She stares down at the paper.

          **Dear Nadezhda, **

** **We are sad to inform you that your great uncle Aleksander Vasilyevich has passed on the date of January 5th. He has left several of his possessions to you in his will. We would like you to come to our quarters to claim these possessions. Information on when and where are stated below.

_What. _Reading it again, and again, and _again, _Nadya is completely puzzled. As far as she was concerned, she’s never had a great uncle Aleksander. But it _does _match up, because her last name is printed on the paper right after the name of her “great uncle”.

**~~~**

** **“So, let me get this straight. I haven’t inherited _any _of the money he supposedly owned, I haven’t inherited any nice furniture or anything. All I got was his old house that he never even set foot in?” Nadya doesn’t mean to sound ungrateful, because she’s not. She’s still in shock.

“Yes. Trust me, we’re just as confused as you.” The agent replies, “It’s strange that all his money and belongings were donated to charity, while the only thing he gave you was an old house. Well, you must’ve been a favorite.”

“I didn’t even _know _him!”

~~~

** **Nadya pulls up in front of the house. It’s old; the paint is peeling and weeds are growing all along the walls and ceiling. She scoffs.

_“_Yeah, like I need this piece of trash anyway. _Pustaya tratya vremeni.” _She mutters under her breath, and drives away. _ _

_ **~~~

_**It’s loud; the rain pounds on her roof, the thunder shakes her house and the lightning illuminates her room. Nadya can’t sleep, tossing and turning in her bed.

_Krrak! _

_ _“What the..?!” Nadya looks at the hole in her roof, and the branch now taking up half her bedroom. “_Oy, Gospodi!” _ _ _ _ _Looks like she will be using that house after all.

~~~

** **She sets her sleeping bag and portable heater down in the small upstairs bedroom. The house is much bigger than it looked on the outside, almost unnaturally so. The rain seems like a distant thing now; the thunder is a barely audible noise. Something about the house is soothing, and Nadya drifts off to sleep.

~~~

** **_BANG. _

_ _The door is wide open. _Didn’t I close it? _Nadya cautiously gets out of her sleeping bag. After she shuts the door, she quickly sprints back, only to find that her sleeping bag has been rolled up. A flash of light catches her off guard, and the door creaks open once again. Suddenly, the realization hits Nadya.

“_Oh my god, _This place is haunted!”

It’s going to be a long night.

Walk inside, unpack. I was left a house- No windows, no mirrors.

But still I see- a bit of myself. In each wall.

Built of stone and bone. Sorrowful souls that call out. Late at night, I can’t sleep.

Edgar Alan Poe, 12AM. Roll over and write. Jot down my thoughts.

They hate the sound. They hate the feel. The vibe- too much.

I turn happy people into sad. Sunny days into rainy. Wine to water.

Hate your smile. Your pity too.

Don’t need apologies, For something you can’t fix.

I get it, I’m weird. I’m off, I’m twisted. Much older, worn.

Inside this haunted house, I was left alone…

No mirrors, no windows. Demons can’t escape. So here I’ll unpack… A story for you, A past for I.

Enjoy, welcome inside- My haunted mind.

I’ll do it later

It was just when Leigh had settled in for the night, his socks tossed aside, feet nestling under the covers of Uncle Bam’s giant double-king bed when he started hearing sounds.

The first four or five were probably just the old house settling, but after that, he began to wonder.

Even the will had made a joke about ghosts. “Spirits and specters of the house” he’d called them. Whatever. No such—

The distinct, strident sound of a chairs legs dragging across wood flooring whined from down the hall.

He froze. Suddenly the covers provided no warmth from the draft. Leigh knew, logically, that it was, again, nothing but considered calling out. If it were a robber, that could scare them away. Or lure them closer. Decisions.

Leigh moved to stand up from the bed, march down the hall and prove that nothing was there but— stopped when he saw the white shadow drift past the crack in the door.

Off that, Leigh rolled over, pulled the covers over his head like a hood and slept. Robbers be damned.

