The so-and-so house

The house has many rooms, each long vacant. The children moved away and the neighborhood, too. A wide veranda wraps around the house, where once the children played and the adults chatted. But the weathered planks, which once sounded the clopping of shoes, haven't born a step in a very long time.

The window shutters are unfastened and clap against the house when the wind comes in gales. A grime frosts the windows. Paint on the house peels. The yard's fallowed, choked with weeds.

A house as this is a family's homestead, where I imagine many generations have lived: in one of the many rooms or looking out through a window pane. This house, it's a surname house, known to the community for its single family occupancy. "The house there that's the so-and-so house, whose family has left. It's a beautiful house, but no one's buying. Perhaps it allows only a so-and-so for a resident."