Love Me If You Must

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Doug Fix, Escanaba High School Creative Writing Teacher, who asked in the margin of my 11th grade journal, “Do you really believe that?” and set in motion a spiritual journey that continues today.

Old and ugly. And that was being kind. The sprawling Victorian looked like something straight out of a gothic thriller, creepy and broken, looming on the corner of Main and Railroad. Leave it to me to move into the one house in town that could pass for haunted.

The wraparound porch had lost chunks of fieldstone, the balcony above had a distinct sag, and the ancient cupola was ready to lose more than just a few pieces of wood siding. A gnarled catalpa tree, sans leaves, lurked in the side yard, adding to the spook-house effect. And to think it was only three o’clock in the afternoon.

I paused at the curb, hoping I hadn’t made a colossal mistake.

“Patricia Louise Amble,” I said aloud to myself, mimicking the voice of my grandmother. “If you’re smart, you’ll charge admission when the trick-or-treaters come around next week.”

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