The pounding on the door is what started it. A frantic banging that made me immediately sit up from my book. “Who’s there,” I shout. No answer. Very predictable. After all this is the most haunted place in our small town. A place my uncle had been proud of until he passed away a few months ago leaving it in my possession. The word possession sticks in my mind. What possesses the house? It’s been so quiet that I begin to question whether the knocking had even happened. There’s no doubt I have been on edge ever since I walked through the door of this place. Maybe my imagination has been playing up? These thoughts were answered by a quiet giggling from behind the door. It started off soft at first, almost like a child’s laughter, but eventually ramped up in volume until it seemed like it shook the house itself. “Who’s there,” I screamed at the door. My voice sounds unhinged to my own ears and the thought I may be about to die brings a few tears to my eyes. The laughter stops. Everything is suddenly still. I cling to my book. At this point I know I haven’t imagined the going’s on outside the door but I feel like sitting here is safer. Anything is safer than opening that door and confronting what it on the other side. My thoughts drift back to something my Uncle had told me years ago about the house. The beauty of the exterior is juxtaposed with the ugliness of the interior. I thought he had been talking about some ugly wallpaper or stiff furniture. The banging begins again and the realization that I’m going to have to do something starts to settle in my stomach. I feel nauseated and hold my hands in my head. Why did I take this place? What did I have to prove to myself? Then I heard a word. One again, it was quiet at first but increased in volume as it went on. It was my name. Whatever was on the other side of this door was screaming my name. Tears streamed down my face and the hairs on my arms stood on end. I searched the room for a weapon and eventually settled on an old cane of my uncles. I hefted the weight in my hand. It’ll do. The sound of my name kept growing louder and seemed to even fill the inside of my head. It repeated over and over threatening to split my skull and burst out. I turned to the door and readies myself. “I’m right here,” I screamed as I raced to the door. With the cane in my hand, I flung open the door and stood ready to face my harasser. The hallway was empty. This was only the beginning.

My great uncle passed away. The family met with the lawyer about the will.

“Diedra, I leave you my house with all the furnishings,” read the lawyer.

“Wow, I hardly knew my great uncle,” said Diedra.

“I know you don’t know me well Diedra though I’ve adored you from afar and your mother was special to me. I know you can handle the ominous feeling of my estate,” read the lawyer.

The family left the reading of the will happy and Diedra put the keys to the estate in her purse. She planned to check it out that evening.

After supper, Diedra drove to the estate. She drove down a hidden long drive lined with red pine trees along each side. Then she came to a cast iron fence. I hope the keys work on the fence, thought Diedra. She stepped out of the car, put the skeleton key in the hole and the gate opened wide. She drove through and the gate automatically shut behind her car.

As she approached the house, bats flew too and fro above the house and a crow called mysteriously. She parked her car in the circle drive in front of the main entrance. The two story house screamed horror.

She walked up to the front door and lights came on then the door opened with a creaky sound. Spider webs hung from the chandelier. A black cat hid under the open stairway. A cat, she thought, how awful I hope there is food somewhere to feed it. A mouse ran across the floor in the living room and the cat chased with the intent to kill.

She strolled to the kitchen and sure enough a note lay on the counter. She read the note: Diedra the cat droid is in the cupboard beside the stove as well as other staples for baking and meals. The bedrooms upstairs are fully furnished and the beds are made. Please make yourself at home.

As time passed, darkness appeared and Diedra found herself asleep upstairs in a bedroom. Oh goodness, she thought to herself, I wasn’t going to stay overnight. She jumped up and moved her hair out of her eyes. Then she skipped back to the kitchen.

On the way down stairs, she heard “Ooooooh……..Ooooooh! Diedra looked around and stepped carefully downstairs and went around the corner to find three ghosts sitting at the dining room table playing cards. Aghast she watched from afar. They played poker and spoke about the good old days.

She snuck into the library and heard, “creeeeaaak” and found a secret door that led down a candle lit stairwell into a basement full of ghouls, goblins, and witches. The witches stirred double trouble, and said,” add the grasshoppers and the bees we’ll make humans get on their knees.”

Diedra turned around to head upstairs. A rat ran squeaking as a snake slithered upstairs in front of her. Diedra held her scream because she didn’t want the witches to hear her.

Inside the library, the fireplace shown brightly. Hmmm she thought, I didn’t light the fire. She looked around to find two zombies sitting by the fire with hot chocolate. Diedra snuck through the room and heard, “Hey there come sit down!”

“Me?” said Diedra.

“Who else would I be talking to?” said a Zombie. “Are you Diedra? Your great uncle used to hang with us all the time.”

