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rid of the macabre equipment from the basement? More realistically, wouldn't that equipment have been sold in an estate sale? Specialized equipment like that is expensive. No one would simply abandon it, but abandon nothing else in the house.

The parents made two decisions with their newfound information: they would hide the house's history from their children, and they decided that the basement area would make a great bedroom for their sick son and his younger brother. Surely a dank basement in an old house in Connecticut would be the perfect healing environment for a child with cancer.

This early point in the documentary reminded me of a friend's comment: "There would be no horror movies without stupid people."

Before moving in to the rental property, the mother stopped by one day with her eldest son after one of his treatments. She was going to do some tidying and wanted him to have a chance to see the place and acclimate himself. As it turned out, the boy got a real welcome from the house - a voice emanating from the basement called him by name. Duly freaked-out, he ran to find his mother. She was in the kitchen dealing with her own problems. As she mopped the kitchen floor, the mop water turned to a red, blood-like substance on the linoleum. The more she mopped, the more the mess spread. The realtor was on hand to help clean this up, and luckily the women sopped up the last of the red mess just as the frightened boy came running in.

Untroubled by the mysterious manifestation of blood on the kitchen floor, or the house calling her son by name, the mother reassured the boy that the family would be very happy in their new home.

So, with the hick, backward hospitals of New York unsuitable to treat their son's cancer, the family moved to rural Connecticut where there stood a top flight cancer hospital amid the snow-covered pastures. The former mortuary quickly turned into home.

Since the family was so large, the mother bought large quantities of food in bulk, storing it in the large, walk-in freezer in the basement - the one that, presumably, had housed dead bodies in the past. A legion of national surgeons general could assure me that, with a proper cleaning, there would be nothing wrong in storing one's food in a freezer that had once dead bodies, but the only voice that really matters - the one in my head, connected to the intelligence agency in my gut - would be screaming, "Are you kidding me?"

And so the requisite aspects of a haunting unfolded - apparitions

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