And I, as a child, never visited the house, despite my curious nature. I cannot even say why, since I was most compelled by the idea of ghosts and spirits and had even, in earlier childhood, had the good fortune to see a few. Nonetheless I seemed to follow the advice of peers and teen elders and stayed well away from the place on my sojourns into the wood. During this time I only had one glimpse of the house, and it seemed not so terrible. The architechture was not, at the time, recognizable to me, though now I can place it as somewhat dutch, and probably having been erected around the turn of the century, or up to a decade later. Dutch architechture is all but unheard of in our southerly climes, which makes the place even more of a mystery.

It fascinated me, though the fascination drew me no closer to it than before. I felt, at that moment of daring vision, I wanted to live there when I grew up. I think perhaps I then connected with something about the house, its emptiness, its strangeness, its alienation. I desired the house, and loved it, but only from afar. I remember I later even went so far as to phone real-estate agents to try and find the price of the place. Most of them responded with good humour toward such a devilish and inquisitive child, but all. assured me no such place was listed for sale on their records.

All through my teens I avoided the house, though I often sat in the adjacent ‘Desert’ and pondered its nearness. Once, during one of these langourous meditations, I thought I heard strange music from the direction of the shunned and deserted building, very faint yet forming a definite presence - both menacing and stimulating - in those barren surroundings.

It was not until sometime in my early adulthood that I finally visited the shunned house. Yes, I went there, accompanied by two friends - John and Ernest - who had similar interests to mine in the occult, the paranormal, all that which lies hidden from dull eyes and dull minds. I told them - with a mischeivous glint in my eye - of the abandoned place, and how despite its close proximity to all my childhood haunts, I had never once visited the place. They, of course, were all too ready to explore such a place.

We set off almost immediately after the conversation, and I - quite familiar with the surrounding wood and the nearby ‘desert’ - very easily found the house. I remember how astounded John and Ernest were by the strange beauty of the ‘desert’, and how very proud I felt to be sharing this particularly outré part of my childhood with such esteemed and interesting friends. The house itself, in comparison, seemed quite dull. The architechture was certainly unusual for the area, but nothing spectacular. It was big, ungainly barnlike 2-story wooden structure, probably once very solid but now in an extreme state of decay. The boards of the house were subjected to warping, cracks and some were missing altogether. They nonetheless had managed to maintain most of the red staining which had very probably been their original colour.

In the bright light of day it seemed a terribly ordinary thing, despite its odd location and even more odd reputation. It was surrounded on all sides by thick underbrush and overgrown foliage, though which we had to struggle to arrive at the front door, which had graciously been left open for us. It seemed very likely that indeed, no one had visited this place for many years, even decades, for no path was visible leading to the house. And yet upon entering - for despite its rather decayed and dangerous state, we were nonetheless determined to enter - we found it littered with all manner of strange detritus. Old shoes, clothing, yellowing papers, ancient bottles of various colours, remains of furniture were all scattered across the floors of the rooms. There were great holes in the flooring and much of the wood underfoot looked delapidated and in danger of collapsing. We picked our way carefully through the mess, treading a slow path and testing each step for firmness. We occasionaly heard the sound of scuttling, which could only be taken to be rats.

We found the stairs to the second story disappointingly collapsed and entirely inaccessible, so we adhered to our search of the ground floor. Each room seemed the same - littered with all manner of strewn objects, collapsed floors, walls holding only minute amounts of peeling paint or ancient wallpaper. Halfway through our cautious sojourn, we heard the front door slam shut. Although we dismissed it as wind, it seemed not to bode well, and it was at this moment we entered the final room on our journey.

It, unlike the others, was completely devoid of detritus, and almost immaculately clean. Several lengths of red velvet lined the floor, almost lovingly, and the walls, amazingly, were freshly painted in a rather deep and bright shade of blue. It was as if we had stepped into another house altogether. We were more perplexed than frightened, yet John - who was particularly sensitive to supernatural phenomena - was most uncomfortable in that room.

I remember reaching down to pick up and examine the velvet, but John flinched, and made a small warning sound. It was then that we heard footsteps coming from the direction of the kitchen, which was near the front of the house. The footsteps were impossibly even and heavy - no one could walk through such a delapidated structure in such a manner. I and my companions gazed at one another, having already ascertained that the sounds could not have been caused by any enfleshed and human entity.

John wanted to leave, and the three of us hastened toward the front door - still cautious of our step, but following our previous route a little more quickly than we had entered. Needless to say, we met no one on the way out - the place was empty save for ourselves.

We emerged into bright sunlight and began to pick our way through the overgrowth toward the path that led from the wood. We said little, but I could tell John was badly shaken. As we neared the path and turned away from the house, I felt a hand placed roughly on my arm, which spun me around. John and Ernest were both in front of me, but some invisible force had grabbed me and turned my direction. I gasped, and John and Ernest halted in their trajectory and turned to look at me. It was then that I glimpsed what seemed to be a low stone structure, near the house but so hidden by the overgrowth that we had not glimpsed it upon our entry. In fact, if the invisible force had not spun me round we would have left without seeing it.

It at first seemed to me to be the foundation of another house, and I pointed it out to John and Ernest, momentarily forgetting my very previous ghostly encounter.I walked toward the structure; John was hesitant to follow, yet both my companions were loathe to leave me alone in such a place and so quietly made their way through the underbrush in my wake. Upon closer approach what had seemed a low foundation turned out to be a wall, with a rusty iron gate attached to the front of it. The wall surrounded an old graveyard - very old, in fact. All the graves were unmarked - the headstones either missing or their writing weathered away. It seemed to be a small family plot and must have predated the house - perhaps another house had stood there before this one. I felt at once sad and yet somehow satisfied, as if some unasked question had been answered. My longtime desire to live in the house - or at least its environs - dissipated; I felt as though I had already lived there.