“Really because the people downstairs said they wanted to cook the humans,” said Diedra. “Well he did say he knew I could handle the ominous estate,” said Diedra.

“Oh don’t mind the witches they don’t know the upstairs is here,” said the Zombie.

She sat down to chat until bed time and went upstairs to find the black cat on the bed. She fell fast asleep and didn’t hear anything else throughout the night.

He never knew he’d be spending a night in a graveyard of things past. Not a graveyard of bone and decaying clothes and wooden boxes. It was another kind. Here it was of torn rusted metal and frayed wires. Still it made him shiver. Those things there were as dead as corpses, but had ghosts of their own. The owner of the junkyard had given him the key to the padlock. It wasn’t necessary, there were so many holes in the chainlink fence that he could have stooped and found his way in in a hundred places. The summer had cooled to the first frosts of October, the leaves signaled their deaths in flares of orange and yellow. The moon had filled itself with all the light it could collect, making shadows half alive unlike their full bodied cousins of the day. Sandro thought of those ancient shades of the Underworld. Then he thought of his Great Uncle.

Great Uncle Tadeo Salvestro with his long stretch from toe to head, a dark tower above all others, his black and gray pinstriped suit gave him that extra pull and to top it all off, he topped his head with a sable top hat. He stepped from a past long gone, but that’s what everyone wanted and waited for each June 10th to September 15th when the Ye Olde Carnival rolled through the those island villages floating between the corn and soy stalks. Dollars rolled in summer sweaty palms reaching up to get ten tickets to be spun around, shot high into the air, tossed on a track. When their stomachs were filled with the air of cotton candy, stale buttered popcorn, corn dogs dripping fat on their sticks, and sudsy sodas—-they knew it was time to avoid those rides that made your organs move in unnatural ways. They turned to the house of mirrors to distort themselves in all the ways they might look. Thin as a stick, fat as a hog ready for slaughter, oversized head of an alien left on the twig of a neck. For the brave there was the Haunted House with its large Dantean sign: Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate. Those words in Italian were a conjugation of fear. No one really knew that it simply said: Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here. Sandro knew the whole story, his Great Uncle had given him ‘The Divine Comedy’ with the illustrations of Doré when he was only ten. The road to Hell was always something scary.

But there was always hope in that haunted house. We never realized how walking on knees wobbling with our new pubescent leg hair standing on end (you had to be over twelve to enter there) helped us to face fear. The boys pushed each other on, each as scared as the other, but never ready to admit it. As they left the last ghost howl, they slapped themselves on the backs and in a bravado: We did it! The girls screamed and held hands, hugged and reassured each other they’d make it out alive. When they left the last dark tunnel, they giggled and whispered to each other: Let’s get our boyfriends to take us through, they’ll hold our hands and maybe even give us a kiss.

As the nights neared midnight, Great Uncle Tadeo Salvestro stood at the gate and lifted his top hat to each one of the guests and wished them a good night filled with sweet dreams. It was a magic he had that lasted for years and years. Then, as happens with all things, that long body of his began to curve and bend. His head could no longer hold that top hat. His pinstripes were no longer straight, his suit a second skin as loose as the one it covered. The wheels of the carnival rolled no more. It could not be sold, no one wanted a carnival anymore. Great Uncle Tadeo Salvestro needed the money for his last days in the home. He sold it all for scrap metal and parts.

Then he died.

So far away from those corn and soy fields, Sandro received the letter with the last will and testament. He got into his car and drove those long miles. His Great Uncle had asked that he spend one night in that old haunted house before it was torn to pieces. Sandro was in the sleeping bag he had brought with him and awake in the bed chamber of horrors. The light tap of rain on the tin roof sounded like spectral tears. He felt his own roll down his cheeks. There was a noise of feet shuffling into the room. He heard a moan.

“Is that you, Uncle Tadeo?”

There was no answer, only a tapping under the artificial bed. A tapping that became louder and louder until he looked under where he was sleeping. There was a box, cylindrical and worn.

A voice, “Open it…”

Sandro did what he was told and he saw an old sable top hat.

“It’s all I have left to give.”

Then the night was still again.

