Haunted House The place reeked of moth balls, of old ways to get rid of old problems, remedies that never worked, it smelled of dead things, of musk from pretty garbage piled high on walls and left to degenerate, left for time to disintegrate, left from shopping trips that failed to kill the sorrow, long lost pets rotted into the carpet, trapped where they couldn’t get out, a cat’s bones lodged in the chimney desperate to breathe air, the ghosts there discontent, phantoms of what once was living alongside the dead, a home that had its day and now with a groan it saw what it had made and was dissatisfied, saw the children raised in halls not so hallowed and remembered the slapping was louder than the kissing, than the laughter and the lovemaking, tainted memories seep into the ceiling, the floor, the roof-tiles so they can’t reach heaven, can’t be cleansed, sinking into the ground as the foundation gives way, wondering if it hadn’t been a little crooked all along.