Before I found my current house (I'm thinking of starting a picture thread of it because i love it so much, I hope no one finds that braggy or anything...I just really love my house and want to share it with you all!) I saw one house that, in the bathroom, there was a long, straight, narrow staircase and right at the top was...the toilet. It was super narrow too; barely more than the width of the toilet tank, making sitting on the can a very precarious perch. I couldn't even remotely imagine trying to navigate those stupid stairs at 3 in the morning, half-asleep, blurred vision from not having contact lenses in...I'd fall and break my neck, beyond a shadow of a doubt.
I looked at another place that umm...well...It's hard to explain. Right away walking in, you could tell what the story was. A paranoid old lady had lived there, probably alone, was sick of a long time and probably died there. It was a very small house and had not been cleared out by the previous owner's family. Everything was exactly as it had been. The decor hadn't been updated since the '60s, the closets were packed with old-lady clothes. There was a super heavy-duty alarm system and heavy steel bars and shutters over all the windows. There was a hospital bed in the living room, empty pill bottles all over the place, a bowl inexplicably filled with what had to have been a thousand keys, and the house had no basement...just a creepy trapdoor serial-killer dirt cellar. The entire house had the creepiest, most uncomfortable vibe of ANY house I'd ever been in in my entire life. I told my parents that if I bought that place, my power bill would be through the roof because I'd NEVER shut the lights off.
I get the jibblies just remembering. Ugh.