“I see already that you have flooded 657 Boulevard with contractors so that you can destroy the house as it was supposed to be,” the person wrote. The letter identified the Broadduses’ Honda minivan, as well as the workers renovating the home. The author’s reconnaissance had apparently already begun. Do you know the history of the house? Do you know what lies within the walls of 657 Boulevard? Why are you here? I will find out. My grandfather watched the house in the 1920s and my father watched in the 1960s. “Did 657 Boulevard call to you with its force within?” The letter went on:Ħ57 Boulevard has been the subject of my family for decades now and as it approaches its 110th birthday, I have been put in charge of watching and waiting for its second coming.
“How did you end up here?” the writer asked. The Broadduses had bought 657 Boulevard just after Derek celebrated his 40th birthday, and their three kids were already debating which of the house’s fireplaces Santa Claus would use.īut as Derek kept reading the letter from his new neighbor, it took a turn. Derek grew up working-class in Maine, then moved his way up the ladder at an insurance company in Manhattan to become a senior vice-president with a salary large enough to afford the $1.3 million house. Maria was raised in Westfield, and the house was a few blocks from her childhood home. It was addressed in thick, clunky handwriting to “The New Owner,” and the typed note inside began warmly:Īllow me to welcome you to the neighborhood.įor the Broadduses, buying 657 Boulevard had fulfilled a dream.
Derek and his wife, Maria, had closed on the six-bedroom house at 657 Boulevard three days earlier and were doing some renovations before they moved in, so there wasn’t much in the mail except a few bills and a white, card-shaped envelope. One night in June 2014, Derek Broaddus had just finished an evening of painting at his new home in Westfield, New Jersey, when he went outside to check the mail.
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