When I bought my stepmom’s late mother’s hoarder house, I knew it would take years to transform. What I didn’t expect was that, after pouring my heart, soul, and savings into restoring it, my stepmom would show up demanding the house back.
I stepped into the house, and the smell of mildew, old food, and something sour I couldn’t place hit me. The front door barely opened because piles of junk were pressed against it.
Shoes, newspapers, and empty boxes spilled into the entryway, and I had to push my way inside. Every surface was covered by layers of random junk. I couldn’t see where the living room ended, or even where to put my feet.
“This is worse than I thought,” I muttered to myself, standing frozen in the chaos.
My stepmom, Karen, stood behind me, her arms crossed. “Yeah, it’s a disaster,” she said flatly. “That’s why no one wants it. Too much work. But you said you were looking for a house, and this one’s cheap.”
The house had belonged to her late mother, who’d been a hoarder for decades. Karen and her siblings didn’t want to deal with the mess, so they decided to sell. She made the offer casually one afternoon. “If you can clean it up, it’s yours for $20,000,” she’d said.
It sounded like a steal at the time—six bedrooms, four and a half bathrooms, and a massive yard. I had just turned 26 and dreamed of owning my own home. I thought, How bad could it really be?
Standing in that disaster, I got my answer.
“You’re sure everything’s included?” I asked, turning to her.
Karen nodded. “Everything. The house, the junk, whatever’s in here. We don’t want it. You figure it out.”
