Autumn is a time for ghosts. When the days turn, when the world comes to rest, there’s space and time for those who’ve stayed behind. In the changing of the leaves and the chilling in the air, the smoky breeze and the golden sky, they join us, just there. As close as a breath, and far as they’ve always been, as fall to winter and winter to spring, they wait for us in that place between.
Can I be certain? Well, no, but I’d like to think I’m right, because it’s a pretty cool connection. See, this house is just a few minutes away on the outskirts of our village, and Graham and I drive by it frequently. Of all the gin joints, right?
I’ve always been a fan of both ghost stories and old houses. I love walking into a space knowing that it has a history, that others have come and gone and loved it and built their lives there before me. And honestly, I think it’s just a fundamentally, very human thing to love ghost stories. Something in our primal makeup, in our DNA and our bones and the very oldest part of our brains tells us to be afraid of things that go bump in the night, and to ponder what happens to us when we die. I grew up in a town full of ghosts and legends, and I live in an area rife with them now, too. And this house is just one small piece of that larger puzzle.
Or, it was. Which is to say, it still is, but for how long is anyone’s guess. It was a ruin last year. It’s in worse shape now.
Graham stopped by yesterday and snapped this picture. Sad, isn’t it? Soon enough, the house will be gone, and the stories will be all that’s left. Then one day, they’ll be forgotten, too. But for now, the house is still here, crumbling away on the roadside, taking its secrets with it.
P.S. As I did last year, I’ll add this disclaimer: This house is on private property, and there are no trespassing signs posted, so please don’t go poking around where you’re not welcome. It’s easy enough to take a picture from the road.
I am only a flash in the corner of your eye, nothing but a shadow, or a trick of the light on the stair, there and gone. You can try to catch me in a photo, or to capture the sound of my voice. Many have, and most leave disappointed. Are you scared? You should be, you know. I’m not for everyone.