The Never Ending House
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When I consider my heritage and the women within it I often envision the castle in Ireland which is now a mere row of bricks, beautiful and full bodies seated to be painted, mounds of illustrious jewelry, screams of rage in injustice and betrayal, and beauty beyond measure. My mother’s family has a history of wealth and prestige and the women seemed as complex as the multi-cut diamonds that dripped of their ear lobes.
One of those women who still holds that enigmatic allure is Aunt Dorie. Nowadays I know her quite well but the woman I saw through my childhood eyes was mysterious and captivating to me mostly because of the home she lived in. I imagined it represented herself and the generations that proceeded me, therefore, drawing me into herself and the house all at once. Kris and I loved to visit because it was like a labyrinth. From the outside it tricked one into believing that it was an ordinary suburban estate in Pennsylvania. However, once the door was opened quite the opposite was fitting. Through a child’s eyes, and even in recent and reoccurring dreams, it seemed the never-ending house.
Aunt Dorie and her daughter Jamie both profess I am not alone in my sleeping life. It seems that nearly everyone who has come in contact with the house is happily haunted by it to this day. The most common dormant hallucination among them all is the discovery of additional rooms and treasures. I always find a secret door in the living room which leads to a bedroom where I find Dorie sleeping. It is enormous and covered in ceiling to floor gold mirrors. Her bed rests on a five foot tall marble pedestal and her eyes are covered in a satin mask. I always creep past her and discover additional sleep quarters which are very creepy. They are empty but possess a looming sense of danger and spiritual darkness. Sometimes I am so drawn to this place that I sit in those rooms for long periods of time, staring at the barren walls and teal carpet. It is the only area that reflects no part of Dorie’s actual home.
Of course, I often wish I could visit it as it were instead of in sleep alone. The house left our family eight years ago or so and my aunt now lives in Newport Beach, CA. We all talk about how much we’d love to take the new people in our lives there; the only way I can do so is with my words.
On the exterior the only visible colors from the street were grays, white, and black. A stone walkway led up to the front door which was art deco in style. Plush, deep green bushes darkened the yard and I used to say the outside “smelled like caterpillars.” This misunderstanding was birthed when there were dozens of caterpillars on the walkway in spring, the kind of bugs that would turn into moths unless stepped on to reveal their ketchup, mustard, and relish colored innards. This site paired with the blossoming scents of the season led me to believe this was the smell of caterpillars.
The door swung open into a long hallway that left a visitor several options. One could turn right down the black patent-leather stairs, further right up the cream carpeted staircase, straight into the tiled kitchen, or left into the living room. Let’s turn left, shall we?
Aunt Dorie had a penchant for luxurious floral carpets, bourgeois fringe lamps, gold engraved mirrors, and antique figurines. The living room had all of the aforementioned elements in addition to heirloom seating and dark wood wardrobes. I was wary to ever step foot in that room due to a winding and twisted tree that could be seen through the lace curtains. Jamie had a coed sleepover once when I was still young and one of her guests shared an urban legend. It was the tale of the girl who was hit by a car and lodged into a tree, remaining there to this day. Naturally Jamie’s friend pointed an accusing finger out the window. That was the last time I ever felt comfortable in that room.
Around the corner lay the dining room. It was a mostly forgotten place we only entered to retrieve china when there were more guests than dinnerware. However, one could run circles through the hall to the living room to the dining room to the kitchen, and repeat. That we often did.
Exit the dining room and discover a bright kitchen. The cabinets were a lipstick red but remained tactful due to their old age. The floor was covered in black and white tiles and on the center island were often placed delicacies like fresh danish, M&M’s, and diet Coke. My brother, cousins, and I often sat around the white iron table by a large crescent window with our “breakfast”. They didn’t have a backyard per se as the ivy and trees seemed to dart off the edge of a cliff until one could see houses below. My Aunt has reoccurring dreams she slides down the hill and discovers a beautiful inground swimming pool. Who would be surprised?
