Home Sweet Home
I moved into a new apartment, a fantastic four-bedroom, two-bathroom attic affair on Lake Como, only a few minutes from Clooney's Villa. And it was really cheap, too! I was so thrilled with it that I moved in before the electricity was turned on, bringing along a few dozen candles and a bottle of champagne to camp out on the living room floor.
I was just finishing my third glass of celebratory bubbles when I heard a huge crash from the bedroom. I jumped but was not scared, thinking it was just the apartment settling. I grabbed one of the candles and went to have a look.
The huge chandelier hanging over the bed had fallen and smashed into a million pieces -- seemingly for no reason. I started to panic, but only because I was thinking about how much the damn thing was probably worth and how much it would cost to replace. I was only leasing the place; nothing in it belonged to me.
I was about to call the landlord and inform him about what happened when I heard another loud crash, this time from the living room. I rushed to see what had happened, but my brain put it all together even before I opened the door.
The chandelier in the living room had fallen and shattered exactly on the spot where I had been sitting only moments before.
I was still dazed at the door, cell phone in hand, when the candles started to stream as if in a strong wind. A loud buzzing noise rose all around me, and the doors started to slam, reopen, and slam again. Then the windows imploded.
I must have fainted, because I woke up in hospital. A nurse came over and told me not to worry, I only had a few cuts and bruises. I asked how I had gotten there and she said Mr. Tanzi (my land lord) had brought me.
When he came to visit me the next day, he looked a little guilty and ashamed. He said that I had called him in the middle of the night and he had heard things banging and smashing and my screams and had rushed over. He had found me on the floor, covered in glass and blood and the apartment was as if a bomb had gone off.
I tried to tell him what I had witnessed, but he would not listen. He said I owed him 4000 Euros for the damage and the lease had been revoked -- but he was pale and trembling a little, as if he knew something but was afraid to say it. I didn't complain though. I didn't want to step in that apartment ever again and if I had to pay not to see it again, then fine.
I left the hospital a few days later and moved in with my boyfriend. But I did my homework. I found another man who had leased the old apartment before me, and went to see him. He said he had only spent one night in the apartment, but he did not want to talk about it. He was not very cooperative but I don't blame him; he was in a mental institution just over the border in Switzerland, in treatment for post-traumatic shock and paranoia.
