Charnel House

Perched on the plateau at the top of a hill named for the hickory trees dotting its slopes, the abandoned house broods over the tiny Alabama town called Belleville like a rattler guarding a clutch of eggs. The townspeople below rarely think about the house anymore, but at night they may visit it in their dreams, black visions filled with screams and blood and almost-seen faces leering out of the darkness at them. The lines of the house have skewed over the decades, and its supports grown weak. Where it once stood straight and true it has sagged and bowed. But still it remains, ageless and timeless, watching.

And sometimes, it feeds.