I’ve lived in Georgia most of my life but that wasn’t always the case. Nor is this the place that I spend most of my holidays.
Every year, twice a year I look forward to visiting my home away from home. My grandparents place. Living in the south and having them in the north, I don’t get to see them very often. And their house, their house was unlike many you see.
Surrounding their home are many much larger homes. And quite a few of them are white, plain and boring. So when you roll up to their home it seems out of place; intriguing even. It’s a little cozy home. A type of home that everyone desperately wants to know more about. A home to explore.
A two story house way up on a hill with a long black top driveway. This home holds a vast expanse of landscape, a child’s true dream. My brother, cousins, and I loved nothing more than to use the jutting rocks and stones, the neatly trimmed grass and the cover of trees, and the obstacle course of the house itself to create a true wonderland from our imaginations.
The house interior was like a maze of fun to figure out too. It has a two story appearance from the outside but with a twist. It’s a tricky, devious little home. The upstairs and downstairs are of two separate locations. The downstairs home was like our base of location. Someone was always chasing the remaining three down the long walkway and up the stairs to the entrance of the bottom half of the house. We would even run around the yard in circles trying to avoid capture if we couldn’t make it to the steps right away. But inside was usually our safe haven.
It was generally pretty small; two rooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. But when you’re about the size of a munchkin one can find many places to hide. The bathroom and the guest bedroom were two favorites of ours. No one ever remembered to check behind doors believing no person of any size could truly hide behind such a flat surface. But when limited on space anything can happen. We could hide on either side of the bed, under it, under the covers or race into my grandparent’s bedroom and give that bed the same treatment. Nana’s massive amount of clothes made the closet a hard place to remotely fit in but the shower in the bathroom worked just fine to fit us all. On a particular side of the stove and pantry as well as the couch and of course your parents worked also.
The inside of the living room had a similar décor to the exterior out front. Both were made up of stones, smaller and grey, black, or a mossy green to look more neat and organized on the outside but large and a bright salmon color on the inside. One doesn’t usually live in a house made up of rocks and that’s what provided uniqueness about my old home.
The home was old and decaying in small, irrelevant places making it still livable. The inside smelt of what I always described as Nana. Her clothes and bed sheets always smelt of it too so I guess the scent was detergent but getting a waft of that familiar fragrance always bring my grandmother to the front of my mind.
This home always provided great adventures despite the ugly green and purple carpet covering the guest room and living room respectively.
And whenever I exited the downstairs home I’d run straight through the gate to our concrete backyard. It was attached to a small expanse of grass but we always avoided it because dog poop, EW!
We’d continue our run to the other side of the house onto the blacktop that stretched all the way up and slightly into the backyard. Sometimes if were feeling more adventurous or needed to be quick we’d dash around bushes and ivy and over the large jutting rocks directly between house and driveway. Then we’d run up to my favorite part of the house.
I rarely got to enter the bone chilling abandoned upper section of the house. My mom and her family used to live up here before she and her brother moved out and the climb became too much for Nana.
Just knowing of the dark expanse that lay beyond the white, shredded door had one creeping up to it and rethinking their wish to enter. The long winding stairs to the right of your vision were quite dangerous if you weren’t careful. The closer to the bottom the smaller the step. And if one missed a step one would wish they knew how to fly.
As you walked up the black painted wooden steps the loud creak of each and every one provided a chill up the spine feeling. The echo of our heavy footsteps and the continuous pitch black surrounding us made it feel like someone was there with you. Following your every movement. The electricity didn’t work, the area was dusty and rotted, and a mysterious cat was roaming around. Not a sign of life other than that one animal giving the upper section a haunted effect. So dark, so spooky.
And I absolutely loved it. This home, my old home was a magical place full of wondrous new adventures. New York is the place I always love to be.