What I’m about to reveal to you may change how you view me but it’s no matter. A reporter’s reputation wasn’t always sterling anyway. I just hope that you come to agree with me when I share my hypothesis after I present the facts I find to you.
For the past year and a half, I’ve occasionally checked on that house. At first glance, there really was nothing unique besides the faded door but patience revealed otherwise. It’s become somewhat of a routine in my newly busy life. Quick celebratory update, I was given a promotion and now cover slightly bigger stories! I no longer have to go on coffee runs for others. But just because I cover bigger stories now doesn't mean I have to let this particular story go.
Placelessness was no new thing and the house’s faded door was nothing but a faded door. This is indisputable. Everything looked tidy enough to the public but I wasn't satisfied. Besides the unchecked newsletter, there was no tangible evidence indicative of any foul play. Everything screamed normal. This was, of course, only at first glance. But now I grow weary as I’ve come to find a weird circumstance regarding that house. Every other house has people running in and out of their houses at differing times but there was never any movement coming from what, at first, I perceived like everyone else to be a “normal” house. What started as a quest to figure out what color the door originally was has become something else entirely. To what exactly, I'm not sure yet.
It’s been a year and a half but I’ve yet to see anyone enter or leave that house. Isn’t that just odd? Not during morning rush, when children go to school and others to work, and not in the afternoon when many people return to their homes, was there any movement. So, I’ve grown curious about the individual that occupies that living space if there even is one. It’s an occupational hazard. Let’s leave it at that. During my research, I’ve grown close to some of the neighbors. None of them seem to agree about who actually owns the house. Some say it’s a little girl but this makes no sense. Perhaps it's a senseless practical joke. Others say they saw a big blurry man walk into the house one morning but have no idea as to whom the real owner is. All they can agree on is the fact that the lights turn on at random points of time in that house at later hours so someone could be living there but no one is curious beyond that. They’re too busy with their own lives. That’s fair, but I, personally, will never understand it.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
No closer than I was a year ago, once again I take another deep breath of that nice cool, and crisp air as I prepare myself for yet another busy day. I grab a protein bar, an apple, and a bag of pistachios then head to my car. I get in that reliable bug of mine and drive through what surely is a nightmare for those directionless folk who seem to get lost even in the simplest of places. Honestly, I, myself, find directions confusing at times so it’s nothing short of a miracle I haven’t gotten lost already. It cracks me up when I think about it sometimes.
Once I get there, I sit outside a random residence a couple houses down from the target place for thirty minutes and eat my pistachios. Nothing happens. Like, always, nothing happened. I was disappointed but not surprised. I drive down to the station to clock in for work. What another beautiful day.
