The House

The demented house I lived in before Dad killed me was the same house I was looking at. But at the same time, it wasn't the same house. The house felt different. Maybe it was because of the family that lived in it. They loved each other and the house must have eluded the same love that they gave. I did not feel completely restless or pissed at being there. I actually felt at peace, it felt like home and I just wanted to turn around and ask Rebecca's mom how she did it. How did she make a place feel as home to a complete stranger? My mother was great and warm at heart but she never knew how to make the house that I lived in feel as home.

The house had an elegance to it. A fashionable look and a welcoming air surrounded it. It was almost like it was calling out to me. The fear I felt in the car about surviving in there totally went with the wind and all I wanted was to experience what it will feel like being inside the house. I had goosebumps.

Before we got into the house, I took some