The House on Ambrose Street

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Chapter 7- The Neighborhood

Ambrose Street was home to a quiet neighborhood. Mr. Jenkins always waved to Jacki Shonheim when she jogged by his house every morning. Miss Alice—the old cat lady—always talked to Mr. Jenkins over their separating fence. A few houses down was Jason. He was a university drop out, but everyone knew it and still didn’t think twice about him. He was pleasant to Miss Alice and Mr. Jenkins whenever he walked by them on his way to work. There were a few residents on the opposite side of the road that remained quiet and to themselves, but all the tenants of the street had met each other at least once before at the annual meeting.

They ignored the house as best as they could. It was never any color but dark, disturbing browns and grays. Even if the sun was shining, trying it’s damn hardest to shed some light and happiness on the place, the house remained gloomy and unsettling. Pedestrians and commuters alike skittered and skirted around the house like it was a nasty smell or someone’s glare—some even stepped off of the sidewalk, into the road, to give it more space.

And who knows? The owners could’ve just had a morbid sense of humor. They could’ve built the place the way it is just so they could watch from their windows, maybe peeking through binoculars, and laugh at how uncomfortable each passerby was. Because it didn’t matter if you were the most timid eight year old in the world, or the bravest knight (or actor, if we’re going for a more modern perspective): EVERYONE who so much as glanced in the direction of the house could be seen visibly cringing with goose bumps.

But I didn’t know any of this.

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