1205 7th St.

I was always the neighborly kind of person. I tried to be as friendly and as charismatic to my fellow neighbors everyday whenever I decided to leave my house. Sometimes I would proceed with the same jolly “hellos” almost every day in an unchangeable routine. I would leave my house at seven in the morning on the weekdays to go to school, and wave hello at my next door neighbor Pratik Sha. He was a short Indian man with a well-groomed mustache, and always wore the same colorful windbreaker. Even when the intense heat wave of June, July, and August comes melting the streets, I can sometimes catch Pratik having that damn sweater on. One must never judge their neighbor, however.

Coming from school I would say hello to two of my more preferred neighbors, Derek and Tyrone. My whole block was a mixed culture area, and I couldn’t have had in any other way. Dereck was this twenty year old guy who I used to always hang out when I was a child. He was only four years older than me, but during my childhood it didn’t matter how old you were on 7th St., because you’d still be accepted to participate in whatever outdoors activity we decided to kill time with. I can still reminisce all the wonderful moments I spent outside as a child, and feeling the sun’s scorching heat smack my entire body. I would gather with a bunch of other children and some teenagers at the time, and we would all come to some conclusion to play some game that involved a whole lot of running, hiding, and whispering. Either that or play Football. Either way, I would often return home with my knees either bruised or ashy with dirt, my shirt drenched with sweat, and my face containing at least one tiny scar from falling onto the ground. Oh, and my legs sore as a fucker.

Dereck was quite frequently the leader of whatever expedition us children decided to embark upon outside. He was this tall, handsome, and hilarious teenager who had it all. He had the most vibrant green eyes you will ever see. Whenever the sun reflected upon them, they would sparkle like billions of diamonds falling from the sky. I don’t want anyone to find me queer, but I always had to admire the man’s complexion of beauty. Also there was the factor that he played both baseball and football, and had a beautiful girlfriend named Kirsty with long, brown hair. I always liked Dereck, and he always found me the coolest child he had ever met. I went along with him pretty well, and I sometimes found myself inside his home after four hours of non-stop running. He would provide me with loads of snacks, and I would gladly munch on them until my stomach felt as if I swallowed three oversized marbles.

When did this story become a memoir of my childhood? Aren’t I supposed to write something scary?

I’m getting there, do not worry. Anyways, Dereck was an awesome neighbor, and he might have sparked the idea in my mind that I must treat every neighbor with respect and love. He always boasted how all we have in life is our friendly neighbors, and that the world can be a better place if each and every other neighbor shared a sense of communication and benevolence. See what I mean, this kid was meant to be something.

Then there was Tyrone. This one time when I was only eight years old, I decided it was a nice enough day outside to take my bike outdoors, and ride the whole evening until supper was served. It was the dawn of autumn, and where I lived, which was in northern New Jersey, the temperature hadn’t made such a dramatic drop yet to the mid-thirties. It was still around the low seventies surprisingly. I was glad since I preferred warm weather over freezing storms any day of my life.

I rode around my block in my tiny, silver bicycle that was brought down to me from my older brother that lived in a faraway place called California. Parts of the metallic material the bike was constructed out of rusted, and as I pedaled on I could hear the constant squeak of the gears exhausting themselves. Despite how old and fucked up the bike was, I loved it as if it was my child. It came from my family, and I took it whenever I went outside.

The way Tyrone and I truly met is quite a funny story (and painful story if I should add.) The street I lived in had a huge hill up top, and after a half an hour of just speeding through my entire neighborhood in a straight line, I deiced to roll up the hill to see if I can race down in high momentum. Going up a hill with a bike is arduous work to no surprise to whoever has rode a bike before. But before I knew it I was at the top of the hill with the sun beaming at my still-tanned face from the summer that just passed back then.

I stared down at the hill below me, and felt it intimidating me. My stomach turned so badly I thought my intestines were doing cartwheels. I never challenged myself to go at full speed down this hill, and up to this point all I had been doing was gingerly riding down the hill with my hands clutching the brakes so hard that I received bruises on my fingers. But I think even back then I was willing to do anything myself in order to receive the answers I needed to know, and at that moment I wanted to know the feeling of going down a hill at max speed. Two of my friends had done it, and they bragged on how amazing and “rad” the trip down was. I had to know, for the sake of my eight-year-old reputation.

Before I knew it, I pushed down on the pedal, and in seconds the worn out wheels of my bike were spinning down the hill. This time the squealing of the metal of my bike were screaming right at my ear. They sounded moments away from ripping into shreds. My own heart beat in a pace that could compete by how fast I was descending down my hill. The wind rushed and smuggled at my face, and there were moments where the air was choking me. I had my mouth opened because of the quiet moans of fear that escaped my lips, but even with this fact I was still having the time of my life. Despite how hard the wind was about to knock me over, the breeze cuddling with my face felt refreshing. Instinct told me to squeeze hard on the brakes, but I had to fight my mind in order to just enjoy the ride. The world around me was blurred by how much momentum I accumulated. I was in paradise.

Surprisingly a smiled crossed my lips even with the rush of air against my face. I was too dazed out from the joy I was getting with coming down the hill that I hadn’t notice the parked car leaving the driveway it was placed in. A small brown Honda was driving in reverse trying to roll away from the driveway, and ride into the street on my block. If the car had been any bigger, I think my face would have osculated right against the rear of the vehicle. Instead when my bike crashed against the side of the car at full speed, my body leaped over the brown car like the cow who jumped over the moon. Due to how fast I was pedaling down my hill, all the strength and speed I gathered from going down all stop, and came together in a single point. That single point was where I was sitting at, and the impact of my bike with Tyrone’s car sent me landing on the other side of his car.

My mother always told me to wear a helmet, knee pads, and elbows pads whenever I rode my bike, but like almost every kid in my neighborhood and school, I didn’t listen. Boy did my mother scowl at me when I came home that evening. I landed right on those three areas of the human anatomy I just mentioned. My elbows and knees came crashing down on the concrete sidewalk, and scraped the ground in one huge swipe. I felt my skin grind against the diminutive pebbles on the ground. My body rolled on the ground for a couple of seconds, and stopped once I hit my head against a lying TV that my neighbors must had thrown away. The pain didn’t come when I fell, nor did it arrive when my head broke the TV’s screen. It came when Tyrone leaped out of his car, ran to me, and I saw his dismal and shocked expression.