Walk out of the kitchen and you are back in the hallway facing the front door. Pass the cream carpeted staircase to the left and find a short flight of stairs with dark carpet and sandwiched by jet-black patent leather walls. This area was narrow enough that our little bodies could climb the walls with our back on one side and feet pressed against the other (very Spiderman). Once one descended the simple five stairs it became clear that the black patent leather extended out on both sides, covering the entire back wall of the den. This area was enormous. The square footage I wouldn’t know but imagine a downtown loft with little light. The bushes and lace curtains blocked most of the sun from the outside despite the long windows in the front wall.
Great Aunt Marie, Mom, Pop Pop Pop, Mom Mom, Aunt Dorie in the den
The space was large enough to have two enormous and beautiful heirloom carpets, maybe a half dozen fringe lamps, antique sofas, a pink chaise lounge, a large television, and space to spare. My favorite elements were the chaise, which made me feel so regal, and a full sized bar in the furthest left point of the room. The bar too was black patent leather with a foggy mirror behind it. Kris and I loved to make believe we were at a real bar, and it wasn’t that far off. Partially full bottles of liquor, crystal bowls, old bills, and family pictures rested within it.
The first key to my labyrinth dreams could have originated in this den. On the left of the bar there was a door. For a while I knew my Uncle Danny stayed behind it, but I didn’t know what it was like within. Finally Jamie took me back and there was a laundry room with an ice chest full of cold treats and meat. Beyond the laundry room was another hallway and light illuminated from a threshold on the far left. I warily walked down feeling like an intruder of Danny’s space. The room was simple and plain with just a bed and a dresser.
Leave this secret corridor, back through the sprawling den, and up the patented stairwell to ascend the cream carpeted staircase. Standing at the top of the stairs, just like at the entrance of the house, one has many options.
Jamie’s room was to the right and of fairly average size. She had a lovely canopy over her bed and her closet was the most enjoyable thing in her room. She left it practically bare and the wall slanted up the back. Her friends left graffiti and notes in Sharpie all over and the slant was perfect for running up and down.
Directly across from Jamie’s room was something we called “the playroom” though this was far from the truth. In reality it was a place where discarded belongings and treasures found a new home. The linoleum flooring peeled upwards in all directions and the findings could be anything from Barbie dolls to silverware. It was simply a mountainous pile of junk. However, adding to the dreamlike allure of the house was another hidden room within this one. There was a large sliding door closet on the left that was seemingly ordinary. Nevertheless open it, look up and one would find a tiny door leading to an attic.
The attic was usually stiflingly hot or bitterly cold and only subtle beams of light would escape through the tiny windows. But it was carpeted and the perfect place to store the treasures you weeded out from “the playroom.” Whenever I found a particularly pretty Barbie, funny stuffed animal, or a piece to play dress up with I would bring it to its new home in the uppermost part of the house.
by Guy Aroch
When exiting the room and continuing down the hall a large bathroom was to the left and my cousin Jason’s room was beside that. Just as in real life my excitement was in getting to my Aunt’s bedroom, the final room, and I will do the same now.
The dream in which I discover my Aunt Dorie luxuriously asleep was not that far from reality. Jamie and I used to wake up obscenely early, as most kids do, and eagerly desire Dorie follow suit. After all, we were in deep need of jelly beans or a movie or whatever a car and adult escort required. We would quietly swing open the door and find Dorie snoring softly amongst a pile of creamy satin sheets and an array of pillows. The gold wrought iron bed frame twisted up the wall behind her head and the entire frame was set upon a grandiose one foot raised platform. She always looked like a beautiful queen. Again, just when you thought it was over there was one last element to discover.
Before the platformed bed was a long walk-in closet. Both sides were lined with gold framed and mirrored doors that curved into an L-shape. There were exquisite shoes on shelves and behind every door were more garments of sequins, gold, and intricate beading. At the end of the “L” there was a hidden bathroom, the discovery of which felt practically like the wardrobe to Narnia. The entire space was marble and gold. Dorie had an old time ivory and gold phone, a large tub, and mirrors everywhere. It was completely luxurious.
Is it any wonder that this place will not cease to invade my dreams?