Sandro opened the volume he had brought with him. Paradiso. He flipped open to the last canto and read aloud to the night:

But already my desire and my will were being turned like a wheel, all at one speed, by the Love which moves the sun and the other stars…

With the hat held on his chest like some strange formed teddy bear, Sandro slept that night with the sweetest of dreams.

I pushed the old brown wooden door, it gave a long low pitched creek as I pushed it all the way open to allow me to pull my suit case through. One night, that’s all I have to do, just one night alone before the rest of my family arrive. I have to keep reminding myself this as I pushed the door closed. Standing on the old wooden floor of the entrance hall I am yet again reminded of the beauty of the place. It was something that had struck me a few months ago when we first pushed our way through that front door, the beauty and the sheer vastness of the entrance hall. You could fit our old house in the place two times over if not three. Sliding my suitcase over to my right I prob it up against the old off white coloured wallpaper with a faded pink floral design, the whole place needs gutting, but that was something me and Mick were willing to take on when we decided to move our family here.

The property had been a complete surprise, George was apparently my great uncle who my family somehow forgot to mention to me his existence, now with my immediate family all passed on apparently he didn’t have anyone else to leave his estate to. As soon as I had been to the will reading and collected the keys it was the next day that my husband and I drove our two kids down to see the place. We knew as soon as we drove the car through the overgrown narrow entrance of the drive way this house was going to need some serious work, but part of us also knew that this house was meant for our family. The size of it alone would help our fast approaching teenage daughters get the space they needed from us and each other. There was also the place that it was situated in. Me being a city girl and marrying a man who also worked in the city, the country setting this house provided would be perfect to bring our girls up the way we had always wanted, away from the hassle of city life and all that came with it.

Taking a deep breath and immediately regretting it as the mould that I could smell entered my lungs, I made my way through the hall towards the kitchen that was located at the end. The light was fading fast outside and with the natural darkness that filled the rooms of the house led me to instinctively flick on the light switches as I passed, first the one just outside the kitchen door then the one just on the inside. The lights made a low hum as they tried their best to light a path for me, electrics were something that we would be getting sorted first, especially with winter setting in quickly, I supposed it would hit harder being in the country. The lights do a poor job of cutting through the dim and I look up at the yellow bulb that is hanging on a wire that is thick with cobwebs. A shiver runs through me as I remind myself again that it’s just one night and then the rest of my family will be here.

We had decided that I would come up the night before and Mick would travel down with the girls in the morning, their last dance practice stopped them from coming up with me as the girls form the group were all making a bit of a party out of them leaving, I couldn’t deny them one last night with friends so I thought it would be a chance for me to clean up their new rooms to the best of my ability and make sure they would be as welcoming as possible for their arrival. I wouldn’t have said they were over the moon especially after the kids at school had made comments about old houses and the fact that most of them are haunted but they were coming around to the idea. Of course when the girls had mention that the house would have ghosts we had shaken it off as nonsense, but there was something that the solicitors mentioned when we came to view that first time that had me and Mick raising an eyebrow at each other. Neither me or Mick were believers in such things but apparently my great uncle George had been, and had been to such an extreme that he had even mentioned the “spirits of the house” in his will. That should of put me off from stepping foot into the house in the first place but it hadn’t, and in truth I had wanted to move here.

Walking over to the old stone sink I turned the rusty tap. The banging that the pipe made had me jumping slightly before the water made its appearance. Least the water pipe had been fixed, that was what we had wanted at least before we got the girls here, me and Mick could slum it it we had to but for the girls going without being able to wash their hair was a no go. I span around quickly when I heard the low creaking of the front door, stepping back away from the sink I looked down the hall. The dark wood door was opening slowly. “Hello?” I called out even though my instincts told me that no one was there. I hesitated for the smallest of moments before making my way down the hall towards the front door. As soon as I pushed the front door closed the kitchen door banged shut causing me to jump and spin to see if it had been that that had caused the noise. “Be careful of the spirits in the house.” The words from my great uncles note ran through my mind before I quickly shuck it off. I had not been a believer before this day and this house was certainly not going to play tricks on me enough to change my opinion.

Turning left this time a short way along the hall I wondered into the living room flicking the light on as I entered. The same low electrical hum sounded as four yellowing bulbs lit up the corners of the room. This place would look much better with a clean I new that but the bags that had sounded around the downstairs of the house had put my nerves on edge and I wasn’t in the mood now to do much. If truth be told I wanted to dig the book out that I had brought with me, curl up on the sofa and pass the time until my family joined me.

