along past this house as the river behind it appears to be doing. Miles upon miles of tranquil river beside
the long winding road that followed along it, and as the car pulls over to the side of the road in front of
that hideous house, you can see the water trying to escape its space. The boy in the back seat of the car
could understand what the water knew and his oddly fascinated parents could not.
The amount of coercion it took the parents of a growingly terrified boy, just to get him out of the car,
and onto the lawn, would have been quite a site, if anything or anyone had been within miles of this
house. Looking down the young boy could see nothing but a mass of poison ivy that crawled throughout
the yard, where a normal house would have grass. There was nothing normal about this house, and the
boy was at a loss for words, on the off chance that his parents were even listening.
Dead center in the middle of the swarm of poison ivy stood a big hideous tree, that had spent centuries
at least dominating this spot in the middle of nowhere. Strange old ropes hung from the largest branch,
like once there was a swing, but in this scenario it could have been the noose to hang the old owner
from. The boy looked past the ropes to the river, the strange river that hit maximum speed from where
there wasn’t even a ripple. It was very intimidating, despite all else that seems to be so horrible in this
The last sign the boy had seen was the one that said Selinsgrove and before that he had seen one that
had said Shamokin Dam, which coincidentally was where his parents had stopped to get pizza. They
seemed so normal back then, all 30 minutes ago, as they drank an elixir called “birch beer” and ate
pepperoni pizza. Now they are in the middle of nowhere for no reason, standing in front of the ugliest
old house, in the worst lawn, under the shadow of a dark and scary tree. Yeah the boy was quite
convinced that the river had the right idea as it tried to escape this place as he wished he could.
Dragged along by one arm, the boy starts realizing that he probably had seen the best of this house, the
minute his parents got him inside of it. The paint hung from the ceiling like moldy bats, and the walls
had been torn down leaving exposed blackened moldy beams. Not a single bit of this made his parents
wary of what an awful place this truly was, which stunned the poor child, who had always thought his
parents a practical pair. Even if he didn’t know at this young age what practical was, the absolute lack of
it, made the definition of practical seem pretty obvious, despite his knowledge of the word.
Every third stair appeared to be intact, and every first and second one seemed to be dangerous. The
parents were practically giddy and dancing through the house, like they had never seen a more beautiful
place. One of them managed to make it up the stairs and was shouting down the instructions of what is
needed on the second floor. The boy was terrified of this floor as it was and wanted nothing to do with
the second floor, when the parent upstairs yelled down about a third. Now the boy just wished they had
never left New York, regardless of how much he enjoyed that birch beer with his pizza, in what has
become a lifetime ago.
The house even appeared to make noises, the most hideous noises, as it sat there being disturbed for
the first time in God knew how long. The boy has deduced that it isn’t an animal, or even the wind.
There is no wind, so despite all of the open access from room to room with no walls it definitely isn’t the
wind. It is more of a sound of despair, the sound that the young boy would be making if he wasn’t afraid
of being heard. Heard by what or by who he doesn’t quite understand but there is something here that
can hear him, and it probably knows all too well that the boy is afraid. The parents appear to have no
fear, but they also appear to have no sanity, and haven’t from the moment they looked at this house.
Jeremy Crow is the nom de plume of Jeremy Fink, who has been writing blogs entries for almost a decade now. He has had varying degrees of success along the way, several nervous breakdowns, a few “I quit and I’ll never do this again!” moments, and so many get rich quick ideas that you couldn’t count them on two hands. None of any of this has been a failure it’s just been a trial run, for what, he does not know, yet. His brain doesn’t turn off, and he loves to see his own words.
We all need to understand that we are all in this together.