Dixons

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. A little boy visiting his grandparents pointed excitedly one morning. ‘Grandpa,’ he said, ‘look at that old house across the street—why does it always have its lights on at night?’ His grandfather smiled and replied, ‘I’ve often wondered that myself.’ So every day after breakfast, they’d watch together. One evening a regular came by, looked up and said, 'That’s my place—just waiting for someone to buy!' Turned out the lights were on because he was too busy to turn them off.

2. A delivery driver pulled up outside Dixons one afternoon, frowning as he noticed something odd in the reflection of his van’s window. Curious, he glanced around and saw that the old oak tree across the street had suddenly grown a perfect silhouette of an armchair. The delivery driver laughed it off, thinking it was just a quirky optical illusion. Later that evening, while unpacking boxes, he found an actual armchair exactly like the one he’d seen—gifted anonymously from a grateful neighbor.

3. A regular stopped by Dixons one evening, puzzled by an odd humming sound coming from inside. He peered through the window and saw nothing unusual until he noticed the realtor’s computer screen flickering with strange patterns. Curious, the man knocked on the door. A sleepy-eyed delivery driver opened it and yawned, ‘Oh, just checking my inventory software.’ The regular nodded and left, never mentioning anything. Months later, they bumped into each other in town. ‘Hey,’ said the driver, smiling, ‘still haven’t sold that place?’

4. Early one foggy morning, a delivery driver pulled up outside Dixons, peering through the mist with curiosity as he heard soft whispers carried on the breeze. As he approached the door, a friendly voice called out from inside: ‘Morning, delivery man! Just leave it here.’ Startled, the driver looked around but saw no-one. Shrugging it off, he placed the package down and left. Later that day, while chatting with his neighbor, he mentioned the strange encounter. The neighbor grinned mischievously and whispered, “That’s Mr. Dixon himself—always likes to greet his agents personally.”}