WITH NEW DEVELOPMENT in Portland at an all-time high, you might think the incidence of hauntings would be low. "How can a building have ghosts if no one's even lived there yet?" you might ask. Which is so cute, but you're forgetting something: Hauntings have less to do with the living, and more to do with the dead. And in Portland, we've got ghosts aplenty. It's the natural result of rapid change over a short timespan. Whether haunted by vengeful ghosts or run-of-the-mill assholes, here are the city's most woefully haunted new developments.
Beware and avoid Southeast's D Street Village (3150 SE Division)! Though shiny and chrome on the outside, within it's to be feared (and not just due to fearsome rental costs—$1,595 for a one-bedroom? YIKES). D Street Village is a mysterious building, because what is D Street? Division? No one calls Division "D Street," except desperate developers and perhaps... ghosts? If you dare to move there, I hope you're ready to be awakened in the middle of the night to Band of Horses songs being hummed into your ear, as poor imitations of drum-fills are banged out on the pipes.
But don't be deceived: The ghosts of D Street Village aren't evil, just obnoxious. They're the ghosts of hipster bros past, and they're going to want to tell you all about their meaningful tattoos and Nazi youth haircuts. They're going to talk your ear off about how they swear the ghost of pre-Condé Nast acquisition Pitchfork is around here somewhere. Or about "dirty synths" and this one time they got super high at Coachella. If you see one of these ghosts, just smile and nod, and gulp your whiskey. Though all undead creatures are mildly unsettling, these guys are harmless. As when they were alive, they'll eventually go away if ignored.
But look out, monsters! The abomination known as Burnside 26 (2625 E Burnside, get it? LOL) is definitely the most haunted development (and not just by terrible personalities, though watch out for those, 'cause, YIKES). Lights flicker on and off. Residents' key fobs have been known to float through the air, as if in the hands of vengeful ghosts who wish the cursed building had never been constructed in the first place. Blood drips down the complex's once-pristine, soulless walls. Or are they soulless? What's that sound? Oh, I know what it is. It's the pained cries of the ghosts of Fun and Laughter. They died here at Burnside 26, and will be forever trapped within its walls of glass and steel. Listen carefully.... Nope—that's not just the wind. It's the sound of All Hope for Equitable Housing being unceremoniously strangled to death.
If you find yourself living in the dark, cold bowels of Burnside 26, you may feel compelled to fight your unshakeable feeling of existential dread by assuring yourself that you don't mind the blood gushing out of the bathtub faucets. Surely you'll make peace with the cries of the mournful dead, the perennial damp chill that has nothing to do with the weather. You really will use the dog-washing station. And it'll be fine. This place is fine.
Oh, but you'll be so wrong. Because somewhere deep within, you'll feel a chill rattle your soul... and when you look into the mirror, you'll see DEATH. Then you will know. You... will... know.
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