Lying in bed, I hear a series of noises: the floor in the hallway outside my bedroom door creaks; with the way the sounds travel, my mind jumps to a paranormal presence passing through my bathroom. Houses do that. They throw their voices in the manner a ventriloquist can. They have you guessing what made what at early hours in the morning. (I am positive a house memorizes your steps; you have to wonder, after anyone lives anywhere for a decent amount of time - say you walked the same hallway each morning for fifty years, and, after you are gone, say that house begins to walk that hallway each morning for you; it memorizes your creaks and groans and it imitates you out of habit. You have left your mark on it - how we must warp our surroundings over time, shedding emotions like layers, peeling our old selves, remains littered wherever we walk, wherever we live.) Houses do that. They have you guessing at three or four in the morning. 40