We lived in this house for more than forty years, more than a few lifetimes.
No, I'm not the ghost or spirit in the house I'm writing about. This is me who was born and raised in this house of which I'm speaking, now an adult and a cynical one at that. The house was something my parents hoped I would pass on to my children, and so on and so forth. However, the sudden infestation of spirits in this home has prevented me from any sort of perpetuation of our future generations in this domicile. It has to do with the hundred-year history of this Kaimuki house which has been inactive since my parents purchased the place. What is the account, you say? A 10-year-old boy was murdered in this house in 1922, forced to stand in the northeast-facing corner of the living room where he was constantly beaten while not being allowed to fall or crumble due to the severe abuse. The trauma of that abuse did not affect any person who lived in the house after that, especially when I turned 10, but when my daughter turned 10, all hell broke loose. The physical abuse that was set upon that 10-year-old boy back in 1922 began to manifest physically on my daughter's body. Severe welts and bruises appeared on her person right then and there. The abuser was invisible, of course, but the aroma of Pomade thickened the air and was so profuse that it made my wife and I wretch. Through much detailed research, I found out that the man who built this home owned a few barber shops around town and was never seen anywhere, even at home, without Pomade in his hair. Once I had the house blessed and my daughter was freed of the abusive and murderous spirit that lay dormant in it, waiting for the perfect time to strike again, I decided it was time to pick up and move. Where is the house you ask? It's in Kaimuki on the corner of the biggest intersection you can think of. If you know, you know.
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