The Writing Machine

Stories by Christian Cloud Abraham

Dream House and the Spirit of Murder

MEMOIR PROJECT ROUGH DRAFT

…cream flavored candies that I loved and the warmth of winter felt wonderful - spring came and we moved again; the last place of residence in Lorain before we moved away, a duplex townhouse - the house of my dreams - a winding spiral staircase, thick pile carpet (is that the right name for it?) on the stairs and through the house, a fireplace, sliding glass door, carpeted kitchen - decorated in beige and yellow - a bathroom right next to the front door and a sunken living room, upstairs, a hole in the master bedroom looking down onto the fireplace in the living room below, a second bedroom, and most of all, a master bath unlike anything I’d ever seen and still haven’t seen anything quite like it in a condo since, it, of course had a toilet but it also had a shower stall and a long double sink vanity, but the kicker was the tub - a sunken tub surrounded by fake plants giving a tub in a garden façade and a statue of a naked boy holding a fish over a rock and the water for the tub poured out of the mouth of the fish and overhead, a dome-shaped skylight the size of the entire tub area, flooded the garden in sunlight and I would take baths in this tub during the day just to watch the water pour out of the fish’s mouth and lay back and watch the clouds go by - at last, I had my new house - brand spanking new with all the kick ass features 1976 could offer - my dream come true - my favorite house for years to come, but for the first time, we had roommates, many roommates, the three women lived in the master bedroom and the guys stayed in the guest room with me and usually they were a bit screwy (I’ve screwed up the style here and the feeling that I am just on a ramble about the past listing what I remember - I am switching back to that now but will need to fix the passage above to fit this style later); and the night in the house with little boy and fish statue tub where my mom told me God woke her from a deep sleep and she heard God say in a deep crystal clear voice, “Spirit of Murder” and so she stood up in the room but all the other two women were asleep in their beds and so she slowly crept down the hall to my room and when she opened the door she could see in the dim lit room, my roommate - a man in his twenties - sitting in his bed, twisting the point of a 10” long blade of a hunting knife on the tip of his left index finger…

END
© 2006 Christian Cloud Abraham

Posted on June 25, 2006 in
Emotion: Fear, Type: Creative Nonfiction