It may interest you that I am responsible for one of the most expensive home property listings in history. Nestled in five acres outside Los Angeles, the property features 29 rooms and a four-bedroom guest house, with direct golf and private road access.

You may of heard of this place. A little building called The Playboy Mansion. But if you read this in the news, you may have heard of the small, let’s say special arrangement, with the current owner, one Mr. Hugh Hefner. Included in this palace’s asking price of $200 million is a single requirement: Mr. Hefner must be allowed to continue living on the property throughout the rest of his natural life. AndCOUGHCOUGH.

Oh, nothing. I said mumblemumble.

Okay, fine. I said “and after.” Hef never leaves, okay? Look, you don’t want to move Hefner from the Playboy Mansion. The aura that amplifies both financial success and enhanced sexual prowess surrounding the mansion, and, respectively, yourself, would you become the new owner of said property, necessitates the physical vessel of Mr. Hefner to remain within one hundred feet of the circular blood rune in the basement below the Grotto–which, I should add, is not to be painted over by contractors.

Look, the place has its own zoo, and you wanna finagle on why you might have to leave a dead pornographer’s skull under the hot tub? Okay, okay, it’s like this: Did you ever wonder why a single dude can get millions of dollars and have women porking him through his 90’s anyway? That guy had to have made a deal with the Devil, right? Well, let me put it this way YES. That is exactly what he did, the devil is real and Hugh Hefner literally made a deal with him.

Cards on the table? Fine. How about business cards: My name is Gordon Ezrine, also known as The Devil, and currently, I sell haunted real estate. If you are wondering why I’m doing that instead of, you know, condemning souls to hell or whatever, let me repeat that I am selling real estate throughout the greater Los Angeles area so, not a huge leap here.

But hold on, let’s be clear here. I sell TOP cursed real estate. Beautiful properties haunted by the classiest ghosts. None of that “oh a serial killer lived here” bullshit, okay? Serial killers live everywhere. You could be one. Care? Not this guy, let’s get you a condo. I can get you a condo today. I can get you Lucille Ball’s condo. You love Lucy? Lucy loved this 2,400 square footer in the heart of North Burbank. A steal for that space in that area for only 12.4 mil, the condo was fully renovated in ’05 with all new wiring and appliances, including a luxurious whirlpool tub, which is good because you can not use the shower. I mean you can, but Ms. Ball’s ghost haunts the plumbing, and whenever you run the hot water the faucets spray blood and you can hear her classic Vaudevillian whine.

$27 mil gets you a beautiful property up on Moorpark. 5 acre mansion overlooking Toluca Lake. Private golfing green, Olympic pool, and a great Hollywood story behind it. Was originally owned by one Mr. Bob Hope. And I know what you’re thinking, “okay, so this one’s haunted by Bob Hope?” No, no, nothing like that. It’s haunted by the three men he murdered. One of them was a script assistant on Road to Morocco, the other two were policemen who came to investigate the murder, long story short, they had a USO show to run. Plus side: you liked that movie L.A. Confidential? You got the ghosts of two cops ready to tell you about police life in the 50’s any time you need to get a bottle out of the wine cellar.

Malibu. Beach front property. 10,000 square feet for 37.2 million. Huge balconies, private beach access, and the most exclusive bragging rights in all of L.A.: you will own a home that does not actually exist. Oh, I mean you will own this house, but there’s no actual house there. What you can move into today is an arcane construct held in place by a necromancer situated directly above a cursed burial ground of Chinese railroad workers as well as the most spectacular private views of the Pacific Ocean currently on the market. You are required to sacrifice one goat each full moon to appease the spirit of the necromancer lest the entire illusion vanish which I am legally obligated to add is NOT covered by insurance but hey, you tell me that still doesn’t sound better than an HOA, am I right?

Incidentally, the necromancer in question? Lucille Ball. She was a creative genius.

Way I see it, you have two options in the L.A. real estate market: you can deal with me, who puts you into haunted structures with soulless demons from the lower depths of your own nightmares, or you can try to find a roommate on Craigslist. I think we know what the real Hell is here.

And by the way, contrary to egregious falsehoods about my business practices, no, I am not actually interested in your soul. What I require is a blood pact of far more sinister origin, in which you will enter a incomparable nightmare of fear and suffering that sustains me and haunts you for decades. The current rate on those is 3.5 percent with ten percent down.

Also, no pets.

Lucille Ball photo via MSEI – Public Relations (public domain, circa 1960s)