My kingdom for some salt, or maybe a can of Lysol 

In September 2014, a young couple and their family took a lease on an historic house and property in Hillsborough, North Carolina. With cheap rent and a large yard adjacent to the Eno River surrounded by lush forests and wildlife, the place was a prime location and a dream come true. They called the house Nannie after one of its former residents.

Everything was perfect, or so it seemed.

Shortly after settling in strange things began to happen. Shadowy figures were seen stalking every corner of the house. Eerie forms peered from behind trees and called out to the new tenants. Personal items disappeared never to be found while doors and cabinets opened and closed on their own. 

Unnerved by the events, the couple researched the home only to find a long history of violence and bad luck spanned from colonial times to recent history. From the removal to Native American tribes to violent crimes against people, the property was rife with mad mojo. 

Nine months after moving in they broke their lease, packed up their belongings and left Nannie behind. Before vacating for good they spread salt on every doorway and window and surround the house in a circle of sodium chloride, completing an ancient ritual believed to remove spirits and bad hudu.   

The story was recounted in a 2016 online article appropriately called “We Salted Nannie.” 

Something sinister has been lurking around my house as well. I noticed it a couple of months ago. Like most people, by Thanksgiving my family is in a mad dash to the end of the year. The list of things to do never seems to get shorter. There’s work to wrap up, events to prepare for and holidays to celebrate. 

But instead of the excitement that comes with that magical time of year, I felt weighed down with a burden, a tightness in my chest. It didn’t go away, in fact it spread through my household. By Christmas it had spread to us all. The New Year holiday brought no relief, the specter still circulated, tampering with what should have been a pleasant time. 

No in-depth historical research was needed to discover the root of our problem. All it took was a few conversations with fellow parents to see that my suffering was not unique. We were caught up in the wide-spread circulation of the flu. 

I can count on my right hand the number of times I’ve had influenza virus. On my left, I can count how many times I wished I was dead. Hint: the number is the same. I even survived a bout of the dreaded H1N1, or swine flu, back in the flu scare of ’09. The flu, as common and easily spread as it is, is nothing to laugh at. Since November there’s been little to tickle the funny bone in my home as we’ve passed around coughs and high fevers. 

Heading into January, things have finally settled down. The weight has been lifted, the dread is gone. We didn’t even have to spread any salt, but I could use another can of Lysol.

HHJ News