Inez Street…and It Continues

After the vacation and the police reports filed showed the police seeing a child’s hand in the window, my mom went to the neighbor next to us. We decided to move. My mom was in the process of finding another place (eventually Painter Ave) and packing us up to scoot butt out of there. My nana came down to help my mom pack. I would love to say us, but let’s be serious, I was not much help. Too young. My nana told me the story of the packing:

We were packing up and nana was packing the kitchen while my mom was packing the closet. My nana said as she was packing, my mom let out a hell of a scream. My nana ran to her and found her looking like she saw a ghost. Just standing there. The broom my mom was using was tossed in front of her. My mom pointing at the broom. My nana asked “What the hell is wrong, Toby?” My mom looked at my nana and said:

“That is my broom.”

My nana looked at her and my mom said “My first broom. The one I had to replace because it went missing. I was sweeping with my new broom. Put it against the wall. Packed the rest of our shoes and grabbed for the broom. It is my old one.”

I asked my nana if it was possible that my mom had just found the old broom?! She said it was possible but that does not explain how they packed the whole house and the new broom never was found.

As my nana was walking back to the kitchen, she saw a child’s shadow in the kitchen and the blender turned on. My nana thinking it was me, sighed and entered the kitchen. The blender was going and the shadow ran out the other side of the kitchen and a kid was giggling. My nana turned off the blender and went out after the shadow and into my room. She yelled at me for messing around. She said I looked so confused. She was standing there talking to me when the blender came back on. She ran to the kitchen. The dogs were howling outside. She went to turn off the blender again when she noticed that the cord was rolled up and not plugged in. She had begun to pack it. It had always been unplugged.

On the way out of the house, the dogs had to be lifted over the fence as they refused to enter the house. We moved and never looked back.

A few years later, my friend who lived in the front house had tragedy hit. Her brother was in the backyard which was next to our old house. He was out in there with his wife and two kids. He got into a fight with his wife. He walked in the house, grabbed a shotgun and killed his wife point blank in front of the kids. He is serving in jail still, I believe. He was a super nice guy. Not violent at all. I really do not believe that he was in his right head at the time. His wife was screaming at the kids. Why is that important? It is because….

Research and Follow-up


In my old house, there was a murder. A single father lost his mind with the stress of being a single father. He took a belt and he beat his son to death…in my mom’s room. The spots on the walls were consistent to the blood splatter of the boy, not fly poop. Every incident in the house happened after I had been in trouble for something. If I got yelled at, something happened in the house. When I was whipped with a belt, the gas leak almost killed my mom. My friend’s brother only flipped when his wife (who was not a good person really) was berating the kids AGAIN.

It gets more a tad weird or coincidental (although, I do not believe in coincidences)…

My step dad who would later come to our Painter Ave house from his Utica Ave house, him and his dad had built the Inez St house. His arrival to our house, well, that is another story…and there is a story there too!