AN EXCERPT FROM STRANGER THINGS

The house appears to be a tragedy.

It’s an abandoned structure that sits far off the road, a ruined place gutted by fire and battered by weather. Stone walls hold up a metal roof. Where the two meet, fat spiders lie in wait for their next meal. The trees that surround the place are indifferent, and someday the weeds will swallow it completely.

That’s one way of seeing it.

Close your eyes. Spin around. Drink the air. Then look again:

The house appears to be a triumph.

It’s a peaceful home nestled under sheltering trees, its stone walls a fortress against harsh weather and unwelcome visitors. The metal roof catches sunshine and sends water sliding into a rain barrel at the bottom of a gutter, where white birds have come to bathe. On the shady porch, strong with new boards and fresh paint, a graceful swing waits for its occupant to return. A glass topped off with lemonade and ice sweats on the rail.

Darkness sweeps in. A cloud passing over the sun brings the tragedy back to life. A chill creeps up the path leading from the grove. The glass of lemonade falls to the rocks and shatters.

Then wind shoves darkness out of the way. Sunshine raises the triumphant house from the dead. Orange poppies spring out of the ground. A woman in an ocean-blue dress emerges from the house to pluck some for her table.

A black scorpion lies in wait among the flowers.

Here, light and darkness jostle for attention. Both visions are real, but which one is more true?

Listen: there are footsteps on the path. People are coming. People who will give an answer to this question. There will be an argument. Expect worse than a civil dispute.

But keep an eye on the woman picking poppies.