My breathing stopped immediately as loud footsteps sounded out from the floor boards above. Someone had to be in the house. Various thoughts ran through my mind all at once. Local kids playing a prank, maybe they could have been using the place as some kind of hang out knowing that it had been empty for so long. Could be one of the neighbours popping around to check up on the place and who was moving in. But then surly they would have knocked, it could have been them walking in when the door opened. “Hello?” I shouted out again as I moved out of the living room and towards the bottom of the stairs. “Who’s there?” I shout, my voice travelling through the silence of the house. I will have to go up there l, I know that I will but every fibre of my being is telling me not to. If there is someone here and they know that I am alone I could be in serious trouble. “I will call the police.” I say now my voice not so much a shout this time, I feel stupid, perhaps it wasn’t footsteps I heard after all.

Another bang from inside the kitchen this time has me jumping and holding tight onto the banister of the staircase. I am all of a sudden frozen in fear as the footsteps from upstairs return so much louder this time, it’s like someone is running the full length of the upstairs. The hum of the electricity seems to be getting louder and it’s not long before my hands fly to my ears as all the bulbs in the house smash plunging the house into darkness. With the light of the world outside gone I am left with the noise of the footsteps and now the banging from the kitchen door and the living room one as they open and close. My legs almost give way from underneath me as I try to move backwards. My legs immediately hit my suitcase that I had, now looking back stupidly left at the bottom of the stairs. I am instantly falling backwards over it, the noise from the house filling my head louder and louder. My head makes connection with the wall and two things happen to me all at once.

First I see everything that my great uncle George left in his letter, I see all the spirts that reside in the house. The second thing is that I become one of these spirits, just another ghost that is soaked up by the house. I will forever be in this place.

“Where are we, what town?” My best friend of fifteen years says.

“Not sure but it’s my great uncles house, well, my house I think.”

Strolling, my eyes glance at the rotting oak tree in the front yard. Then they wander to the dingy white door, the paint peeling, the first sign of zero upkeep.

“What happened to him anyway,” Marley asked.

“He went missing, we don’t know... he’s probably dead.”

Saying that sentence didn’t phase me. Why didn’t this bother me? Why am I okay that my Uncle is gone? Yeah he was a complete psych, but nonetheless he was family.

I finagled the key to fit in rusted lock, the door opened half way and stopped. ‘That’s weird’ I thought. I let Marley in before myself, then I followed her to the kitchen checking behind the door first. A pile of moving boxes were stacked, all labeled “DONT OPEN WITHOUT ME!” written in sloppy lettering.

The orangey-brown hardwood floors were dusty. I made my way to the broom closet to find a mop. When I opened the door the odor of sulfur flooded the room, my first instinct was involuntary and I began choking on the air.

“Are you oka- what the hell is that smell!”

“I don’t know... but I want to.”

I pulled the Kiss tee over my nose and moved the brooms out of the way. ‘It’s stuck’ I thought, trying to push the dust pan out of the way.

“Let me do it, Armstrong,” Marley said sarcastically.

She put all of her weight and pulled. A loud sound emerged from the closet; crackling and the thumping of Marley falling back and hitting the floor.

“It’s a room.”

“A very bright room,” she said surprised. We had just found out the power had been cut off before making our way over here. As far as we could see there were no windows, the light source was anonymous from what we could tell on the outside.

“Wanna go in?” Marley has always been the daring friend as to me who’s always careful about everything.

“One second,” I replied, running to the kitchen to grab a towel in case of cobwebs.

I got the towel and ran back.

“Marley?”

She was gone; completely out of sight.

“Leave while you can, princess,” said his voice. But... he’s gone. A shiver ran down my spine. He’s not here I continued to think. He’s not here. A scream rang out through the musty house.

I left. I left Marley in there with him. The scream being the last thing I heard of her.

Crap. Her brother’s going to kill me.

I couldn’t say I was looking forward to my first night at Ainsworth Hall. Not that I believed in ghost stories. I didn’t believe for a second that the spirit of my uncle haunted the house. That was just folklore. I wasn’t afraid to sleep 20kms away from the closest town either. However, I somehow felt unworthy of inheriting the house of an uncle I had never met. My parents never really spoke much of Auguste Ainsworth and as I grew up I realised the matter bothered them. Hence, I learned not to ask questions.

