My parents live in a small country town that accidentally happens to be in California (which is not known for such towns). One couple owned a house on a pretty desirable lot, and it was presentable and all that. Anyway, the older fellow was diagnosed with cancer but appeared to be doing all right so his wife flew back East to visit with her family (as she hadn't seen them in a while). Once in Ohio this lady called her husband and he sounded fine. But overnight, he took an overdose and set the entire house on fire and it burned up and so did he. And now, 2 years later and you walk past the vacant lot and grasses are beginning to reclaim the lot - but it is creepy. I don't know what there is about me, but for the most part, once I move in, Death takes a vacation from that block or neighborhood. I treasure that sense.