I cried, of course. I think that much is obvious. Hot, bubbling, and alive agony shot at my arms and legs. I felt my blood trickle down from the bruises, down to my ankles and socks. It was that pain that felt as if someone was pinching and stabbing at one specific point at the same time. Not to also mention how much my head buzzed from the smack it just received. I was seeing stars and flashing images for moments to come. The back of my head felt dense, and was experiencing one of the worst migraines in my childhood. How many kids can say that their skull crashed against an ancient TV? You know, the ones with the huge hunch on their backs.

“Jesus! Kid, ya’ll okay?” I heard Tyrone asked as generous as he can speak. He had a very deep, masculine voice no man I met has ever topped since. The only response I gave him where my weeps of agony. “Lemme help ya there, stud.” Tyrone crouched down with his skinny, wrinkled, but muscle-packing arms, and dug them under my body. He pulled me up with no problem, which shouldn’t be a surprise since at the time I probably weigh like fifty to sixty pounds as a child.

My home was only a couple of houses down from where Tyrone’s car was parked, and I knew that Tyrone knew where I lived. Whenever my mother would walk me to school, she would always say hello to Tyrone with pleasure. So Tyrone knew instantly where to go as he ran with a child over his hairy arms. My own world was a fishy and dreary ride at the moment. I had just received one of the most brutal falls of my childhood, but at the same time I just rode the most awesome hill in my life. How many kids can boast that they rode down 7th St.’s hill, and crashed against a parked car? Only I baby.

My vision was blurry as well as disoriented as Tyrone rushed to my home, but all of that changed when my droopy eyes stared at the woman who was sitting inside the entrance of her house with the door opened. There are many memories of my child that are mixed up, but this particular moment I will carry in my heart until death comes knocking on my door. There was this white and green house a couple of houses away from my own that I hadn’t quite notice before until that moment.

She was sitting on a chair that appeared as messed up as I was. Chips of the paint that covered the wooden chair fell away before my eyes, and overtime that chair will transform from a mixture of red and blue into a dry Oakwood yellow. The elderly woman sitting on the chair had long, straight, and luscious grey hair the color of the moon. It reached down all the way to her thighs when she sat down, and had bangs concealing her leathery forehead. I write down her forehead was leathery because the entire skin on her face had a complexion of wrinkles, and this texture that appeared like rubber. I can’t describe it any better than that, to be honest. There were also multiple moles and birth marks decorating her cheeks. Over her entire body she had on a large, fluffy green night gown that she wore every single day.

This was the first time I had ever set eyes with this woman, and she brought out a horrible first impression on me. Of course I must have rendered her the same appeal, since I must have looked like complete shit at the moment with blood all over my clothes and skin. But I had an explanation, while she didn’t. In fact, I would get to know the terrible fact that she looked like how she appeared every day. This old woman offered me a look of complete disgust. It was as if she gave off this depressing expression to the entire world because the earth must have done something so saddening to her that she has to demonstrate herself in this matter. Her fat, pink, and old lips came down in a grumpy frown, and her eyes narrowed at me with disappointment mixed with grimace. I groaned in fear at the sight of her, but she took no notice of my terror.

Before she disappeared behind me, I glanced at her one last time. I swear on everything I loved that this happened. She laughed like a witch at the sight of my blood and demise, and shut the door in front of her with a large slam. The echo of the door being closed haunted me as Tyrone marched towards my house. I kept on thinking of the woman’s hysterical laughter before she drifted away from my eyesight. It sounded bizarre, almost insane.

At the end of that day, Tyrone brought me back home in one piece. He took a while to explain to my mother what had happened, and my mother answered with first shock, fear, and concern, then with attention, and finally with laughter and delight at the idea that I was okay. Tyrone and she chatted for a bit, and he had to leave right away soon after. Once the air cleared up and my head stopped hurting, my mother teased me at the idea of not listening to her when she says to always go outside with proper equipment.

The whole time my mother was yelling at me, my mind was in a different place. I kept on pondering about the old woman who I just met moments ago, and replaying in my imagination that wretched and demonic laugh that came crawling out from her mouth. How she had closed the door as if all she opened it for was to see my pain and torment

As you can imagine, I couldn’t sleep that night. And when I did sleep, nightmares bit at my brain. This was the start of a journey better left never crossed.

After this incident, I didn’t particularly tackle with the idea that the woman who I just met was somehow out to get me. In fact, the whole concept of that day slipped away from my mind in no less than three days. It was just childish fears combined with an expansive imagination. Every time I passed the green and white house I would barely give it a second glance. Kids are so easy to forget the things that hurt them. I think that’s scary itself.

It wasn’t until around the time I was eleven years old that the horror of that day resurrected itself upon my life once more. I was standing in line inside the corner store that was placed up the hill where I lived. It was this medium-sized bodega that my mother always used to send me to buy last minute groceries. I also went to the store to buy the occasional snack or drink.

That evening was during the beginning of spring. I remember very specifically these things because number one, when major moments in our lives occur, you tend to remember every single detail about that day. Number two was that I remember wearing my black hoodie with a pair of soccer shorts. This was my average clothing style every single spring in my hometown.

My mother had asked me to go buy her some beans to make a special soup she use to cook once a month. I went reluctantly, searched for the beans, and waited in line for the tourist in front of me buying a Red Bull to hurry up with his item. As I kept on gazing at the man’s large 48oz heart-attack-inducing-drink, my eyes shifted on the two customers who stepped inside the store.

My body straightened once I glimpse at the two men. I recognize them from the green and white house that was down my block near where I lived. At that moment the memory of seeing the old lady chuckling at me returned to my imagination, and I felt the hair on the back of my neck float as if being pulled. They came strolling inside with sanguine smiles on their lips, and they kept on turning their eyes all over each object inside the store. For a second I thought they were on drugs. But the one man appeared too old to induce himself in such illegal matters, and the other man just didn’t seem like he had it in him to smoke marijuana.

The old man’s face closely resembled that of the elderly woman’s face, and I came close to making the conclusion that they were siblings. But then another memory crossed my mind once more. This one time I was walking down my hill, I spotted the old man and woman connecting lips with each other. No way in hell were two siblings kissing each other, unless my hypothesis was right about that old lady, and how fucking nuts she was. But as I gazed closer at the old man, you could point out the difference between the two. The old man didn’t have that leathery texture on his skin, but instead his appear rather rotten as well as melting. His entire cheeks and forehead sagged down not due to weight, but some other factor I couldn’t put my finger on. Plus the old man had a small, round face, while the crazy old lady had a large, oval-shaped structure of a head.

