Every day, every night, every instant of your life that you’re inside that house, you hear the dragging of the unknown, clinging, grinning, scratching… You don’t need to be poking on everyone else’s lives to suspect or imagine the madness across a couple of inches of concrete.
They only come out at night
When the sun has set, and the mosquitoes start playing their song, the Poltergeist awakes from what I imagine being a dreadful dream. The moaning starts, the monologues, the argues, the screams… Against who? I zu not know. I don’t even know if it exists or not, maybe it’s the house…