The ghost room was once our bedroom, then the baby's room, then the boys' room. Old storm windows have writing on the top edge, crossed out with the date as the room changed occupants. Because each storm window is slightly different in size, my husband added the direction the window faced as well. They hang with two 1900s hooks, latching at the bottom with a hook and eye, sometimes one, sometimes two. Metal and cord counterweights are inside the sashes, some broken.
The ghost room became storage as rooms were rearranged by the son and girlfriend when they temporarily took over what was once my husband's library. Not done in an organized way, it's impossible to get to the windows any more with stuff piled so high, like one sees on TV shows about hoarders. Suitcases, old electronics, children's books and toys, Christmas decorations, slide carousels full of monarch butterfly pictures and glacial moraines, loud clocks and lamps without lamp shades making the room impossible to go inside...except for some spirits who choose to hide and whisper with little regard for my sleep needs.
Before I lived here, who knows who lived, died, and now haunts that room but it's always been chilly even though one closet is nestled against the chimney. The ghost room failed as a guest room because everyone complained about the cold especially at night which no amount of blankets helped. A room full of bad dreams, drafty windows and now dead people's things boxed, stacked or falling. I could lock the door with a skeleton key but that would do no good against the shadows, the noises, the dim music.