The House Across the Street

“Tell me about the house across the street, Sam.” Young Sam shook his head.

“We don't talk about the house across the street,” his reply was automatic but not without feeling.

“That's very true, but by now I know you know the rules. Tell me.” Sam swallowed hard and closed his eyes.

“We don't look at the house across the street,” he said. His father placed a comforting palm on his shoulder.

“That's right, at least not for very long. Can you tell me why?” Sam relaxed a little bit and continued.

“We don't look at it because if we do for too long, the house looks back.”

“That's right, and we don't want the house to notice us, do we?” Sam shook his head again.

“No, we do not.”

“What else?” Sam took a deep breath and went on.

“We don't turn our backs on the house across the street.” He looked up to his dad who smiled approvingly.

“That's right, not unless we're safe inside. The house can't be trusted, can it?” Sam shook his head diligently.

“No sir, it can't.” He gulped again and continued once more. “People go into the house across the street, but people don't come back.”

“No son, they don't. So we stay away from it, don't we?”

“Oh yes sir, we do. We never go to that side of the street at all.”

“And what do we do if we see someone else in front of the house?” Sam shivered.

“We don't talk about the house. So we just mind ourselves.” His dad smiled.

“That's right, my boy. We don't talk about it. Not to your mom; not to your friends. Only to your Dad, and only times like this, when I ask you, ok?” Sam nodded.

"One last thing, son. What do we do if we ever see a light on in the house across the street?" Sam began to speak but sputtered, confusion washing over his small face.

"I don't... If it? I'm sorry, Dad. I don't think there's ever a light on, is there?" Sam finally managed to string the words together.

"It almost never does, young man. But do you know what to do if you see it?" his father asked, solemn in his face and stern in his brows. Young Sam shook his head no.

"You run. You run and you hide and you call for your Dad. Do you understand?" Sam gulped once more before answering.

"Yes sir. I do," he replied.

"That's a good boy," His father said, his smile and warmth returning. The young boy looked up at his father's face, handsome but tired, world-weary.

“Dad, I know the rules. But you've never told me why? Does someone bad live there?” His father's expression became grim once again.

“When you're old enough to understand, I'll explain it all to you, I promise. But for now, just mind the rules and you'll be safe.”

“Ok.” His father hugged him close.

“Off to bed, buddy. I love you.”

“I love you too, Dad. Can I get some water before I go to sleep?” His dad smiled.

“Just a little, pal. Don't want you up all night with a full bladder, because then…” His father pantomimed something spreading out from his lap.

“Dad, I'm ten! I don't wet the bed anymore!” Sam announced indignantly.

“Oh, my mistake pal. One small glass of water and off to bed.” Sam grinned, gap still obvious from having lost his most recent baby tooth. He and his dad walked to the kitchen. It was still fall, not quite winter so Mom let him walk around without socks. The wood of the floor felt warm under his feet and the tile of the kitchen was cool and he enjoyed the juxtaposition. He grabbed a small glass from the drainboard and went to the sink. Turning the faucet on, the small boy turned to his dad. His father stood, frozen. He was staring out the window through the open curtains. Those curtains were almost always closed. But now they were wide open and his father was staring straight at the house across the street. And on the upper floor, a light was on.

“Dad!” Sam whined, “We're not supposed to look at it.” His father held up a hand.

“Go to bed, Samuel. Now.” Sam grunted in protest.

“But Daaaad!” he moaned.

“Do as I say, son. Upstairs and straight to bed. Close your door and don't come down until morning, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I do.” Sam set his empty glass on the counter and trudged to his room. He closed his bedroom door and crawled into bed. He pulled the cover up over his head and fought the urge to go back down.

“But Dad, it looks back!” Sam said aloud, remembering the first rule. He bolted out of bed and ran back down stairs. “Dad, stop, it looks back! It looks back!”

But when he arrived on the landing the house was empty and silent but for the creak of his front door, open and lolling gently left and right, an inch or two with the soft autumn breeze. The door was wide open and Sam went to see. His front yard and the street outside were empty. But across the street, the house glowed. There were lights on in every window it seemed. Then Sam's blood froze. The door of the house across the street was also wide open. In the frame, against the bright light, was the silhouette of a man in pajama bottoms and a bathrobe.

“Dad!” Sam shouted across the street. For a moment, the man's head turned back toward his son's voice, then all at once the door to the house across the street slammed shut and with it, every light went black and the house sat where it always had, empty and silent. For a second, Sam thought about running across the street, but something held him back. It was a wrenching, bottomless despair. The house had just taken his father and if he tried to go over there, it'd take him too. Sam backed up into his own house slowly and closed the door. What if the house had seen him. Dad hadn't told him what to do.

The little boy went back to the living room and sat on the couch in the dark. He'll be back, he thought. No one knew the house like his dad. Of course he'd be safe, of course he would. Sam just had to wait, that was all. He'd wait and pretty soon his dad would be back inside and he'd scoop him up and take him to sleep with him and mom even though he was a little old for that.

“He'll be back.” Sam would say every so often. Soon, his eyes were too heavy to keep open and the cold embrace of sleep bested his will.

In the morning, Sam awoke to find the sun peaking through the blinds. He ran upstairs to his parents room. His dad was probably just so tired when he'd gotten back that he'd gone straight to bed and let him sleep on the couch. But when the boy got to his parents room, he found his mother, sleeping soundly and alone. Sam never did see his father again.