"The Monkey House" Part I: The Original Monkey House

Probably the least of the "Core Stories," I will introduce "The Monkey House".

First, a little background. My sisters know what I'm talking about already, probably better than I do. Well, definitely better than I do, as what I remember is probably mostly my own imagination at this point.

To the point, somewhere in North Carolina, near a river, where at one point, some relatives who I haven't the faintest clue how they are related to me other than the fact that they are on my mother's side, there was at some point in the past, though may or may not still be there, a house.

Yes people, a house, which my sisters and various relatives who I can't even remember what they look like, called the Monkey House. I have no idea why, but to call it anything else now just doesn't seem fitting. It wasn't even that we believed there were monkeys living there, or at least I didn't, and I'm more unaware of the story than I thought. That explanation is too simple, and quite frankly, lame, for me to except, so Kell and H, if it is, keep it to yourselves.

It wasn't really a haunted house either, but that is pretty close. Creepy yes, but haunted, no, and I don't think I ever believed it was. The house itself, well the picture I imagine now, I see a skeleton of a house, with a front put on to make it seem like a real building from a distance. But from the sides, you can clearly see that there are no walls, just the framework. Inside, the floor is covered with dead leaves, but they don't smell. They should smell, a hint of that fall air smell covered by a rank scent of death from years and years of leaves left to rot. There really aren't any rooms. There is what might have once been a bathroom, but now, there is just a toilet, standing alone, by itself. It's surprisingly clean and white, and without lifting the lid, I know there is a dead frog inside, though for whatever reason, be it just freshly dead or preserved by some foul means, it hasn't begun to decay.

There is an elevator. Really, it is just a square section of floor hooked to a wall that raises and lowers. It has no walls or ceilings, and it is clear of the leaves, as though this is the only part of the house someone bothers to clean. Very well might be. The controls, you can see them from the semicircle window on the front door, are very simple; a red arrow for up, a yellow arrow for down. They are dull now, but I know they have lights in them, and for that matter, the whole elevator has electricity running to it.

The elevator goes up to the second floor. It's the only way up, now that all that remains of what must have been a beautiful spiral staircase is the rotting remains of the first three and a half steps. The second floor, well, you can't really call it a floor, because it is just a series of crisscrossed beams. Considering the condition of the house, you wouldn't think they'd hold, but they're sturdy. Why else would the elevator still have power.

This is probably nothing like the house we actually saw. It doesn't particularly matter though, as I will likely never see it again. I'm pretty sure my relatives don't live there anymore, and the house was probably destroyed in a hurricane. And more importantly, it doesn't matter because this isn't the Monkey House I'm writing about.

No, this bizarre structure may have a place in another story, but not this time. I took the name, because as I said, I don't know why it has that name, but it fits. Also, the feeling. That feeling I remember when I saw that house. That's what it's all about.

Anyways, it's late, and this is going to be a lot longer than I originally thought, but here is the tip of the iceberg, just one of the many inspirations that is going into "The Monkey House". I'll try to finish tomorrow, or at least continue. At some point, Ben might have some pictures and stories from Chicago, but it's unlikely, since he's; A. Ben, 2. he forgot his camera, and D. he's worthless when it comes to actually posting.

(I am pretty sure I will not have any stories or pictures from Chicago, but here are some more reasonable reasons for that: I am 700 miles from Chicago, I have never been to Chicago, and I have no plans in the near future to be in Chicago.) ~Ben