The September House

This wasn’t my first time trying to prepare a meal while dodging the fangs of a dead child who wished me bodily harm.

Thank you for coming but kindly remove your crazy asses from our holy ground.

Eventually, one has to give up asking questions, just accept that things are the way they are, and act accordingly.

The walls of the house were bleeding again. This sort of thing could be expected; it was, after all, September.

What I think is so neat about horror movies,” I said, “is that they shine a light on what we think is scary. Not just ghosts and demons, but what we find really scary.

I chose not to be worried. Worrying takes effort, and one must be selective about where one expends effort these days.

I had grown accustomed to solo trips through hell over the years. It seemed counterintuitive to invite company.

I’d always thought it was a silly question, why I wanted to stay here, in this house. This house was everything I’d ever wanted. Sure, it wasn’t perfect, but sometimes it actually was. Or at least as close as anything could come to perfect in this life, which admittedly was not very close. It wasn’t horrible every single day—so few things ever are—and when it wasn’t horrible, it was almost lovely. I knew how to survive here, and I always had the sense that if I just survived long enough, if I just played by the rules well enough, I could make it into a perfect home once and for all. I just needed to work a little harder. I loved this house. And you didn’t give up on the things you loved.

I was perfectly willing to make a heaven of any hell in which I happened to find myself, but I would be goddamned if I made my daughter endure it.

Still, some problems don't have solutions, and the rule is just to cope.

It’s a funny thing about being alone. You never really notice it when it’s happening. You’re aware that nobody else is there, but you’re so busy with yourself and the little things you do to occupy your time—the painting, the housework, the occasional errand.

Didn’t you just tell me that people can change? You can change.” I hadn’t the first clue what she was talking about. I changed all the time. I was flexible. I bent. I had changed little by little, steadily over the years, until by all accounts I was a person who should have been unrecognizable but to me was just who I was. I ought to have been a stranger to myself, but it didn’t bother me at all.

One has to control something in the face of the great uncontrollable.

if we didn’t love something, flaws included, what sort of love would that be?

We all deserve more than what we are given,” Fredricka said. “So much more.

To be honest, I wasn’t particularly sure why I was on the floor. I had simply found myself there. My best guess was that I couldn’t have been bothered to walk to a chair when it was time to sit down.

just because something is upsetting doesn’t mean it’s harmful.

It's a funny thing about being alone. You never really notice it when it's happening. You're aware that nobody else is there, but [...] as with wading into cold water, you acclimate to the relative solitude until it doesn't even bother you anymore. You don't realize that your hands and toes have grown numb until there is a sudden burst of warmth that sends needles through your extremities.

The older I got, the more I found myself wishing for something permanent, a house with heavy bones, a place where I could sink my roots into the ground and become an immovable object.

If one is going to have an anxiety spiral, one might as well have a good view while it’s happening.

Worrying takes effort, and one must be selective about where one expends effort these days.

It had initially been unsettling, but one grows used to unsettling things.

Just because something is upsetting doesn't mean it's harmful. You would be surprised just how many upsetting things aren't harmful in the end, if you consider the definition of "harm" in the strictest sense.

But you can live with something without approving of it - those are two different things.

Some mysteries don’t need to be solved, only coped with.

Lord knows what kind of infection one might catch from the dead man in one’s basement.

A leopard cannot change his spots, she said before moving into the living room to fluff the pillows. Can't imagine why he'd want to, I thought. The spots are part of what makes leopards so beautiful.

Sleep now, my darling. Don't you cry." "Mommy's gonna stay with you all through the night." "Ne'er shall you worry. Ne'er shall you mourn..." "you won't see your little gray horse no more" "He ain't in the field. No, he's long gone..." "But you'll see his sweet face again 'fore long." "It all comes around with the moon and the sun, but Mommy's gonna stay here till all is done.