Would you buy a murder house?

This week the Daily Mail ran a story that had everyone clutching their property listings a little tighter:

“Family home goes on the market for £425k in quaint Lincolnshire village… but behind its manicured privet hedge hides a very sinister secret.”

On the surface, the bungalow in Branston looks idyllic – four bedrooms, a conservatory overlooking a generous garden, even a bidet (rare enough to deserve a mention). The sort of place you’d picture a family happily settling down.

But scroll past the glossy Rightmove photos and you’ll find the detail that makes this a stigmatised property: in 2018, a brutal double murder took place within those same walls.

Suddenly, the “cosy family home” comes with baggage.

The stigma effect

Estate agents know this phenomenon well. In the US, disclosure laws even require sellers to declare violent deaths. Here in the UK, the responsibility is murkier – but local gossip and Google searches will usually do the job.

And the impact is real: prices can tumble by 20–30%.

The house is the same. The bricks don’t care what happened inside them. But the story attached to the home transforms the way buyers see it.

For some, that story is enough to make them run a mile.

For others, it’s exactly what makes the house appealing. There’s a niche market of buyers who like a twist – who’ll lean into the character, the notoriety, or even the spooky bragging rights. For them, a murder house isn’t a deterrent. It’s a talking point.

Why this matters for marketing

This is where PR earns its keep.

After all, selling a house with a “sinister past” isn’t that different from marketing a brand with baggage.

Maybe your company has had a clumsy product launch. Maybe you’ve been undercut by a louder competitor. Maybe your business model is solid but looks complicated from the outside. On paper, the facts can feel like dead weight.

But this is the crucial bit: facts alone don’t sell.

A four-bedroom bungalow is just a four-bedroom bungalow – until you know its story. A pricing structure is just numbers on a page – until you show people the value behind it. A confusing product is just another box gathering dust – until you reframe it as innovative, bold, even daring. Some brands are masters at this.

• Marmite didn’t deny that half the country hates it – they made “Love it or hate it” the campaign. Suddenly, what looked like a weakness became a cultural talking point.
• Ryanair knows it’s not glamorous. Instead of pretending otherwise, it leans into the cheap-and-cheerful villain role on social media, turning complaints into comedy and keeping the bookings rolling in.
• Oatly could have spent years trying to convince people oat milk was “normal.” Instead, it embraced the weird, irreverent, hand-drawn style that made it stand out on supermarket shelves.

The lesson? Sometimes you soften the edges. Sometimes you lean in and make the flaw the feature. Either way, you change how people feel.

Reputation is everything

The Branston bungalow illustrates how fragile reputation is. The home itself hasn’t changed, but perception has. For some, it’s a dealbreaker. For others, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Brands are no different. What one customer finds off-putting, another finds irresistible.

A reputation for being quirky, bold, even a bit controversial can be a magnet – if you own it. The trick is knowing which audiences to repel and which to attract.

That’s why marketing isn’t just about facts. It’s about spotting the “murder house moments” in your business – the flaws, the myths, the reputational risks – and shaping the narrative so they land with the right people in the right way.

The Satsuma spin

At Satsuma, we’re not selling haunted bungalows (though if anyone wants us to rebrand one as “a rare character home with unforgettable history” – call us).

But we do help businesses navigate perception. We understand that every organisation has quirks, gaps, or skeletons in the closet. And we know how to turn those into a story that’s compelling rather than terrifying.

Because in the end, the question isn’t just: would you buy a murder house?
It’s: would you buy into a brand that doesn’t own its story?