It was also the first time I saw the house so I took my time to tour around the place. It was a big house with many spare rooms. Even though everything was covered with dust, I wondered what stories that old furniture and decorations had witnessed and what secrets they would tell me. But what puzzled me most was my bedroom. My uncle had made sure I knew his bedroom would be mine for my name was hanging on the door in a yellowed card: Edward. This made me feel uneasy, yet honoured. I turned the knob and my eyes looked straight into something that made my chin drop. On the wall above his bed - my bed - was a perfect painting of someone I knew very well. My mother. Suddenly, a suspicion bursted in me. My father was the twin brother of Auguste Ainsworth. Was that painting the proof they had loved the same woman?

The wind started blowing outside and I looked at my watch. It was only 9pm. Another surprise came not long after the shock of seeing my mother on the wall. An envelope on the bedside table. It had my name handwritten on it. I immediately picked it. I wanted to find out more about my mysterious uncle.

“Dear Edward,

I don’t think you must have heard my name often in your life. I cannot blame your parents for their silence, yet please know I am very fond of you, hence why this house is yours. I leave no descendants either so the house and whatever in contains are for your enjoyment or withdrawal from society’s demands.

Your father Anthony and myself were twins, this is a fact you must be aware of. And by the time you read this letter you will have seen your beautiful mother on the wall. She was the most cheerful, benevolent and kind-hearted person I have ever met. Her innocent smile would keep me captivated until my last breath. As children, the three of us never grew tired of playing together.

After we grew up, things changed. Of the two twins, I was definitely the one who knew how to make money. I went to college, got a degree and eventually bought Ainsworth Hall. Anthony was the handy-man. He loved working with his hands, especially carving wood. Your mother liked that. As the two of them grew fonder of each other, jealousy spread in me like poison. I showered your mother with riches. Jewels, expensive dresses, all that I thought her heart desired. Initially she accepted with a smile. “Oh, I am unworthy, Auguste.” she would say with cadence. Then she started respectfully refusing my gifts and withdrawing from me. Anthony was clearly the favourite twin and, as much as I racked my brain, I couldn’t understand why she would choose the handy-man when she could have the world with me. I am, after all these years, ashamed to say I felt superior to your father and couldn’t accept that Juliette preferred what I arrogantly believed was a loser.

I refused to attend their wedding. That was the worst day of my life. When you were born, they didn’t invite me for your christening either. Initially it didn’t bother me but when you turned 3 I thought it was time to put our old grudges aside and asked if I could meet you. But later on I realised the grudges were still within me.

I tried to be as friendly as possible on that afternoon when I visited your parents - and you - for tea. Things didn’t go well. I was still using my wealth as a weapon to impress your mother. And to humiliate your father. I took expensive presents for you, that your father probably saw as me showing off. The jealousy, resentment and spite came back a moment later when Anthony put his arm around your mother’s waist right in front of me as if marking his territory like an animal. Maybe it was just me, but I seemed to have seen defiance in his eyes. To alleviate the ever-growing tension between the two of us, Juliette put you, Edward, on my lap. Your beautifully innocent eyes - Juliette’s eyes - had a soothing effect on me. They would captivate me forever, just like hers had.

Unfortunately I was told never to go back. I would send you presents for your birthday every year but your parents always returned them. Once, a short note from your mother came with them and I read: “When will you understand, Auguste, that wealth isn’t the most valuable treasure?”

I stopped sending you presents. I just locked myself in this house, hoping to go into oblivion. I was so reclusive that rumours spread that Ainsworth Hall was haunted. In good truth I often moaned and lamented my misfortune, which I was entirely to blame for. I missed Juliette. I never married and never loved anyone else again. I missed you too, my little Edward. I never forgot you and the very least I can do for you is to leave you this house. I don’t want to impress you though. If you even wish to burn it all down, by all means, do it. I just wanted to let you know how I loved your mother.

With love from your uncle Auguste”

I was dumbstruck and had to admit I sympathised with this man despite his arrogance and petulance. I heard a howling somewhere, more like a moan, but thought it was the wind. Suddenly, from the corner of my eye, I thought I saw the shadow of an old man by the door. But when I turned my head, nothing was there. It was definitely just my imagination.