Regardless, it was a horrifying sight. Even more horrifying was that they seemed to work on him from a room inside the house, but neither Avora nor Blanka could remember seeing a room of the size of the one on the film. Just then, Avora remembered reading that the house had a raised basement.

They searched everywhere but could not find an entry point for the basement, so they called Anton to see if he knew anything about it. That time, Blanka noted how nervous he sounded and confronted him about it. There was something going on and they feared the worst. Anton was of no help, so they continued searching but found nothing. They then set out to find blueprints of the home, and what they found was that someone had covered over the interior entryway to the basement. Ditto for the external entryway. It was time to call in a professional.

There was a reason the Copelands always accepted low-ball offers on a property worth many times what they received.

Bill Ackerman had done many a job at the house over the years and he was very familiar with the layout. That they chose him randomly was sheer coincidence. He came by the following day and told them of the jobs he’d done over the years and put their minds at ease over his qualifications. As they looked at the basement, he voiced his concern about it and the fact that someone had sealed the entrances. He also noted that whomever did the work was likely not a professional.

“Mr. Ackerman, do you think you can get through?” they asked in unison.

“Yes, I can, but are you sure you want to know what’s in there?”

They told him about the film and that they suspected foul play. It seemed to have struck a nerve, as his face turned as white as a sheet.

“Oh my God,” he exclaimed as he turned away from them.

“Do you all know the history of this house?” he asked. “I mean, everyone assumed the stories stemmed from overactive imaginations, but then again, what we’re looking at here is troubling.”

He cut them off as they started asking questions.

“Ladies, I’ll have a crew here in the morning. You should stay away from this area until I return.”

Avora and Blanka searched the history of 1805 W. Bradduck Avenue and what they found was unsettling. No wonder Anton accepted such a low-ball offer. Neither of them could sleep that night.

True to his word, Mr. Ackerman showed up bright and early the next morning with a crew prepared to take out the interior wall. Surprisingly, Anton showed up in an all out panic, bloviating about permits, legal gobbledygook, and this and that. Finally, Blanka told him to get out of the way or she’d call the police. He scurried back to his car and burned rubber as he sped off.

Bill’s crew made quick work of tearing out enough of the wall to make the room accessible, and what it revealed was gut-wrenching. There were bodies upon bodies preserved and stacked from floor to ceiling on makeshift shelving. The newer bodies were likely put there in recent years, probably less than ten. The older ones were in various stages of decomposition. It was a gory sight and the smell alone drove the workers running for fresh air. That was one likely reason for the sealed entrances. The other, of course, was to block entry from curious passersby.

As the investigation got under way, it revealed the Copelands had kept the basement inaccessible to the various homeowners and used a secret entrance via a tunnel to gain access. The basement was actually a lab they used to preserve the bodies of their relatives, dating back to the early 1900s. The experiment was a failure that they were well aware of, but they continued hoping that one day, they’d make the preservation process last much longer.

The city deemed the house uninhabitable and scheduled it to be torn down. The official count of bodies removed, some estimated as young as five years old, some as old as 105ish, was yet to be completed. There was an investigation to determine which living Copeland was involved. Anton was the only one they could identify. They arrested him as he tried to board a plane at New Haven Airport.

Avora and Blanka moved back into their old apartment complex and lived happily ever after. They decided homeownership was not in the cards for them.

KR. Eaton - The Attic Film

Short Stories by K.R Eaton