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From here I can hear the old clock chime from down the hall. The attic is empty now, the old boxes and furniture gone.
I know every creak and every groan that this house makes. I know every crack and hole in the walls and every scratch in the floor. It's mine. The house has forgiven me. Maybe my sons will do the same.
It took me a few days to work up the courage to turn on the lights. I stayed in the basement, working to remind myself that this is still my house.
People used to ask me why I took pictures of things. I said it was because nothing is ever permanent in life, and nothing will ever stay the same. In a picture, a movement is forever captured in a memory, one that will remain after nobody is around to remember it.
Just like the house. It's still my house, but it's not the same. The rooms look unfamiliar to me. The pictures on the wall aren't the ones that I've taken. But it's still my house, isn't it? My daughter never thought it was.
Courtney is here. I know she is. I knew she couldn't resist the chance to right what she thought was wrong. As for the others, I can't say. Henry is scared. Will is arrogant. As for my wife... well, I don't know. I never have.
YOU ARE READING
All the Lights are On
Mystery / Thriller"If there was one thing that could throw this town on its head, of course it'd be the goddamned McKenzie house." The McKenzie house stood tall and proud, its walls worn down by time and weather. It sat with windows boarded and shutters closed, with...