Then there was the young man standing next to the old man. I also came close to the idea that the younger man was somehow the son of the elderly man and woman, but pushed away the thought almost immediately. The young man had really tanned and smooth skin, while the old man and woman were as pale as paper. This could also be due to the fact that maybe the man and woman didn’t go outside as much, and gather as much sun as this young man would receive. But at the same time the young man had the ethnicity of being Dominican, and this I knew due to talk inside the store I was currently in. The store owners were all Dominicans, and they kept to themselves, including the young Dominican I was staring at right now.

He had large, circular eyes that stared at the world with a sense of retardation. I’m sorry, laziness or slowness is a better phrase to use in context, but I am trying to be as blunt and as truthful as I can. You could just tell however that the young man, who was probably around the age of twenty-five, was a bit behind in the head. Not to mention that also when he walked in, his lips kept parting away from each other as if speaking silent words only he can hear himself. Both men were about the same height, which wasn’t much since they stood at most a five foot four. Being eleven I barely reached their height, but overtime I would get to tower over them.

Without warning, the young Dominican approached me almost as fast as I was going down my block with my bike that one time. For a second I was dazed out in my own thoughts, but reacted just in time to pull away from the man’s approaching hands.

“Ay! AY,” the young Dominican said. Most of their kind spoke in this tongue, and I grew accustomed to hearing this talk. It also helped that I, myself, am from a Hispanic background. But the way this young Dominican was slurring his words, I knew there was something wrong with him. “Ben aca! Cum here fo a secon!” I think he meant to say “Come here for a second,” but at the moment I was too surprised at what was happening I didn’t have time to question his words. I turned my eyes to see what the two male store owners were going to do of this situation, but they were too busy chatting it up with the tourist who still hadn’t fucking left. If there’s one thing Dominicans are great at is making a great platano taste amazing, and storming up an hour long conversation.

You have to remember that I was still a child at this moment, and I still had the idea that you can trust anybody in the world. Especially your neighbors. So when this young Dominican man took hold of both of my hands with a tenacious grip, I didn’t think much of it. In fact I smiled right at his face as if we were best buddies about to do something spectacular.

But nothing fantastic happened next with what he planned on doing. The young man took a second to admire my hands, and then proceeded to drop them down towards his legs. Well, at first I thought he was going to place them near his legs, but then he went a little bit above his thighs. Then I knew what he wanted to do, and forced my hands away from his monstrous grip with all the power I could gather in one single moment.

“The fuck are you doing!” I yelled so loud I thought China heard a faint echo of my protest. All conversations ceased to an end once I released my call of denial. The young Dominican eyed me with that clueless gaze of his, while I shot at him an icy stern gaze of austerity. My arms were trembling as if I had just escaped a snow storm.

“Oye! Wat are you doin, man?” The store owner asked the young Dominican, and came around the counter to get between the young man and me. “Yu can’t be doin stuff like dat, ya heard?” The young Dominican responded with more mumbled and inaudible words. “Ya, ya! Get out of here, ya heard! Vamos! Go to the street, men!” The store owner almost pushed the young Dominican away from the store. I felt bad for a moment, but then remembered that he almost made me touch his crouch with both of my bare hands. The entire time this scene was happening, the elderly man was just standing there with his hands in his pockets, and that same furtive smile on his lips that were stapled on his face forever. It was strange just looking at the old man. He had that same expression the entire time, and it didn’t even shift slightly once he and the young Dominican left the store together. The last thing I saw was the red coloring of the man’s lips, and those large lost eyes of the slow Dominican man.

“I apologize for what just happened, men,” the store owner said. He was about six foot two, and he made me look like the smallest human in the world. “I don’t understan que le pasa with tat man, ya know? Somethin, is uh, wrong with his, um, head, ya know?” The store owner proceeded to tap his temple with both of his index and middle fingers repeatedly. “If anything, I’d avoid that men, he crazy! Also you can keep that can of beans for free. Sorry, otra vez.”

I left the store giving a quick nod, and a faint thank you. I stood on top of my street’s hill, and gazed down at both men going down the block. The young Dominican turned his head for a quick second, and stared right at my fearful eyes. He offered me a grin that only a toddler can pull off, and in return my lips formed the words “piss off.” After a couple of seconds the two men knocked on the door to the green and white house, and the elderly woman was there to open it with a hint of gratitude. It was at this moment I realized that they had entered the store for no apparent reason detectable. They didn’t even leave with any purchased items. Facts like this created some vision of suspicion for those three interesting characters.

I stared longer at them as they talked relatively quick in front of their door. After a while the two men strolled deeper into their home, leaving the woman to be by herself. She noticed me spying on her, and we made eye contact for no more than five seconds. After that, she took hold of the base of the door with her meaty and wrinkled hands, and slammed the door shut without giving me a second glance.

Once again the echo of that door being shut crawled at the back of my neck until I reached home with fresh new beans.

That house and those three people stayed implanted in my mind from then on out. There wasn’t a week or a month where I didn’t take a second to ponder about who they were, and where they lived. I didn’t even bother to discuss with my parents about what happened that day when I was eleven. I knew if I spoke of it they will overreact, and I already handled the situation myself. There were times where I would see the young Dominican around our block, and whenever I did see him I’d turn the other way or cross the street.

The years passed by, I entered high school, and things just drifted back to normal. I lived an everyday average teenage life, and that was the way I wanted it to be. I watched as old neighbors left my street to move away, and newcomers arrive with trucks loaded with their furniture, family photos, etc. I made sure to stress with my parents that we should welcome them, and of course they didn’t deny the offer. They were just as gregarious as I was when it came with our neighbors.

During the time I was fifteen, I decided it was time to find out some things or rumors about that green and blue house. The perfect opportunity came when I was walking up my block, and I spotted both Tyrone and Dereck conversing outside of their homes. They both lived right next to each other, and were as close as neighbors can get.

“Ay, what’s up Dereck,” I spoke cheerfully, offered a grin, and clapped hands with him. At the time I think he was around the age of nineteen, fresh out of high school. It was summer time I believed, since I remember wearing just a white plain T-shirt accompanied with basketball shorts that reached my knees. Dereck dressed in a similar fashion. Tyrone, on the other hand, wore a sleeveless brown shirt with working jeans that contained little bits of paint residue on them. The thing everyone loved about Tyrone was that he was always looking for jobs to do around town, and he wouldn’t mind painting inside our outside of a house for a cheap price. If there was a man we all depended on, it was Tyrone.

