The house on Maple Street

I barely leave the house, the only time I go out in the front is when my family disappears for an hour each day. I paint and read my only escapes from the trapped world I live in, I don't know why they disappear for that one hour each day, I don't know why a lot of things are the way they are. I don't ask questions about the outside world that I somehow long and fear to see only because I don't know the consequences if I do.