‘When I opened the suitcase, I fell backwards and screamed’
Our new house had once been the home of a ferry boat captain and his family. The previous owners requested that we dispose of anything left behind. “We’re going to find a body,” I told my husband as we considered the piles and piles of things in the den, the garage and the attic.
It took a year of remodelling the house before I finally got around to sorting through the sheds. There was a lot of rotting junk: mouse-eaten baseball caps, a wooden bat, old cassette tapes and a very large suitcase. When I opened the suitcase, I fell backwards and screamed. My husband and neighbour came running up the driveway. It was a body in two parts: a full head of hair, arms, hands and a torso in one half; legs and feet in track pants and sneakers in the other. Both halves wore an Adidas tracksuit.
We peered inside to get a better look. She was a full-size resuscitation doll, probably used to train ferry personnel in first aid and rescue. My husband looked at me, his mouth wide open and his eyebrows raised. “I told you so,” I said. BL, Washington, US
‘They were perfectly, disgustingly beautiful’
I moved into the house in 2006, but it took me almost 10 years to venture properly into our loft. It had been partly floored already, but I needed to finish the job to create an arts studio for my studies.
The loft was completely empty, or so I thought. After poking about, I found a carrier bag wedged in the roof. Inside were about 10 pairs of old, worn-out, 1970s-style Y-fronts. The discovery amused and disgusted me. One pair had a logo that said “Half Way Inn”; another, in white, had a grubby brown colour on the front. I kept the four best pairs and put them on display in the studio. The pants would be horrible to most people, but they fascinated me and made me laugh. They were perfectly, disgustingly beautiful.
A couple of years after the discovery, I started dating. My boyfriend did not understand my fascination with the pants – he is the opposite of me and very conventional. When we decided to move in together, he strongly made the point that I wasn’t allowed to bring them. It was him or the pants. I did consider hiding them. Oonagh, Angus, UK
‘Our discovery explained the guilt-ridden prayer-meeting notes’
My husband and I bought a property a few years ago from a couple. When we first visited the home, the wife was wearing an unmissable gold cross. She took charge of the viewing while her husband seemed relegated to the garage.
After the couple moved out, we found a Bible sitting on an out‑of-the-way shelf in the garage. I flicked through it and found a folded sheet of paper with details of a prayer meeting. It belonged to the husband of the cross-clad former owner of the house. Written on the sheet of paper were the words: “Why I am at this prayer meeting today,” to which he had scribbled the response: “Because I always feel guilty.”
Some months later, we noticed a blackbird flying in and out of the garage. It was building a nest and we wanted to see whether eggs had been laid. My partner went inside and climbed up a ladder. They had nested in a hard-to-reach corner. Next to the nest sat a smartphone. After we charged the phone up and switched it on, a ransomware notice flashed up, naming the prayer-meeting husband as the owner of the phone. Being fairly tech-savvy, it didn’t take too much effort to remove the ransom notice – and we were presented with a browser page dedicated to hirsute elderly women, featuring a dozen or so photos of ladies enjoying themselves. This appeared to explain his guilt-ridden prayer‑meeting notes. Anonymous
‘Two weeks after the dog ate the mystery meat, my mum got a phone call’
When I was in my 20s, with a newborn, I moved back to a flat my mum owned. She had rented it out to another woman who had recently given birth. They only lived there for six months, but they had made their mark on the place: their dogs had eaten the cushions off the sofa; it was a real mess.
While cleaning, I found a carrier bag in the freezer that looked like a lump of liver. I’m a vegetarian, so I don’t know what different cuts of meat look like. We had a dog, so we put the mystery meat outside in the back garden and he ate it. We didn’t think anything of it, then two weeks later my mum got a phone call. It was the previous tenant, who said she had accidentally left her placenta behind and asked for it back. Mum didn’t tell her the dog ate it – she said it had been thrown away. You wouldn’t expect such an important thing to be left behind in the freezer … Melissa, Pembrokeshire, UK
‘I’m so glad I had cleaning gloves on’
In 1986, I bought my first flat. While clearing out the fitted wardrobes that came with it, I found a loose carrier bag tucked underneath a drawer. I opened it up and inside was an item that I thought looked like a man’s willy. I was right. On further inspection, I realised it was a used, battery-operated vibrator. I’m so glad I had cleaning gloves on.
