Igor Wore Overalls

I heard the story of Igor and the haunted mansion when I stayed overnight with a friend in Westwood, Kansas in the summer of 1977. I was twelve years old.

“There’s this guy over in KCK and he lives in this haunted house with a belfry and everything,” said my best friend Kurt. I didn’t believe it. Despite the fact that the county line was just down Belinder, Igor’s house was too far away to reach on foot. We decided to visit to the candy counter at Velvet Crème Popcorn Company instead. I got a blow-pop and a fountain coke with real cherry syrup. Sunset lit the tree line behind Kurt's house when we returned. His older sister and her boyfriend sat on the hood of a muscle car.

“Get in, we’re going to Igor’s house,” she said. We piled into the Nova, sped north on Puckett Road, and received instructions from the boyfriend with sideburns. “Don’t walk in his yard. His Dobermans are trained to go for your throat,” he lectured. “And above all, be cool.”

Oh sure, it’s easy to be cool when you have facial hair and a fast car. What about me? I hadn’t even hit puberty yet and I’m in the back seat with a bladder full of cherry soda and a lollipop in my mouth.

“What’s this Igor look like,” I asked. A million thoughts raced through my mind. Did he have fangs? Were capes and a candelabrums somewhere in his wardrobe?

“He’s bald and he wears overalls, but don’t let that fool ya,” said the sister. “One of his relatives was murdered there a long time ago or something and it’s been haunted ever since.”

“This is it,” said Kurt, “Igor’s house.” I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was as if we’d stumbled onto the back lot at MGM studios in Culver City, California. I stared out the window at the 19th century German Gothic brick mansion, with tall living room windows, and a belfry above the second floor. The mansion was dark. We got out of the car and walked toward a wrought iron fence with stone lion gargoyles at the end of the driveway.

“Here come the dogs,” someone shouted. We ran back toward the Nova. Two guardians greeted us with toothy snarls and barks. That’s when I spied a man in overalls walking our way. He looked more like a farmer than a vampire. I didn’t think Osk Kosh made a cape.

Igor reached in his pocket for something. Now we’re in for it, I thought. He opened the gate and passed out slips of paper. “The Lord already knows the date when you’re coming home to heaven” it said. “Oh great,” I said. “I hope that isn’t tonight. I bought a pool pass and I only used it twice.”

Igor and his dogs retreated into the darkness. Somehow being served with religious literature took the sheen off the spookiness. “That was cool. We’ll have to come back.” I felt confident as we turned on 11th street. I saw a large complex of buildings surrounded by barbed wire up on the right.

“What’s that place,” I asked.

“That’s the experimental farm,” said the boyfriend. “They’ve got two-headed cows there and chickens that are six feet tall. Maybe we can sneak in.”

Note: Igor's house more popularly known as The Sauer Castle, 935 Shawnee Drive, Kansas City, KS