In 1923 , the Blair family moved to town and built a grand house on the quiet suburban corner. Little did everyone know, the lively, joyous family that they let everyone see, had a terrible secret. Thirteen years after the family had moved in, the son Michael Blair, ran away.
The father was so upset he frequently drowned his sorrows. And the bottles that were strewn around the house were used as weapons against his wife. Mrs Blair had listened to her son complain that Mr Blair had beaten him when she was not home, but of coarse Mrs Blair thought it was just the start of his teenage years and he would eventually grow out of it, little did she know it was nothing short of the truth. Once Michael turned 14 he ran from home in a desperate flee to be rid of his treacherous father. For the longest time Mrs Blair couldn't figure out why, then Mr Blair stopped hiding his dark side and unleashed it onto her.
This went on for many years until the mid fall of 1941, exactly 5 years after Michael ran away. On this day every year Mr Blair was especially violent and intoxicated, but on that dreary evening of October 30th, 1941, Mrs Blair had had enough.
Nobody ever knew, not even Michael who returned to his hometown just eight years after the crime. As Michael grew up he began to look more and more like his father and now that he was in his late twenties, the similarity was uncanny. So when he walked up those few steps to his childhood home and knocked on the old, worn, red door he had not even the slightest indication that his mother had done or what it had done to her mental state of mind. As the door creaked open and her small, frail face peaked around the corner she exclaimed
"NO! It can't be true! He's dead! He's dead!" and as Michael tried to push the door open to comfort his mother he caught sight of a black object being pulled from a cupboard right before the bullet entered his skull.
The police didn't finally figure out what had happened till a 911 call came in and the lady at the other end was beside herself with hysteria.
"I killed them! It's my fault their dead! I'm a murderer!" The call was traced back to the Blair home where they found the husband half decayed in the basement, the sons body in the closet, and a woman sprawled out in the kitchen, a phone in one hand, a gun in the other. The Blair house has been empty ever since.
