We all have a story from our childhood involving the House. A house that earned it's proper noun status from all the stories in which it was the main character. Depending on your group of friends it could have been the derelict ranch at the end of an undeveloped cul-de-sac or the two story brick home occupied by the old, reclusive veteran. Beautifully maintained or blistered, pock-marked exterior. This House earned its attention and respect through the years. A parent's vague warning turned into a litany of sinister tales. "Don't go near that old house." transformed into "My dad said that someone was murdered there." Each child's story of what happened in the House a tale of his deepest fears. The House becoming a blank canvas on which our imaginations splatter painted everything that terrified us. Were we closer to an age when reason took the reigns from the ape within, we would have seen how we belied our true fears with the projections we threw against that House.
How Donnie told of a ghost with features similar to his father. The broken blood vessels of the nose and cheeks, the hot, sickly sweet breath as he rage-whispered "what did you just say, you little shit", the stumbling down hallways, reaching out, hands clawed in a rictus, his grip like the mouth of a snake.
Or Alex, saying he walked by the house last week and heard the long, tortured wail of a young girl who died of neglect. Her face seen behind the off-white lace curtains in the upper bedroom. Alex, who broke his arm while trying to slide down the basement steps in a sleeping bag, and had to wait three hours until his parents came home from the matinee. "We'll get him a babysitter next time."
After we all jostled by shouting above the others "Well *I* heard that the rats chewed them down to their bones." "No no no, *I* heard that the clown they hired was actually a maniac who has just escaped from the insane asylum."
Then there was Joe. After we had all thrown out our incredulous accounts of murder and hauntings, we turned to the one boy who had yet to proffer a theory. When he started he spoke so quietly that we all had to lean in to hear him. He kept his hands neatly folded on his lap throughout the entire tale. His voice never wavered and he spoke evenly, never rushing. This is what Joe told us happened in the House.
