The Haunting of Hell House
No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met neatly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.
-- Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House
It was love at first sight, and we’ve been together for a long time. But lately, I have come to the conclusion that the emotion I feel is no longer love, if indeed it ever was more than a co-dependent infatuation. Whatever the feeling was, it’s gone now. All I feel now is loathing and a sense of desperation. I resent the obligations of our union.
I shouldn’t say this, but there’s something new in my life, and I’d much rather spend my remaining time and money working on that relationship. I sneak away to be together whenever I can - weekends and holidays, mostly. When we’re together, I feel peace and joy. I feel younger and more virile. The old just overwhelms me with frustration, hopelessness, and despair. The new is full of life and hope and youth. The old is just bitterness and regret. I just can’t take it anymore.
And I think the feelings are reciprocal.
I refer, of course to our house. It was built by Irish immigrant labor over a hundred years ago, and it’s been sadly neglected since. I suppose that’s largely my fault, but I grow increasingly afraid of what terrors lurk behind its horsehair plaster and lathes. Every time I turn around, it springs some new terrible expense at me.
When it heard we were looking at retirement properties, it decided to resurrect an ancient drain problem. The telephone company had augered through our drain line somewhere on the order of 25 years ago when they put new poles up. We found out about it when the drains backed up all these years later and A1 Drains ran a camera down the pipe. The cost to excavate and replace was several thousand dollars. Of course the phone company isn’t on the hook for that - any statute of limitations has long since expired.
Then it decided to to start dropping chimney bricks. The cap flew off in a recent high wind, and the chimney began falling apart. The cost to rebuild the chimney was a few more thousand dollars. The roof needed some repairs while they were up there.
Recently, when returning from a wonderful weekend in our condo, I made one trip from the car, and when I tried to open the front door to get the rest of the luggage, the door refused to open. You’re not going anywhere, it said. If you think you can sneak back in here after a weekend with that Cape Cod floozy, you’ve got another think coming, Mister Man.
I finally had to sneak out the back door and run down to the hardware store for a new front door locking mechanism.
The hot water looks a bit rusty. That’s the precursor to the hot water heater dying.
The House hates me. It’s seen Fatal Attraction and it wants to boil my bunny.
But it could’t do it alone. It needed an ally. It found one.
Tomorrow: The Tipping Point
-- Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House
It was love at first sight, and we’ve been together for a long time. But lately, I have come to the conclusion that the emotion I feel is no longer love, if indeed it ever was more than a co-dependent infatuation. Whatever the feeling was, it’s gone now. All I feel now is loathing and a sense of desperation. I resent the obligations of our union.
I shouldn’t say this, but there’s something new in my life, and I’d much rather spend my remaining time and money working on that relationship. I sneak away to be together whenever I can - weekends and holidays, mostly. When we’re together, I feel peace and joy. I feel younger and more virile. The old just overwhelms me with frustration, hopelessness, and despair. The new is full of life and hope and youth. The old is just bitterness and regret. I just can’t take it anymore.
And I think the feelings are reciprocal.
I refer, of course to our house. It was built by Irish immigrant labor over a hundred years ago, and it’s been sadly neglected since. I suppose that’s largely my fault, but I grow increasingly afraid of what terrors lurk behind its horsehair plaster and lathes. Every time I turn around, it springs some new terrible expense at me.
When it heard we were looking at retirement properties, it decided to resurrect an ancient drain problem. The telephone company had augered through our drain line somewhere on the order of 25 years ago when they put new poles up. We found out about it when the drains backed up all these years later and A1 Drains ran a camera down the pipe. The cost to excavate and replace was several thousand dollars. Of course the phone company isn’t on the hook for that - any statute of limitations has long since expired.
Then it decided to to start dropping chimney bricks. The cap flew off in a recent high wind, and the chimney began falling apart. The cost to rebuild the chimney was a few more thousand dollars. The roof needed some repairs while they were up there.
Recently, when returning from a wonderful weekend in our condo, I made one trip from the car, and when I tried to open the front door to get the rest of the luggage, the door refused to open. You’re not going anywhere, it said. If you think you can sneak back in here after a weekend with that Cape Cod floozy, you’ve got another think coming, Mister Man.
I finally had to sneak out the back door and run down to the hardware store for a new front door locking mechanism.
The hot water looks a bit rusty. That’s the precursor to the hot water heater dying.
The House hates me. It’s seen Fatal Attraction and it wants to boil my bunny.
But it could’t do it alone. It needed an ally. It found one.
Tomorrow: The Tipping Point