From the endcap:
The author’s thoughts on the story: “The central idea was a joke I made to my wife while we were watching reality TV. I owe it to her for convincing me to expand the idea behind that joke into a complete story.”
The House that Dripped Character
By BG Hilton
It is a dream. It must be. Each of us remembers sleep taking us–be it in a bed, on a sofa, or at the back of a crowded classroom. We know we are asleep, so of course we must be dreaming.
And yet we are not.
The house rises before us, above the tops of the moss-laded cypress trees like some great reptile from the Earth’s youth. Paint of some indeterminate color–bleached here by sun and darkened there by rain–peels from its splintery timbers. Attempts have been made to rebuild the structure in a dozen different styles, but the house’s Victorian heart is visible through these additions.
The windows are blocked with plywood and the roofing tiles are more absent than present. By all rights, the decaying structure should seem fragile, and yet it is almost shocking in its solidity. The ambient light is dim, and the hues of the house and swamp alike are washed and grey. The only hint of color comes from a tattered length of police tape, fluttering by the front door. There is no sign of a road, no sound of traffic, no address on the front of the house. (Continue Reading…)