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Forget facts.

Forget logic.

Forget everything that seems real.

You just trust.

Believe. Believe. You just trust, believe. You know your life is just a dream, don't you? A subtle strangeness at home by Christian B.

Most of what I'm about to tell you took place in and around my dad's house.

When I was young, my parents divorced. My mom moved to the other side of town,

while my dad stayed in the house. As part of the arrangement, I spent equal time between them.

They lived only about ten minutes apart. Strange things happened at both houses, but by far the greater of the two was at my dad's place.

The house sat in one of the oldest, most secluded neighborhoods in town. It dated back to the late

1600s. Around the area were all kinds of strange stories. An underwater village lost to a reservoir, a dirt path

blocked by a twisted gate leading to crushed cars, and the burned remains of a building

people claimed was an orphanage, even a still active church and graveyard from the 1800s

that some said was used by Satanists. And one night while

driving with my dad, I swear I saw a UFO. But those are stories for another time. The house

itself was one and a half stories. The main living area was on one floor, but built on a hill,

with stairs down to a one-car garage in a small basement. From the front door, you stepped into

the dining area. To the left, a living room, with a wraparound deck over the garage,

a kitchen, and a small patio room at the far end.

...