Chapter 1: The Nineteenth House

          The house didn’t look haunted, per se. Just:

               1) Decrepit.

               2) Derelict.

               3) Dilapidated.

          And otherwise unfit for human habitation.

          Before Pilot could voice his concern, a scraggly critter scurried past and into the cellar, proving his point. And who had a cellar anyway? Criminals, mad scientists, and would-be criminals and mad scientists, that’s who. Pilot sized up his parents, determined they were unlikely to be any of those things, and exchanged a “here we go again” look with his brother. Wynn nodded, more forgiving than Pilot, yet clearly skeptical of the sad structure before them. Pilot placed a reassuring arm around Wynn, ever his protector. This did not look like the sort of place any normal family would live. What did that say about their family?

          “This is the worst house yet,” Pilot harrumphed. “Do we really have to –”

          “No questions,” their father Edwin interrupted.

          Pilot’s hand found Wynn’s, their fingers squeezing rhythmically and rapidly, until the slightest spark of static electricity escaped from between their palms. Pilot would have appealed to their mother, Margot, had Wynn’s suitcase not sprung open, spilling zippered sweaters, rumpled pajamas, several toothbrushes, and a soupspoon.

          “I’ve got it, Wynn,” Pilot assured, bending to tidy the mess even before Wynn could react. “And I’ll fix this latch once we’re inside of – ”

          “Our next home,” Wynn sighed, wrinkling his nose as though smelling sardines.

          The looming house dared the Clever family to approach. Its clapboard sides stretched and slanted in odd directions and angles, as though engineered by an absent-minded toddler. Pilot wondered if this could possibly be the wrong house. However, their family’s bronze weathervane had already been affixed to the roof’s peak. Thick trees, thicker fog, and total isolation surrounded the house, as had been the case with every house the Clever brothers could remember inhabiting. This house, however, set the bar at a new and discouraging low.

          Pilot tried to imagine what the inside must look like. But, he was certain there was no imagination inside of this house. And likely no plumbing either. He knew a move was inevitable – after 18 prior homes, that much was clear. This time, however, the uprooting he had always dreaded couldn’t come soon enough. This time, things were different:

               1) The forward tilt of the house that made it look like it might swallow them whole.

               2) The way their father hugged his arm too tightly around their mother’s shoulders.

               3) The feeling in the air of heaviness and acorns and dying jasmine.

          This unsettling feeling wafted around the Clever brothers until Margot inhaled, smiled her glorious smile, and announced:

          “This, my boys, will be a marvelous adventure.”

          She said that every time. And for the first time, Pilot didn’t believe it.