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There is a house on Hunter Street – lot number three – that nobody talks about. They only ignore it. Casually dismiss. There is a house on Hunter Street so out of place, so very rotten and painfully obvious, that to disregard it altogether was the only sensible thing a person could do. To notice it would be to trouble oneself; to wonder would drive them mad. To peek inside, well – nobody knew. Nobody dared try.

When something is amiss, it is treated with caution. Wariness. People know to consider it differently. It is almost instinctual, the ability to avoid. I daresay it is. It is an unnerving sensation. Unsettling. You cannot place why it disturbs you and yet, it does. Something, whatever it may be, is wrong. The house on Hunter Street – lot number three – evokes this sensation. People ignore it because they prefer the idea of it not being there at all. People cross to the other side of the street whenever they have to pass it. People

      simply

            knew.

The house on Hunter Street – lot number three – has no paint. Its boards are bare. Windows smashed. Doorframes covered with iron sheets. Roof rusted. Yard wild and overgrown. Junk scattered here. Vintage car parts scattered there. And quiet. Oh so quiet. Nothing ever moves. Only the grass, which reaches a little higher with each passing day. Nothing ever moves and nothing is ever heard. It is a ghost of a house. Skeletal remains.

Except for the light.

The light always shines bright.

The house on Hunter Street – lot number three – could always be seen, day or night. Under the sun it sits smug, ugly, ominous. In the shadows it hides, lithe and in disguise. A single light, a solitary bulb, illuminates a room within. Crooked blinds skewer the view. What can you see? A pale glow and indistinguishable household objects. Odd outlines. It’s impossible to know.

The house on Hunter Street – lot number three – has many histories. It’s been abandoned since the 1940s. Somebody died in there. Drugs. Squatters. A portal to another world. Haunted. An old set from a horror film. Perhaps it is all of these things. Perhaps it is none.

There is a house on Hunter Street.