“Sup little man,” Dereck said with his supercilious but gentle voice. “Damn, I hadn’t see you in a while, dawg. How ya been? What grade you in right now?’

“I’m in my freaking sophomore year,” I grunted. “Hey Tyrone. How’s everything?”

“Everything good, bud,” he said with that generous deep voice of his. “How about I let you two kids talk about your stuff. I gotta go upstairs, and fix some things inside my home for a while. Been a busy day for me. If either of you get a chance, you should check out Ms. Velazquez’s house. I painted that beauty in under three hours, and it came out as beautiful as she is.”

“Sounds good, I’ll remember to go visit her one day,” I said. Ms. Velazquez wasn’t all that gorgeous. Not as pretty as Dereck’s girlfriend. “But hol up one second, Tyrone, if you may. I gotta ask you two fellas something real quick.”

“Shoot us,” Dereck spoke.

“Ight, I’m only asking you guys since number one, you live close by the house I am about to mention. Also I trust the both of you, and I think we can keep this to ourselves, right?” They both offered me a believable and trustworthy nod.

“Listen up,” I continued. “You know that green and blue house right there?” I pointed at the home just a couple of yards away from where the three of us were standing.

“Yep, I know that place,” Tyrone said. I turned to look at both Dereck and Tyrone, and they gave me a solemn look. Right away I knew something was up, and my suspicions weren’t at all unreasonable. “1205 is the address. What about it, son?”

“Let me tell you guys somethin,” I began, and proceeded to tell them my two tales: The one involving Tyrone, and the other up the block inside the bodega. As I chose the right words to describe every single detail of my story, they kept on giving me appropriate nods and looks of dismay. To be exact, I was a little disappointed with the way they were taking in my story. I expected a more depressing or alarming vibe between the three of us, but instead it seemed as if they heard it all before.

After I finished telling them everything I thought, experienced, and knew, I stood quiet in front of both of my friends. After a few seconds of awkward silence, I spoke again. “Well?”

“Well I’d say that it took you long enough to figure this shit out,” Tyrone spoke. “Listen here, Pedro, I’ve been living here for almost thirty years. Thirty years I said, and I’ve seen all types of weird faces and people around town. Those three folks right there, something ain’t right. I’m a grown fifty five year old man, and that old lady who just does nothing but sit on that old rusty chair all day still gives me the fucking creeps. That house just smells of something fishy.”

“Yeah, I would not trust a damn person in dat house,” Dereck said. “I’d seen that Dominican bastard tryna talk with some of the younger kids. I know there must be something special about em, and I won’t judge and all. But still, somebody has to control that person.”

“Besides,” I began. “What a weird bunch to have living inside a home? Like it is just two old white folks, and then some young, slow Dominican man? Like how the hell did that happen? Tyrone, you got any idea?”

“I’ll tell ya this much,” Tyrone said. He beat at his chest a little, and then went to a coughing fit for a few seconds. “Excuse me, fellas. Should lay off the sticks for a while. Anyways, I saw that old couple when they first moved in here. And I’d tell ya, they were completely different from what they are now.” I was going to ask, well how exactly, but was interrupted by Tyrone’s harsh shushing sound.

“Hush boy, all unanswered questions can come after I tell ya this. So yeah, I saw them folks move in here. It was a year after I moved in, to be specific about it. They were already old when they first arrived, around their mid-forties or fifties, but they were jollier to say. They just didn’t seem as pissed or as gloomy as they do now. I think the woman was three times as pretty actually. She had the looks of those old ladies that you knew would still contain some of that beauty even when eighty years hits em. Now they both look like dogshit. Excuse my language fellas.

“But yeah, I saw them move in, and I saw them enter their house for the first time. Nothing too special about the event. We were able to make them feel at home. I don’t remember where they came from, what their occupation was, and why the hell were two old folks moving in a place like this. Shouldn’t they be by Miami or some shit? Either way, we didn’t question em.

“But then, you know, things happen, time changes, and overtime that old couple shifted to something else. Each year they just became more isolated from everyone else. Even with our efforts to try to get em out of the house, those folks still locked themselves inside like a bunch of slaves. I think they truly wanted to be inside the home, and be consumed by it. I don’t know what was so damn unique about that house. Eventually them bastards just forgot about us.

“But this is what I get from this whole experience.” Tyrone leaned closer to Derek and I. “Call me crazy, and I know sometimes you young men might think I am by how I love working and all, but I believe it’s that damn house that got to em. Somethin about that home ain’t right, and you can’t tell me the opposite. Sure the lady and the old man may make your spine tingle, but it’s the house that gets to your bones. Whenever I walk pass that son of a bitch I pussy out, to be honest. I can be sensitive about this type of shit, and I just feel so…insecure about myself when I walk pass it. I feel as if that house has eyes, and it’s watching my every step. Shit like that ain’t sane, but I feel it. I truly do.”

I was speechless. Derek was speechless. We were all lost for words. I tried opening my mouth to speak, but it felt as if they were sewed shut. “You don’t gotta say another word, son, I know you think it’s true. Them folks were nice, generous fellas before that house ripped their souls clean from em. I damn feel sorry for those poor S.O.B’s.

“All I am sayin is that if I were you, I’d avoid that house as much as I can, boy. Why you ask us what we thought about that house anywho?”

“Just wonderin, and all,” was the first lie I ever told one of my neighbors. I wasn’t just wondering, I was hunting. I was scavenging for the truth, and it will fall on my hands whether anyone liked it or not. I had to find my answers.

“You got any stories, Derek?” Tyrone broke the silence.

“Nah, not really,” he said. “Just that I always found em folks a bitch to look at. I love everyone here, but it takes a special kind of feeling to love those guys. It’s just the vibe, man. I don’t dig it.”

“Ditto,” I mumbled to myself. “What happened?” Tyrone asked me.

“Nothin,” I said. “Listen guys, thanks for your time and words. I really appreciate it.” Derek and Tyrone both responded with the same chorus of “no problem.” Derek headed out up the block, stating he was meeting with his girlfriend to go on a date. He departed off, which left Tyrone and I by ourselves.

“What are you really going to do, kid,” Tyrone said, and smiled with a sardonic grin. So he was good at reading people as well.

