As I was working on today's 31 Days of Halloween, I thought, "You know? I should tell 'em about that house." The photo I used is an old one of mine, but I still think about its subject sometimes. I have a lot of memories about the ol' box.
That house stood next to my grandparents' home in Duncan, Oklahoma. My grandmother told me an old woman used to live there, but she had died - probably of old age. At some point after her death, the house had suffered a fire, and it stood there in its charred, ramshackle state for years and years. I used to stare at it for the longest time, wondering what was in there, what had been in there before. It was so awfully dark in there despite the holes in the roof. Stray dogs lurked like sinister guardians. Fragments of old curtains waved limply at me from glassless windows. Some of the old woman's furniture was still in there, I could see. I remember the burnt rocking chair most of all.
In the summers, I would stay at my grandparents' house for a week or so, and my younger cousin Lance would come over. We'd spend hours playing Funeral - a game we made up where one of us would be "buried" under the couch cushions while the other delivered a funeral service until the "deceased" popped up from the couch grave and scared the other silly. We'd take turns at this until we got tired. Then we'd go outside, stand at the chainlink fence, and stare into the black eyes of That House.
I like to think I was normally a well-behaved, considerate child, but keep in mind that I didn't have any siblings. All my other cousins were older than me. So, Lance was the only person I ever got to torment.
"Grandmother said an old woman used to live there, and there was a fire, and she DIED," I'd tell him.
"Nuh uh," he'd say.
"Yuh huh!"
"Really?"
"Grandmother said. And I think her ghost is still in there."
"You're just trying to scare me!"
I was, of course, and I always succeeded. But no matter how many living daylights I would scare out of my younger cousin, we'd always come back to the fence another day. The last time, however, was different.
"I bet she's watching us right now!" I told my cousin.
"Nuh uh," he whispered.
"I think I can see her sitting in the chair!"
"I want to go back inside now."
"Why, are you scared?"
"NO."
It was about that time that the wind sighed through the empty house. And the rocking chair. MOVED.
My heart stopped. Lance and I looked at each other and screamed. Then we took off running back to our grandparents' house, both of us crying hysterically, and we never, ever went back to the fence again.
The house is gone now. My grandparents bought the property a few years ago and razed it. I was heartbroken when I heard the news! My grandmother didn't understand why it bothered me - it was an eyesore, she said. I guess I can't blame her. All the same, I loved that house even though I never once stepped foot inside it. It was dark and scary and weird, and everyone should have such a house in their memories.
It's gone now, but that's all right, because you know what? I bet the former occupant walks the lot to this day. Except now she has no place to sit.
SO! Who's up for a game of Funeral?
