This is our house. The "house that spoke", the house before we started remodeling it into a house divided in two. There have been many facelifts over the years, even the main door has been moved to the other side of the house. The "house that spoke" is over 2 centuries old and in the beginning it was a little store that catered goods to the local "Sotinger" of Langestrand. Sotinger was a nick name for the people that lived in this area because they were covered in industrial ash most of the time. At one time there was a lot of industry here, now the industry has turned into culture and lucky for me, "ash free".
Sometimes I am 100% sure that this house is haunted. Even my daughter as a little girl was convinced that there lived a witch under the stairs who would grab her legs and try to make her fall. Not surprising really when you think of all the times someone actually has fallen down these stairs. Our plan was to get rid of these stairs and build a staircase in the new addition. Once again the "house that spoke" had other plans and for many reasons we have to keep the stairs where they are. Strange things have always happened in this house. Since we started building on to it even more strange things keep happening. Sometimes I just wonder if this house is cursed. I can't help but wonder what is going to happen next. Skeptics would say "Nonsense", my husband being one of them, but I can't help but feel that the "house that spoke" is making it pretty clear how it wants things done around here.
Have you ever had one of those "Aha" moments? I did this morning when everything seemed to make sense. I needed firewood so I had to go up the creaky stairs to get some. I scratched my hand trying to move a heavy box that stood in the way of the wood, "OUCH!" Carrying the heavy basket full of firewood (which is actually old paneling from our ceiling) I lost my, "should have been wearing slippers," footing and tumbled down the stairs, wood and all. Damn that witch, I thought to myself while rubbing my surely to be bruised rear-end. While I was gathering once again the firewood I heard my mother screaming from her room. "SIV, THE TV WENT OUT AGAIN!" As you probably can guess, this is something that happens quite frequently, especially when we turn on a TV. Off to the fuse box I go to flip the switches for what has to be the 1000th time. "Mother," I said in a slightly angry voice, "The house has spoken again."
Somewhere behind all these creaky floors and doors, behind these crooked walls of old timber is the spirit of this house. "The house that spoke", keeps changing and delaying our plans until it gets what it wants. I just hope that we don't end up in a Stephen King novel and kill each other first.
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