Way back in the day, A's ex-stepdad was a care taker for an old rich guy. He died with I was 19.
Old rich guy's (ORG) niece was an eccentric sort of lady (she would talk to me for *hours* about her interpretive dance troupe). She decided she wanted someone to housesit at ORG's house because she didn't want the house to be 'lonely'. And his animals needed to be taken care of.
A's stepdad asked if I'd like the housesitting job. She was going to pay me $150 a week. It was a really nice house in a tony area of town. I decided I didn't want to live there alone (and have to take care of the pets by myself), so I invited SIL/BFF to live with me and split the pay. She and I were both still living at home at the time.
When we moved in, there 2 bedrooms. One was the room ORG died in. The hospital bed was still in there and everything. SIL and I flipped for it and I got stuck with the dead guy's room.
I threw a sheet/blanket over the bed and tried not to think about the guy dying there. BUT when I would have people over, I would tell them that he died there and try and get them to sit on the bed. I only got one person to do it and I took a picture as evidence.