Well, some dang blasted fool finally did it. Didn’t listen to my warnings or the warnings of any of the other homesteads on this lovely, upper-middle class neighborhood. Lots of good, clean, hardworking folks around here and they aren’t in the habit of telling tall tales. Nawp, straight as an arrow these ones fly.

But they all told tales of horrendous doings at that ol’ Kelly shack. Awful things. Things that nobody should have to hear about. Rumors of things go around in this town about what that man did to those he cared about…the monitoring of their every move, the horrendous experiments to drain every ounce of productivity for their used up husks, then casting aside their decrepit, atrophied bodies once they were of no more value…makes me shudder to even think of it.

Can I interest you in some sweet tea? A Johnny Cake or two? Nawp? Suit yourself.

What dang burned fool finally brought the house? Don’t rightly reckon…Some city slicker, no doubt, decided they would scratch an itch that only life in the country could soothe. Plenty of other homes around here to play cowboy and farmer on the weekends when you unwind from your high-powered telebusiness position, or what have you.

But nobody listens. They never do. I’ve lived here since ought six and you’ll never catch me step a foot onto that property. Had a Holstein disappear for several days, believe it got lost in the Kelly compound, and that cow was never the same when it returned. It’s milk was rotten. Had to put her down with a ball peen hammer it got so ugly. Can’s imagine the horrors it saw.

That ground is sour.

I warned em’ about that Kelly place. Strange things happen there at night. Lights flicker one and off, cardboard signs decorated with traditional Philadelphia symbols appear strewn about the yard, mutterings of time of possession being an overrated statistic can be softly heard on the wind…things that should keep good, god fearing Christians away.

But nawp, guess it was just a matter of time. Progress and people are like that, always marching away and never fully seeing what’s right in front of their eyes. I’ll check in on the new owners once or twice, make sure they’re settling in just fine, be neighborly…but we know what’s going to happen.

I’ll go over there one day and nobody will open the door. I’ll let myself in and the new owners will be lying there, dead, choked quickly to death with two visors by some angry soul who believes too much in his own, flawed offensive system.

Yah. Lots of history at that old house. May god have mercy on their souls.