Earlier this year I visited our decaying house in Oyster Creek and took some footage with the hope of creating a documentary project with stories from family members and childhood friends. Last night, with an urge to be creative and have some fun, I decided to return to my horror film roots and edit this short piece together. The haunting tone reflects how I sometimes felt as a child in this old house, wondering if the devil himself or a deranged madman peeped through the windows as my brothers and I watched television or chased each other through the house. The fear, coupled with other life’s circumstances, fed into my anxiety, that has been with me since.
when i discovered the art of writing, it was as if i discovered gold on the other end of the rainbow. i was fourteen and had just gotten my first manuel typewriter. little did i know that this yellow original wordpress would first produce several short horror stories before moving on to more dramatic stories about broken hearts, drugs, suicide—things i noticed going on around me. Continue reading
It had been years since I mowed the house we grew up in. Like with people, the house had become old and fragile and ill; soon it will meet its demise. As I mowed the lawn, it reminded me of a garden we had. It wasn’t huge, but it required some work. Our stepdad Joe worked the tiller like an expert. Continue reading