I live in a haunted house. It doesn't look foreboding. Your normal run-of-the-mill four-story Queen Anne revival home. From the street, it looks like it should be owned by some hipster couple or one's own grandmother. The yard is well kept, the roses are in full bloom...there is a neighborhood stray cat that rests on the wrap-around porch. The house is ornate like most Queen Anne's of this style. It's a pale sunshine yellow with white trim and powder blue details throughout. Even when you walk inside, it seems innocent...but you can feel it. The ghosts that loom in this house. Their voices and screams soaked deep into the woodwork, the bones of this home are soiled with memories and dreams of all those that lived here before me...
The light in the living room window attracts Dragonflies. The Native Americans call Dragonflies the spirit keepers. They help the dead find their way.
There is a giant Oak tree which an Owl has called its home for many years now, and in the back yard, a shed, the old wooden kind that doesn't keep the rain out, actually... it doesn't keep anything out. In there lives a little red fox and its young ones. They are nestled under some old boxes behind a wooden workbench my father once owned. Between the foxes and the neighbor's cat, I have very few rodent problems around my yard and house.
Down the road sits a marina that houses unusual and redesigned old boats and submarines, a few water planes for island hopping, and just past that there is a cafe, an old-time saloon, and restaurant, a Chinese place with the best wontons in town and pier that leads to some tourist traps and marine time museums. A few blocks down there is an arts district and some strange oddities shops...some more tourist traps and knick-knack shop. Overall my little slice of heaven is pretty amazing, with a flare of magic and mystery always in the air.
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