For the past 30 years, the white house on the hill has remained empty. The paint has slowly peeled and faded, dust has collected in the window sills, and vines have climbed their way to the roof.

Years ago, two brothers bought this property, along with the property adjacent to it, for the farmland. They chose to inhabit only the house next door while operating dairy farms on both lots, and the house at 1489 McIntyre was unused.

The house once contained life, which can be found in the items that fill the rooms inside. The previous owner lived alone when he sold his land to the Hagerman brothers in 1985.

While it’s unclear what belonged to the original owner and what was stored by the brothers, the collection of objects in the house is fascinating.

The most interesting (and possibly the most discomforting) room of the house, lies at the very top of the stairs. It has has a perfect view of the barn, the red door shining like a beacon below. Lying beneath the window is a single chair, made of metal and cloth, with an ancient black telephone perched on the seat.

There are no cords, no visible connections from the telephone to the wall. The chair is angled towards the window, setting up its host for the perfect view outside. The only question is, who was the last one to sit there, and when?

Around the corner is a large, low-sitting window. The sun is just beginning to break through the clouds and beams of light shine perfectly through the dirty windows. The slanted light lands on tattered wallpaper, illuminating the faded but detailed features.

Wallpaper seems to be a consistent theme around the house, effectively reflecting the decorative trend of the year the house was sold. In some areas, several layers of disintegrating wallpaper exist in one place, creating a rainbow of floral and paisley prints.

Downstairs, an antique stove sits in the corner of one room, topped with boxes of loose articles. Chairs, newspapers, paint cans, and several other curious items, such as a pair of worn snowshoes and a prosthetic leg, litter the downstairs level.

The details in the house are so incredibly intricate that I find myself daydreaming about what it looked in its better days.

Several of the rooms feature a patterned tin ceiling, originally painted white. The paint now hangs off in strings, tattered and worn. In what used to be the dining room, a chandelier hangs, somehow managing to retain two of its light bulbs.

This room also presents a slightly eerie scene: a rocking chair perched on top of the table, facing the window.

The last room before I leave is what was once the sunroom, attached to the kitchen.

The sunroom is its own entity, clutter filling up the entire space and making it hard to pass through. I almost step on an ancient newspaper on the way out, the headline announcing the 1985 “betrayal” of the Leafs by Darryl Sittler.

As I exit the house, I feel like I’m leaving an old friend behind. I spent years driving past this place, wondering what sort of treasures filled the inside. Wondering what kind of mysteries lurked behind the walls and what forms of life had called it “home.”

Some mysteries have been solved, but some remain: what will become of the house in a year? Five years? Ten years? And what was it like before I got there?

The fate of 1489 McIntyre might be uncertain, but one thing is for sure: now there’s a piece of me attached to it.