The Vanishing House

The way the mountains became the forest became the plains became the town was like a slide. The view was picturesque, the sort of thing that a fine arts collector would admire about a painting. There were miles separating us and them, this town and that town, someplace and nowhere. We were comfortable in our calm section of peaceful paradise. Nothing ever disturbed us here. That is, until we saw it.

Nothing exciting had happened before The Vanishing House. In fact, after the incident, our time had been split into Before and After. Everyone was scared of it. We had heard of things like this, of course. We just never thought it would happen to us. And when it did, we all feared it. We didn't know what to expect. We'd heard the tales of witches and demons. We had heard them all, so much so that they had become parts of our childhood. The stories helped form our sense of wanderlust and adventure. Yeah, we knew we would probably never leave our town, but from the time we were small to the day we died, our eyes would always be shining.

But that glossy intrigue had been glazed over by dread. It came upon us like a sudden rainstorm that continues for days. We were afraid to go outside. We were afraid to approach it. We were controlled by our fear, until the days became months, and the months became years. Eventually, The Vanishing House blended in with the scenery, but it remained a nasty inkblot on our otherwise picture-perfect country view.

I remember the course of events so precisely, like they were scorched on my skin. It began on a day just like any other, as these things usually do. Fog had enveloped the city like a smothering hug from an aunt. Then the sun pushed it aside and that was our cue, as children, to run into the streets and make as much mischief as possible. I feel like something momentous should have happened, but it didn't. Rather, we had been playing on that Sunday morning for what seemed like only minutes before I heard a gasp from my mother. I turned around, and nothing seemed out of place.

"Why!" she breathed, confusion nestling in her eyebrow wrinkles.

While she rushed over to our neighbors' homes, I followed her gaze to The Green. The Green was what we called the outermost limits of our town. It was where the grass was still our grass before we surrendered it to an oncoming forest of trees, and later the snow-sprinkled mountains. Everything was in place... Except for a house. It was too distance to make out any distinctive features, but it seemed to be white with a dark roof. There was nothing unusual about it, except that it was residing in The Green. So I continued to play with the street children as adults gathered, invading our play area.

Gossip buzzed like the bugs of summer throughout the day. By noon, it was decided that the mayor and a few men of the town would visit the strange place. I didn't think the place was strange at the time, but, of course, in my youthful mind, I couldn't comprehend the anomaly of a fully-built house suddenly appearing where no one was known to build homes. We all watched as the men made the trek towards the structure. It was windy that day and I remember my own father's wide, straw hat rippling in the distance as he kept a large, firm hand on his head. They were all apprehensive, even we could see that from where we stood. When they arrived at the doorstep, time stopped. Everything slowed down to the very last degree of time. We saw a hand reach up to knock on the door.

And before skin and wood even made contact, the house disappeared.