“To tell you the complete truth, I don’t know,” I said, and it was. Even with this deep desire burning inside me to find out answers about this damn house, I still felt the trepidation presence of the home. At the same time I wanted nothing to do with that home, and those people living inside it. “But what I do know, Tyrone, is that I need to know more things. And sometimes you have to dive deep into the situation in order to get what you want.”

“If that’s what you say, sure kid,” Tyrone said, and began walking up his steps to go inside his home. Before he opened the main door to leave me alone, he turned around and gazed at my eyes. “I ain’t stoppin ya from doing your thang. Just if you’re going to dive deep, try not to drown.”

And on that note, my garrulous neighbor Tyrone left me feeling completely ambivalent about myself, my neighbors, and that damn house.

That was early in the summer, around the month of June. It took me some time to reconsider my steps after that conversation with Tyrone and Derek. I was filled with confidence and determination to barge inside that home, and confront whatever force awaited for me there. In fact now that I thought about it, it would look completely idiotic to just enter a home without any sort of motive.

It came down to that I can forget about this whole thing, and just live my life as a normal neighbor like everyone else in my block. Or I could take the courageous risk, and try to talk with one of the three folks living inside that home. Each time I thought about the latter option, I would get this dense weight on my chest. I don’t know if it was fear, excitement, or a bizarre mixture of both. Either way, when the middle of July arrived, I made my official decision.

The sun was baking the entire neighborhood with its scorching heat that made my skin feel as if it was melting. I stepped out of my home with my keys on one hand, and a fresh batch of brownies in the other. I baked double chocolate fudge brownies for the whole damn neighborhood. I knew it was not so great of an idea to be offering such hot, thick, and messy snacks on a summer evening, but who can deny a brownie? I kept the chocolate brownies in a large rectangular tray that could sustain about a dozen of them.

Here was the plan: I was just an average neighborhood teenager giving out free brownies for whomever wanted them in my block. I know this type of behavior would strike me as being a bit shady and devious, since we all know what some teenagers do with baked goods. But I had several advantages. Number one being that everyone adored and loved me inside my block. There was not a single person who didn’t know me in my street, unless they were a newcomer of course. My neighbors found me trustworthy. The second thing was that, and I don’t want to sound hubris or anything, most of my neighbors were quick to point out how handsome I looked to them. In this world, it pays off real nice if you have a nice-looking face.

I would go around each and every house with my batch of brownies, and would have to go knock on the green and white house to see if thy neighbors would love to munch on my fresh-baked goods. So with this idea, I wouldn’t look as bit as suspicious or weird for attempting to go inside that home. I may get a few second glances at my fellow neighbors for even making direct contact with that home, but they probably would see it as me being naïve, and not knowing truly what type of people live inside that home. Little did they know that I knew exactly who lived inside 1205 7th St. Trust me, I had first-hand experience. No pun fucking intended.

The first house I went to was Pratik’s. He took my offering with gratitude and a look of starvation, and clapped my backs several times before I left. I then proceeded to go on with the rest of my neighborhood, until I finally reached the green and white house. Next to it was Tyrone’s and Derek’s compartment, and I considered offering them a brownie. Of course if I did this, they would both want to start a conversation with me. Once that happened, I can kiss my plan good-bye.

I just passed the thought away, and focused on the main task ahead of me. When I reached the front steps of the green and white house, I kept my foot an inch away from the first step. I placed my sweaty hand on the railing that had its black paint chipping off. I had never been that close to the house before, and at that moment I regretted the choice I made. Just touching a piece of the house made me feel powerless.

Stop it, I told myself. It was just Tyrone’s stupid superstition about the house. I couldn’t have the idea be realistic in my mind. It just didn’t make sense.

I walked up the steps while at the same time ignoring Tyrone’s voice ringing inside my head. My own inner voice kept on repeating the same phrase of not to go through with this. I had to block and separate too many voices that were smacking around my mind at that moment.

I reached the front of the home, and let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was containing. The door stood right in front of me, but I think “stood” is not a correct term to describe the position of the entryway. It was almost crooked from the left side, and I peeked at the hinges of the door as they gingerly swayed back and forth with a rusty croak that reminded me of my bike. The door was at the breaking point of collapsing. I figured that if I knocked hard enough, I could bring the entire home to the ground.

I slowly tapped my knuckles five times against the dry wooden door. As I waited for someone to open the door, I took this time to observe the entire house from the outside. Some things I didn’t consider about the home were the little holes covering most of the wall of the house. They appeared like someone had slit parts of the wall with a jagged knife, and had created these oval-shaped holes.

I reached out my hand to place a finger on one of the holes, and retreated my hand once I made contact. I almost stumbled back and fell down the stairs by how terrified I became. My entire body shook with frozen fear despite the heat of the day. The sweat dripping down my neck and back turned to ice-cold liquid, and every single one of the hair on my arm rose with great horror. I couldn’t control my body by how much I was shivering.

Once I touched that hole, I felt some sort of movement. It felt as if I placed my fingers on top of some soft and sponge-like tissue.

I didn’t have any more time to ruminate over the surreal event that just occurred, since at that moment the door in front of me opened wide. I was greeted with the elderly lady. Once the inside air crawled out, and roamed around my entire body, I felt it. I sensed what Tyrone must have been talking about. It felt as if the air inside the home had tendrils, and they were wrapping around my limbs to drag me in. I felt a force reel me inside. The house was seducing me. My skin tingled with a soft and tender touch.

“Why hello there,” the elderly lady said to me with an apathetic face. “How can I help you?” But once we made eye contact, that faced transformed into great and undeniable happiness. I had never seen a grin so wide before. It was literally ear-to-ear.

I regretted everything at that moment.

“Um. Hello there,” I tried to say as gentle as I could manage, but the words came out in one huge slur that even to me sounded not comprehendible. “My name is Pedro. I don’t know if you recognize me from the neighborhood, but yeah. Um, I was just wondering if you’d like some, um, brownies that I baked.” There was a slight pause between the two of us. Her lips were still stapled with that humongous grin. “Um, you don’t have to, um, worry about the brownies being bad for you and all. My momma helped me cook, and you can, um, ask her to make sure.”

The elderly woman’s face returned back to its apathetic gaze, and I thought about just running away. This woman gave me mixed feelings about everything. I was not more than five minutes in the conversation, and already I doubted this was going to turn out as I expected.

Her grip on the wooden door tightened, and I spotted her wrinkled hand grow tense. I prepare myself for her to slam the door in front of my face. Instead the elderly woman opened the door a bit wider. “Well, why don’t you come in young man? I don’t want you burning in this heat.”

