Prelude
The rumors passed down through the years extinguished any curiosity about the house. At first, a mad murderer lived there, very much alive, waiting for his next victim. Then, there was a demon, with a sharp deadly touch, who hunted down children and teenagers who behaved badly. From the demon theory there evolved a steady downgrade into a house containing a vengeful ghost, and from that, to there being simply a "haunted" house. Eventually, parents just told children not to go near the house on the hill, mainly because the foundations were crumbing and the walls would collapse. Now, even children who disobeyed and sought out ghosts and nightmares avoided the old mansion for fear of that greater specter, that shadow of death.
Even those unafraid of the great beyond, ones who had ventured up past the fallen gate and through the tangled overgrowth on the drive found the house quite inaccessible; a thick curtain of knarled vines hung over the front gate, and the rusted hinges could not be persuaded by any kind of oil or grease to move. The mysterious old home on the hill couldn't be broken into. It had been shut off from the world.
The neighborhood surrounding the mansion had evolved slowly with time. Houses had been repainted, then painted back when the new color was disliked by the family and the neighbors, occupants passed on, moved out, moved in, were born, and the whole cycle of life continued to slowly revolve around the axis of the mansion on the hill.
Now, the heat of the summer had settled in, causing early morning dew to rise in twists of steam from the manicured lawns. Pet dogs scrabbled through doors to catch a run, and pet cats retreated into homes, the night being gone. Husbands roused by nagging housewives pulled mowers and hedge trimmers from garages. Young children rushed to each other's houses, clutching their favorite toys, while teenagers overslept, taking in the sweet chaos of Saturday. Radios popped on, blaring news and sports. Televisions flickered with cartoons. And high above the noise and bustle, resting in the cool shadows of stone and silence, he waited for the perfect moment, like the one that had come knocking at his door so many years ago.
The rumors passed down through the years extinguished any curiosity about the house. At first, a mad murderer lived there, very much alive, waiting for his next victim. Then, there was a demon, with a sharp deadly touch, who hunted down children and teenagers who behaved badly. From the demon theory there evolved a steady downgrade into a house containing a vengeful ghost, and from that, to there being simply a "haunted" house. Eventually, parents just told children not to go near the house on the hill, mainly because the foundations were crumbing and the walls would collapse. Now, even children who disobeyed and sought out ghosts and nightmares avoided the old mansion for fear of that greater specter, that shadow of death.
Even those unafraid of the great beyond, ones who had ventured up past the fallen gate and through the tangled overgrowth on the drive found the house quite inaccessible; a thick curtain of knarled vines hung over the front gate, and the rusted hinges could not be persuaded by any kind of oil or grease to move. The mysterious old home on the hill couldn't be broken into. It had been shut off from the world.
The neighborhood surrounding the mansion had evolved slowly with time. Houses had been repainted, then painted back when the new color was disliked by the family and the neighbors, occupants passed on, moved out, moved in, were born, and the whole cycle of life continued to slowly revolve around the axis of the mansion on the hill.
Now, the heat of the summer had settled in, causing early morning dew to rise in twists of steam from the manicured lawns. Pet dogs scrabbled through doors to catch a run, and pet cats retreated into homes, the night being gone. Husbands roused by nagging housewives pulled mowers and hedge trimmers from garages. Young children rushed to each other's houses, clutching their favorite toys, while teenagers overslept, taking in the sweet chaos of Saturday. Radios popped on, blaring news and sports. Televisions flickered with cartoons. And high above the noise and bustle, resting in the cool shadows of stone and silence, he waited for the perfect moment, like the one that had come knocking at his door so many years ago.