Houses are alive. This is something we know, news from our nerve endings.
If we’re quiet…
… if we listen…
… we can hear houses breathe.
Sometimes in the depth of night, we hear them groan.
It’s as if they’re having bad dreams.
A good house cradles and comforts.
A bad one fills us with instinctive unease.
Bad houses hate our warmth, our humanness.
That blind hate of our humanity is what we mean by the word “haunted”.
– Rose Red