My elderly mum was with me when I discovered the bag. I said: “Oh, that can go in the bin.” Unaware of its contents, my mum replied: “She probably doesn’t realise she’s left that and might want it back. You should ring her.” After some back and forth, I showed her my discovery. She looked for a minute and then said: “Oh good God! Your father can take it to the tip.” I shoved it into a black bag with lots of other things that needed to go. Dad never knew what was inside. Sally, Wiltshire, UK
‘I had never handled explosives before’
I moved into an old farmhouse with my wife and her daughter in the early 1970s. The previous owner lost his temper a lot in our dealings with him; if we said something he didn’t like, he would raise his voice and put his fist up in the air. He frightened the wits out of my solicitor and I kept my contact with him as low as possible.
When we moved into the house, he still had his animals and possessions in the outbuildings. When he finally took his stuff with him, I had a look around. In the dark corner of a room, lit by a single naked bulb, I found an old cardboard box labelled Nobel – the name of an explosives manufacturer with a factory nearby. I was pretty sure what I was going to find when I opened it. The box contained three or four sticks of explosives and detonators that looked brand new.
I had never handled explosives before, so I phoned the police. It took them three hours to find me. When they arrived, I showed them what I had found and they said: “Oh yes, those are explosives,” and off they went. The next day, the bomb-disposal squad arrived, in a Morris Traveller, of all things, to remove the items. One of them returned from the outbuilding with the box and a broad smile on his face. I found out later that the explosives had started to become unstable; they would have gone off with a nasty bang if they had detonated. Alan, Wales, UK
‘I left it out for the bin men, but I was worried they might think it was mine’
In 1996, I moved into a house with my daughter. The previous owners, a couple with two children, were portly and eccentric. They left in such a rush that some things were forgotten. While cleaning out a cupboard in the master bedroom, I found a surprising item lodged on a top shelf: a flesh-coloured rubber sex suit made for two people. It was stuffed into its original packaging – after, I assume, being taken for a test run; it didn’t look pristine.
It was a very odd sex item. It had instructions on the front on how to rub your bits together. Vibrators are one thing; full-body sex suits are another. Given their plump stature, I wasn’t sure how they would have got into it, never mind out of it. It certainly would have restricted blood supply. I left it out for the bin men, but I was worried they might think it was mine. They’re always asking for a tip, but who knows why. Maybe they’re after some hush money. NT, London, UK
‘I laughed out loud with surprise and a kind of horror’
Twenty years ago, I bought a charming home, but the inside was a neglected mess. I soon found myself on my knees in the bathroom, washing around the back of the toilet, when I encountered a small, crumpled package tucked out of sight. It was a handkerchief tied around something. My heart thumped wildly. Could they be jewels?
Sadly not. I unfolded it and gasped to see five long, yellowy-brown teeth filled heavily with gold. I laughed out loud with surprise and a kind of horror. The estate agent gave me a forwarding address, so I wrote a note to the previous owners telling them of my find, but I never received a reply. I popped the teeth into a glass jar, thinking one day I would do something with them.
I later sold the home and moved out of town. While at my local shopping centre, I saw a stall buying gold. I knew what I could sell. I tumbled the teeth on to the counter. The girl behind the till wasn’t fazed; she’d seen it all before. “Are they your father’s teeth?” she asked. “God, no,” I said, shocked at the suggestion. She got out some heavy-duty pliers and began crushing the teeth to separate the gold from the enamel. She put the nuggets on the scales and offered me A$60 for the lot. I quickly refused, as that seemed like a real rip-off. Years later, the remains of the golden teeth are still in that glass jar. Silda, Sydney, Australia
‘The pennies weren’t so much a goodwill wish as an attempt at poltergeist protection’
I was ecstatic when my family and I moved to an old Victorian-era house on Long Island. After moving in, I noticed that the previous owners had left pennies on all the window sashes. I had no idea what it meant, but since they were nice people, I figured it was a gesture of goodwill on their part, representing good wishes for our future in the house.
Several years later, as I was getting ready for bed, I heard a cacophonous racket in the attic above – the noise of someone stomping up and down and throwing boxes and furniture around. I sent my husband up to see what was going on and he found nothing: no one there; not a single item out of place. At that point, the word “poltergeist” popped into my mind. I’m not afraid of ghosts; I was charmed by the thought that we were sharing our new (old) house with one.
Now, I think the pennies weren’t so much a goodwill wish as an attempt at poltergeist protection. It’s still a mystery to me. Nancy, New York, US
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