“Oh, well…” I began, but trailed off. This was the moment. I had to make my choice here. Either follow my gut feeling, and dive inside the house with absolute no fear at all. Or try to decipher the elderly woman right then and there. I couldn’t work under pressure, and I realized I took too long to say anything. If I continued this act, I would appear more suspicious than I already look.

But then I felt that formidable force once more coming from inside the home. I felt it wrap around my insides, and tugged at me to enter the house. This helped me to convince myself to go with my first idea.

“I’d love to come in,” I said, and smiled myself. The elderly woman’s grin returned, and she stepped away to the right to provide me some space to walk inside. I placed my right foot inside the home, and almost lost my balance at that moment. The presence of the house caught me off guard. My knees jiggled with weakness, and it felt as if my foot was permanently glued to the floor. I brushed away this random thought, and entered the home with my entire body inside.

“By the way,” I began, “I didn’t quite catch your name? If you don’t mind me asking what is it.”

“My name is Stacy, honey,” the elderly woman, Stacy, spoke. She reached out her chubby, leathery arm, and slammed the door shut with an obnoxious bang. It made the entire room swerve, and caused me to leap off the floor. The woman turned her head to look into my eyes, and didn’t move from her position. “Stacy Johnson.”

I stepped back out of precaution.

“Watch out honey, you’re going to trip on that stool, and drop my favorite vase,” Stacy spoke. I had never heard her speak before in my life until this moment. She talked the way she laughed, which was with a raspy and a bit grumpy tone. There was also a hint of disgust in the way she discussed things.

I stepped to my left to make sure not to bump into the little stool. I took a glimpse at the vase, and actually found it quite pretty. It was a light-violate shade of color, with white swirls twirling all around the glass object. It was by far the only enlightening thing inside the lugubrious house. Everything else seemed so doleful and plain. Everything appeared ancient and ruined, and there was not a single thing here that didn’t contain some type of crack, imperfection, or dust. The tan carpet below my feet had several dust bunnies roaming around like actual pets. The light above Stacy and I flickered with a faint light bulb that offered a poor excuse of a glow. I didn’t know where exactly the both of us were. I stood paralyze near the chair that I always saw Stacy sitting on while staring out into the neighborhood with the door always ajar. To my right appeared to be the living room. It didn’t have much enriching details. There was a large dining table with four chairs surrounding it.

“I see you’re observing my house,” Stacy said, and walked closer to me. Each of her movements where very slow and calm, and I was shocked she didn’t travel around with a cane on her hands. All of her joints and limbs appeared to be always shaking with pain. “Is there something that interests you, young man?”

“No, um not really,” I half whispered, half spoke out loud. “It’s just that I kinda never been here before, and I just want to take everything in. I’m sorry if I’m bothering you. I’m just an observer.” That was a lie.

“I’m sure you are, Pedro,” Stacy said with a bit sarcasm. Did she somehow figured me out? Was I that readable? “So, how lovely of you to make such delicious goodies for the whole neighborhood. What’s the occasion?”

That I hadn’t thought about. What I’ve been telling people was that I just thought it would be nice to give a little treat to my favorite neighbors, and they all accepted it with no dubious replies. But I feel as if I said the same excuse for Stacy, she’d read through me, and I’d look one-hundred percent suspicious. I underestimated how intelligent Stacy was. That was a mistake we young folks sometimes make to in everyday life. We forget how wise elderly people are, and how much experience they carry in life. Adolescent arrogance.

“Well,” I started, and thought about something quick. With this woman, I had to be fast on my feet. “Haven’t you been watching the World Cup? Ecuador had somehow managed to make it to the second round!” I thought I added a little bit too much excitement in my tone, but had to make sure I was believable as possible.

“Oh really?” Stacy said while continuing to step closer to me. “So you’re Ecuadorian?”

“Yes I am,” I said with some pride. I wasn’t at all lying with what I just said. It was 2014, and the World Cup was going on during the summer. Ecuador, by a landslide, managed to enter the second round with all the other teams who made it. Of course later on during the summer we would get spanked by almost every other team, but it was worth celebrating that we had at least some victories.

But then something happened. Stacy formed her significant smile, and out of nowhere increased in her speed at arriving towards me. Her feet thumped against the carpet, and in seconds she was right at my face. I stumbled back from my position, tripped over my own feet, and landed on Stacy’s chair. The brownies I was holding dropped from my arm, and the container flipped upside down. This caused all the treats to land on the floor. My desserts were ruined.

I was close to cursing out Stacy, but she broke into hysterical laughter.

“Wha-“was all I could manage to say, since I was so mesmerized and surprised at Stacy’s unusual behavior. Her right foot stomped on the insipid carpet by how much laughter was coming out of her lungs. It came out like the laugh of a smoker. It was all wheezing and out-of-breath inhales. At one point she beat at her chest with her corpulent hands.

“Oh boy!” Stacy called out at me. With a sudden jerk, she pulled herself together in a straight posture. Stacy’s face returned back to plain and boring, and her eyes narrowed down at me. Just what the fuck is wrong with this lady?

“Do you find me a fool, child?” Stacy spoke. I couldn’t stare at her for so long, and turned my eyes to the wall next to my left. The blue paint that had once made the house look decent was now dissolving. Parts of the wall had large white holes. I also noticed how the walls inside were as well covered with those same bizarre lacerations. Everywhere I looked, something made my nerves feel as if they were being pulled by both sides.

“Just what are you talking about?” I asked in a clear voice that I had somehow been able to manage. “You just made me drop all of my brownies!” I tried to sound enraged, but I thought I sounded more like a child in a tantrum.

“You know exactly what I am discussing about.” Stacy stepped closer to me, but it was more like she cringed closer. There was a hunch on her back, and her eyes kept on narrowing until they looked like the eyes of a snake. Some of her gray hair fell to her face, concealing her wrinkled skin. But it seemed as if her hair blocked out all of the prettiness still dwelling out of her, and only made her hideousness stand out more. “Nobody cares about us in this house, and then out of nowhere a lovely and handsome neighbor boy like you decides to bake brownies for the whole damn street? Give me a break.”

“To be fair, I only baked for some people. I couldn’t afford to bake for the whole damn neighborhood.” I thought I shouldn’t have said those words, since it was no time for being a young, sarcastic dick. Especially when my life felt in danger.

