The “Love House”, named such by the last family who lived in the two-storied white frame house, was only a mile out of town. But Larry and I didn’t want to be seen walking south out of town on Farm-to-Market Road 148. Most of the citizens of Crandall, TX knew Larry Dickerson and the preacher’s son would be up to no good.
We knew if we went down the gravel road known to locals as Number 5, we could quickly come to Buffalo Creek, the same creek that ran alongside the old Love’s place. It was a lot further, but amid the tall and thick cottonwoods, elms and oaks that ran along creek, it would be a lot more private.
The journey was further than we imagined and we were bushed when we arrived. But the excitement of exploring a haunted house supplied enough adrenaline to keep us going.
First, we investigated the house. Nothing spooky. Just an abandoned, dusty house that displayed signs of other curious visitors. Beer cans, cigarette butts and graffiti. Bored, we decided to look around the outside of the house. We found the water well in the back of the yard. Our imaginations told our eyes before they adjusted to the darkened expanse there was a body floating 20 feet below in the water. But our eyes adjusted and the excitement faded with the growing reality that the house wasn’t as spooky as reported. At least not in daylight.
Discouraged, I suggested we return to the house and at least break out some windows before we left. As we were walking beside the house we saw it. It was scarier than ghosts, more dreadful than monsters, more shocking than dead bodies floating in an old well.
We both froze, hoping that we had not been seen. But the Sheriff’s car continued up the long, gravel drive towards the house.
“Run, Larry, run!” I shouted as I turned and ran towards the barbed-wire fence along the back of the property. I didn’t know if I could outrun a deputy, by my goal was to outrun Larry. I could always outrun Larry.
The fence was coming up quickly. There was no decision for me. I dove onto the weeded ground and rolled my small frame under the bottom strand of wire.
You think you know things at times like this. I thought I knew Larry, with his awkward, tall, skinny frame was a step or two behind me. Without looking, I could imagine his running, knees and elbows flying in every unproductive direction. I knew he would see my stunt-move roll under the fence and copy it. And I hoped I knew that no Kaufman County deputy would chase beyond the fence.
After rolling clear of the fence, I looked up and saw Larry running ahead of me. I followed him into the creek bottom and we found a good nest to look back for the deputy and catch our winds. My guess is the officer never got out of the car. He had accomplished his objective by just driving up to the house.
“Larry, did you jump that fence?” I asked after sucking in enough air to speak.