Every neighborhood has one...the creepy house. The haunted house, the mean old man/lady's house. The house you're scared to walk by at night.
When I was a kid that house was right next door. Granny Trimble had been our neighbor for as long as I'd been alive and she was a sweetheart. She lived on several acres and had the most amazing oak tree. It would've taken three or four kids to stretch around it's trunk. Huge. We loved that tree. We loved the yard. We loved Granny Trimble. What we didn't love -the old house in the backyard. When I say old, I mean OOOOOLLLLLDDDD!
(I actually called my dad to see just when that house might have been built. I'll have to do some more research on it but apparently it started as a one room log cabin and then later they built a kitchen and second story bedroom around it, keeping the original house as the living room. There were stories passed down from the man who originally owned the land about watering the horses of the Yankee soldiers out under that tree. yeah, old. I told you.)
The house was falling apart and we were supposed to stay clear but we sneaked in on occasion to explore the area. Some of the boys we grew up with used it as a hut and did who knows what in there. Well, one thing they did was create the story of "The Hatchet Man" who lived in the creepy house and appeared in the one faded and cracked window of the second story every night at dusk. He would watch the children play in nearby yards choosing the ones that he would hack into pieces in their beds. Lovely.
I would be heading back from a friends house and get to the corner of our yard, which was directly in front of the old house. I would take a slow, terrifying look into the window and then take off like lightning.
So, why have I shared this tale of childhood trauma? Because just a few days ago, we almost became that house. No scary guy with a hatchet, just a psychotic, screaming red-head. After 876 knocks on our front door and four million times of answering the same (stupid) questions; I lost it. I started screaming at everyone. "CLOSE THE DOOR AND STOP KILLING MY AIR CONDITIONING!!!" "GET OUT AND STAY OUT!!" "DO NOT KNOCK ON THIS DOOR AGAIN!" I knew it had gotten out of hand when one of the kids sheepishly asked, "Miss Amie, why do you have an attitude today?"
I checked my "attitude" and our reputation was spared. Now, I'm my normal screaming red-headed self vs. the completely out of control screaming red-headed self. Oh, and I put away my hatchet.
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