“Either way you looked suspicious from the start,” Stacy spat. That grin occurred once more. Her tone came out in a joyful flow. “But now that you’re finally comfortable and all, why don’t you really tell me why you’re here?” Comfortable was the farthest thing from what I was feeling.

I didn’t know what to say. I made it official that this woman was bat-shit crazy, and that I had stepped into a realm that I should have never entered. But the thing I feared the most was that Tyrone’s words and advice were starting to make more sense as time ticked by. I noticed it wasn’t necessarily the woman who was causing me to break down, but the house was doing most of the job. Each second that passed by I felt as if the air became denser, the walls grew closer together, and my own body sank deeper to whatever force was reeling me inside. It was a closing in feeling, like some force was hugging me tighter and tighter, and forcing me to grip harder into my own sanity. Soon enough I would feel as if I could no longer draw a single breath, and that my muscles would become unable to move.

Stacy’s smiled remained.

“I don’t know really why I am here,” I said plainly. In truth, my mind blanked out. I kept on seeing the numbers nine-hundred and ninety-nine repeating in my head.

“Well, that can’t be true!” Stacy said. Even she was starting to become some sort of illusion. But it wasn’t that. In fact she became more real to me. That smiled no longer frightened me, but rendered a welcoming emotion. Everything about her became so…right. “Come on, Pedro, find your reason. I know it’s in there.”

The walls. They were trapping me. The room became shorter, and the amount of space I thought I had before decreased. But it all felt realistic. There wasn’t that dreamy effect, or anything that made it look like a figment of my imagination. It seemed to be following the rules of matter, time, and space. It just appeared as if this was supposed to happen.

Stacy became a likable person. I adored her in a way, and that also felt right. The walls. They were closing me. The tendrils and tentacles I felt before that were dragging my limbs down resurrected themselves from the graves, and took hold of me once more. But it felt right. Everything felt at ease. In a way, I was in my own sanctuary. I never thought such details could feel and be so correct, so in place.

Stacy stopped smiling.

Then the world collapse for a brief second. Everything fell apart. The walls crumbled, the tentacles slithered back to the ground, and Stacy’s face was apathetic again. Things went back to normal, and I found Stacy a horrific figure once more.

“You should have never came here, kid,” she said. Her squinting eyes watched me with some pity, some disappointment. “Why didn’t you listen to Tyrone? There’s only trouble for you here. It doesn’t matter, it’s too late.”

“Just what the hell do you mean?” I yelled, and got up from the ancient chair. “What’s going on? Why- Why do you keep on freaking changing your expression? One second you’re smiling, and then the next you have that stern gaze of yours. What’s going on?”

“You’ll know soon enough.” Stacy spoke. “It takes time for this house to truly enter into your mind. But it will never truly get me. No matter how hard it tries, I still keep a part of me sane. It took away John and Carlos quick enough, but I’ve always been a fighter. So tell me, Pedro.” This time I saw a vision of it coming once more. Some sort of prediction I adapted to. Stacy’s smiled crossed her lips.

“Why are you here, Pedro?” Stacy’s face was only a few inches away from mine. Her entire hair concealed her face minus her eyes and lips. They were the only two things I had to look at her. They didn’t narrowed themselves, but instead bulged out of their sockets. I took a sniff of her hair, and smelled the scent of something acrid and loathsome, like smoke or ash.

“Jesus woman!” I screamed, and felt a yell at the tip of my tongue. But it ceased. I smiled with Stacy, and she became loving. Her aura was something I wanted to smuggle and cuddle with. The walls closed around me, and I allowed them to. The tendrils and shadowy vines came, and I let them tickle my body and neck. I gave them permission to chain my neck, arms, and legs. I felt safe.

“I’m here for us, Stacy,” I said with cheerfulness. “I’m here because I’ve always loved it here. I knew since the day I saw you, I wanted to enter inside this house. I love it here!”

“I see,” Stacy spoke, and drew away from my face. She stilled smiled as she brushed her hands all over her hair. “So you lied to me about the World Cup? But in fact you wanted to come here to see me? Because you love our master, correct?”

“Yes I do,” I said, and those numbers returned to my head. All I saw were nines fly all across my vision. I wanted to reach out for a pair of those nines, and lick them to taste their flavor. “The real reason why I came here is to-“ Stacy’s smiled went down to a frown. The world melted into dust. I snapped back from a weird daze.

“-find out some answers!” I had no apparent idea why I yelled. I started sweating, and it wasn’t due to the heat of the day. When I entered inside the home, I noticed how chilly it was inside. Now I felt as if I had entered an oven at overheat.

“I know, kid, I know,” Stacy said with her pissed-off tone. “I understood your curiosity. But one thing I will never understand is your damn guts. Maybe it’s because I am too old, but I forget how courageous and out-of-control young people can get. You guys think you have all the time in the world, and that nothing can kill or hurt you because of how young and healthy you are. You think you’re freaking Superman. You had a lot to learn kid. It’s a shame it’s all over for you now.”

“Please, please just tell me what do you mean?” I fell to my knees, and clawed my nails down at the dusty carpet. Tears streamed down from my eyes. “I don’t know- I don’t know what’s going on? What’s happening? Why- why do things changed all the time? Your damn smile! Why? Why am I here?” The last question I whispered to myself, but I knew Stacy heard me.

“You are here because the house force you here, whether you realized it or not,” Stacy spoke. She sounded very convincing for once. “Since the day I first saw you when you fell from your bike, I knew the house’s intention. The moment we made eye contact, I knew you were the house’s next victim. It sniffed your blood, and became hungry. It wanted you, because you had potential to become its next victim. That was why I burst into laughter. It was my other side, smiling at your future’s misery. I knew it.

“It was non-stop inculcation to make you curious about us. The whole time you kept on thinking it was because you were suspicious of the three of us, and that there was something wrong with us. You thought we were the main caused of this surreal emotion every time you passed our home. But in reality it was the home itself. This house, it’s a natural predator. It knows how to deceive a prey, and to know when exactly to go for the kill. Carlos, you can say, was the bate you needed to catch.”

My brain felt throbbing and agonizing headaches. Each time my heart beat it felt as if tiny needles were stabbing at my forehead. There was too much to take in.

“I do not blame you for your pain, child,” Stacy spoke, and I felt that prognostication once more. But this time it came very early, and I expected Stacy’s insane state to return in a longer duration. I still had time with the calm, sane Stacy. Hell, I still had time with the calm, sane me. “You will understand everything eventually. But it’s too late for you now. You’re doomed. Maybe, just maybe, you have enough strength to be like me, and still maintain some sense of saneness. But I though the same for Carlos, and he failed himself right away.”

