Rosewater Press

I could maintain a whole blog about how dodgy my house is, like some overdramatized broke-ass House of Leaves knockoff. ‘Exploration logs’ into my carpeted crawl space or the strange plants that keep growing between boards in my deck. Or the plant that keeps weaseling its way into the threshold between the front door and screen door. I had plants coming up between the cracks in the basement stairs at the start of the summer, too. There’s also a creature scratching around the edge of my guest room, which used to be a garage. This I only discovered recently, when a guest dropped by for the first time in months. My short friend Colin, a surrogate brother of sorts and a somewhat frequent guest, spent a week in that room and we started hearing scratching on night one. Several times they went outside to try and spot the thing. They never did. I think it’s a raccoon, after various half-assed attempts of my own. In any case, I’ve been treating it like a raccoon and hearing it less. I’ve a