In the heart of a small town in rural upstate New York, stands an incredible pink Victorian-era home, shrouded in a hazy veil of mystery. Its faded grandeur and timeworn elegance whispers tales of bygone days, when laughter and music filled its spacious rooms, and its walls bore witness to the secrets of its esteemed residents. Today, this home still remains, now crumbling away off a quiet country road in rural upstate New York. This beautiful home was once featured in a book titled “America’s Painted Ladies”

A Dollar A Day

The home was built for Captain Charles Harris in the summer of 1860. Harris paid a master cabinet maker, David H. White, a rate of only a dollar a day until its completion. 

The home was an architectural marvel of its time. Ornamental cast iron adorns the slate Mansard roof, adding an air of sophistication to the already impressive structure. Within, massive oak and chestnut doors guard the entrance to each room, hiding the stories that lie within.

A labyrinth of Passageways

The interior of the house is an intricate labyrinth of passageways, each leading to a new, undiscovered wonder. The spindles decorating the staircases were handcrafted by White with painstaking precision, their delicate curves and ornate patterns reflecting the skill and passion of a master craftsman. The wooden floors creak beneath the weight of untold memories, each step echoing the whispers of those who once called this place their home.

Yet, the home’s most intriguing secret lay hidden just off the dining room. Behind an unassuming bookshelf, is a concealed chamber. Its existence was whispered about in hushed tones, as the town’s people speculated on its purpose. Some believed it was a treasury, hoarding the riches of the house’s affluent owners. Others, however, were convinced that the room held a far more profound secret.

A Safe Haven of the Underground Railroad

Legend has it that during the times of the underground railroad, the hidden chamber served as a safe haven for those fleeing the horrors of oppression. As desperate souls sought refuge within its confines, the room became a place of safety amidst the shadows of despair. The walls themselves absorbed the stories, the heartache, and the dreams of those who passed through, forever holding their memories within its very foundations.

Though now left untouched for many years, this home still holds much of its original architectural elements, such as the slate Mansard roof, still decorated by ornamental cast iron, and massive oak and chestnut doors on its interior. The spindles decorating the staircases inside the home also remain.

Abandoned During the 1980s

The home was first abandoned during the 1980s, before being purchased in an attempted restoration, which unfortunately did not go to plan. It would not be until the early 1990s that a couple would step in to take on the task of reviving the home back to its former glory. Unfortunately, such a heavy task is not easily completed, and more issues would arise. When new owners had purchased the home in the early 1990s, some of the plaster ceilings were hanging so low, they needed to duck under them to walk through. Those were pulled down and replaced by newer ceilings. They took on the very large project of fixing the plumbing, roof, and porches, but ultimately had to leave the home when their business prevented them from moving in. With final restorations still needing completed, the home sat on the market while slowly falling victim to the natural elements.

I visited the home on a rainy day during the beginning of spring, as winter was just starting to fade away. 

A Rainy Day Exploration

The rain fell in relentless sheets, drumming against the windshield of my car as I pulled up to the edge of the small, rural town. The sky overhead was a murky gray, threatening to darken further as the evening crept closer to the blue hour. I switched off the engine, the silence that followed only amplified the sound of raindrops colliding with the car’s roof. 

I stepped out of the car, the cold rain slipping past the collar of my jacket as I made my way down the muddy street towards the house. A feeling of melancholy hung heavy in the air, as if the spirits of the town’s past inhabitants still clung to the memories of a time when the home was alive with laughter and the clatter of hooves on cobblestones.

The home stood tall and proud, its once-vibrant pink paint now faded and peeling, revealing the aged wood beneath. The rain continued to fall as I reached the front door, the droplets creating a veil between myself and the hauntingly beautiful home. I took a moment to catch my breath, the cool air burning my lungs as I pulled it in, and then reached out to turn the doorknob. To my surprise, it gave way easily, the heavy door creaking open to reveal the darkened foyer beyond. As I stepped inside, the scent of must and decay filled the air around me. 

Navigating the Home

My footsteps echoed through the house, the sound amplified by the emptiness that now inhabited its once-grand halls. I walked slowly, taking in every intricate detail that had been meticulously crafted by the hands of skilled artisans over a century ago. The wallpaper had long since begun to peel away from the walls, revealing the layers of history that lay beneath. The once-gleaming hardwood floors were now dull and worn, their surfaces scarred by the passage of time and the weight of countless memories.

As I made my way up the grand staircase, I couldn’t help but run my fingers along the hand-crafted spindles, the smooth curves of the wood speaking volumes about the dedication and passion that had gone into their creation. I reached the second floor, the shadows growing darker as the last remnants of daylight slipped away outside the windows. 

I continued my exploration, making my way through the once grand dining room. The space was now vast and empty, a yawning chasm devoid of warmth or comfort. It was easy to imagine the grand feasts that had once taken place within these walls, the echoes of laughter and conversation now long since silenced. My footsteps seemed to disturb the very air, and I could feel the history surrounding me.

Beautiful Blue

The blue hour was drawing to a close, the last remnants of daylight surrendering to the darkness. As I made my way back through the house, I felt a sense of melancholy settle over me, a heaviness that seemed to mirror the atmosphere of the house itself. I couldn’t help but think of the countless lives that had passed through its halls, each one leaving behind a trace of their existence, a whisper of their story that still lingered within the very bones of the house.

As I stepped outside and closed the massive doors behind me, it was at that very moment that the rain stopped. I stood there for a while, admiring the home’s exterior beauty, and I couldn’t help but think that perhaps the house, in all its decay and desolation, was not truly abandoned after all. For within its crumbling walls lay the echoes of a thousand stories of the lives that had once called it home. Perhaps some spirits linger, happy that someone was curious and appreciative enough of its beauty, and the stories within. 

As the evening turned into night, I decided it was time to leave. As I walked away from the estate, the rain started up again. As the rain fell, gently washing away the dust of the past, I knew that whatever the future holds for this home, its stories will never truly disappear.

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