“I can’t be doom!” I didn’t even need to be in my insane formation to feel claustrophobic. My mind panicked with each sound I heard inside the home. I realized then that those cuts on the walls were actual eyes, and they kept a constant gaze at me. I was always being watched, and that feeling of being stalked strangled at the back of my head. I became paranoid, and felt as if each time I returned to my insane state, I was drowning, only to be picked up from the water momentarily. “There has to be a way I can escape. I need to get out of here.”

With that final motive in mind, I made a rush to the door to exit. I felt glued to the floor, but managed to pick up my feet from the ground despite how tenuous my legs felt. Once I saw that I was a couple of inches from the wooden door, I laughed in delight and relief. I was going to make it.

But my heart-beat came harder than usual, and that was the sign that Stacy’s smiled returned, which meant that insanity took control again. I stumbled on my steps, and collapsed onto the floor. This time I found myself kissing and placing my lips repeatedly on the carpet.

Stacy burst into an ear-piercing chuckle, and pounded on the floor with her feet and fist. The tentacles swerved back and forth on the ground, and their touch felt like the nicest feeling in the world. I felt so right.

“Find answers? This here is your answer, Pedro!” Stacy laughed harder, and I thought her lungs were going to slip out of her champed lips by how much she was laughing “You can never return back, Pedro. This is your home now. This here if your life.”

A deep, drowning, and depressed part of me that was hidden amongst overpowering shadows knew what was happening. This was the sane soul of mine that had somehow stayed alive throughout this whole psychological battle. This part was crying an entire river, and drowning in that puddle of darkness.

“Carlos! John! Come join us.” Stacy sprang from the floor, and awaited for the two other guest to arrive. Soon enough, the Dominican young man and that old white senior came. They appeared just as crazy as Stacy and I were. Carlos took a glimpse at me, and his face brightened up like a child who had just took a look at his or her first pet. “That’s right! Carlos has been waiting for you, Pedro! He says you’re special. Carlos says that he likes you very much.”

“Very much!” Carlos still sounded mentally challenged. The young Dominican rushed towards me, and he started to roll around the carpet as I was. He joined me at my crazy fun. John licked Stacy’s hair and cheeks with his slimy, rotten tongue, and placed himself at the corner of the house near Carlos and I. There he stood there for the rest of the time, just staring at me with that tepid smile of his.

The walls were now pinching at my skin, and I felt paralyzed. But happy. I even started to love the Dominican man. He took hold of my hands, and I saw them drop down to his pants. I wanted to do it. I wanted to do everything and anything this house desired me to accomplish. I wanted to please my master.

Stacy’s smile, thank goodness, died on her face.

“No!” I jumped back from the young Dominican, and moved my head in all directions of the home. Everything came back to normal, for now, except Carlos and John. They still appeared in their insane state.

“You’re tough kid, I give you that,” Stacy said. “You’re lasting longer than John or Carlos ever had. Let’s see if you can manage for so long.”

“This is it then,” I spoke silently. Slow, gentle tears slipped down from my eyes. “I am done, aren’t I? I’m going to be, just like one of you guys, right?”

There were no words from Stacy, and that said enough. I closed my eyes, and waited silently for the worse part to come once more. “If anything, Pedro, pray you are like Carlos and John. They remain insane until the day they die. Unfortunately for me, I have to waiver between sane and insane points in my life. It’s a stressing and depressing thing to deal with. Carlos at least feels as if he’s always having the time of his life. I, on the other hand, know the reality of things. The reality is that this house is the Devil, and we are just her puppets controlled by her strings.”

Stacy smiled. Insanity came. I touched Pedro. I loved it. My hands loved it. This time what overfilled my field of vision were the nines floating around like clouds. Nine-hundred and ninety nine. Nine-hundred and ninety nine.

Nine-hundred and ninety nine.

Nine-hundred and ninety nine.

I only managed to write this in my sane moments in my life. It was arduous work doing so, since sometimes my insane episodes would arrive, and that part of me would tear the pieces into shreds. I surprised myself when I accomplish the last sentence of this memoir of mine.

Stacy is my only true companion now, but soon she’ll be dead. This will give me the complete authority of this house. I cannot blame her, since she’s been alive for a very long time. She’s surely a trooper, and not even the Devil can ever take that away from her. I give Stacy that.

As for me, life has been exhausting, as you can imagine. I was supposedly missing in my neighborhood when I first came into this house. My neighbors were rapid to remind the police that the last time they saw me, I was giving away brownies to the whole block. My parents informed the cops that they helped me baked them. After months on non-stop searching, and finding no ends, they came to the conclusion that I was kidnapped. Also, I am presumed dead. Of course the whole neighborhood mourned for me, and I even mourned for myself. I am dead, in a sense.

Since the time I first entered the house, until now, I have been kept hidden away from the outside world. The Devil doesn’t want me out just yet. She says that she wants to wait until Stacy is finally deceased, and that I am unrecognizable to the neighborhood. The Devil wants to rearrange my entire face. I look forward to it. Dubiously.

I remember this one time I was walking around the home, and I found this very old newspaper article. It described a story I can easily relate to. Young Dominican Boy Goes Missing. Carlos Pena went missing around March in 2003. He was last seen around my neighborhood. He was also supposedly kidnapped, and presumed dead. Strange. Carlos and I have something in common after all. I wonder how I never heard this story.

I know Stacy is going to die very soon, which was why I asked her earlier today what those nines floating in the air are.

“I always see em around, Stacy,” I told her. At this point we were both sane, while Carlos and John were screaming at the top of their lungs. They sounded as if they were enduring ultimate torture brought to them by hell itself.

“I see em too, kid,” Stacy spoke in her ancient chair. Some things never change. “But you know what Carlos and John see?”

I shook my head.

“They see sixes. They see Her number, Pedro. I think that the day you and I start to see sixes, our time is over. We’re going to lose our souls at that point.”

The prognostication occurred before I could say anything else. Till this day it still clawed at my brain the thought that I was about to go insane.

“Don’t worry kid,” Stacy spoke. “You’re used to this already. I think in truth, we humans are all crazy in our little own way. Ain’t that right, John?!” Her smile arrived. I dropped to the floor, and laughed like a hyena.

And for the first time, I think I saw a six in the middle between two nines.

Oh no.