The House began its life as a small wooden structure on the coast of what would eventually become known as the New World. Its first thoughts remain a mystery, but its first memories were of a thick fog rolling from the Ocean, a young girl laughing and playing in the comfort of its shade, hunters dressing a kill in its front yard, and boys stalking each other through the village. At night there was the singing and dancing of the People. And that brought a foreign feeling to the House.

Joy.

Its first residents practiced a limited form of magic that seeped into the walls and the grounds. Perhaps that is what gave it its first thoughts and memories and knowledge. Or maybe it was the life that surrounded it: the People and the fish and deer and streams and wind. Each of them provided some limited amount of energy that bled into the House and increased its consciousness.

The House was there as the People farmed the land and hunted the animals. It was there through the joy and the happiness, the grief and the suffering. It was there as the People lived their lives, sang their songs, loved their families, mourned their dead, and built their communities. And it was there when the Others strode in across the Ocean on massive vessels to greet the People.

It watched the conflict and violence that blanketed the People and drove them from the land. And when the village was destroyed and the People fled the massacres and sickness brought about by the Others, the House was left empty. It sat in a small, abandoned village that lacked singing and dancing.

So it decided to move.

It went North, following the migration of the People, and settled in a small, wooded valley. Once again it drank deep of the energy that surrounded it. The fish and deer and soil provided succor to the House. The People still sang songs and performed rituals, although the songs and rituals had different shapes. The songs were less than before and more akin to those sung by the Others from across the Ocean. But the House still remained content because it had the People.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

It slowly grew in power over the years, and provided safety and security to the People until they were once more driven from the area. The House saw the People, penned in on all sides by the Others from across the Ocean, refuse to take up arms against their enemies. It saw as the People were gathered together and murdered, all while singing the songs taught to them by the Others from across the Ocean.

The House, shocked by the slaughter, once again chose to move.

This time a faint whisper of power drove it West until it found the River. It traveled South along the flowing waters, gathering remnants of energy from its current, seeking the tattered vestige of power that had been lost and scattered long before the House had gained its first memories. It finally settled down by two large Rivers and drank deeply of the surrounding area, watching as new People ventured away to the West.

Violence once again stalked the House, this time in the form of conflict between the Others from across the Ocean. Word filtered through the Others that war had broken out, that lived were culled in a massive struggle that pitted families against one another.

So it decided to move.

It didn’t stay in any one place for long. It became a small trading post, then a cottage, then a schoolhouse out on the frontier. It traveled West, drinking in the rowdiness and chaos of settlers trying to make a new life for themselves. It ventured North, sheltering hunters as they traipsed across snow-ridden terrain. It was a small shack in the California wilds, housing people dreaming of gold and wealth. It was a single-family home in West Virginia, housing men who carved into the land. It was the residence of a fisherman in Main, a merchant in the Carolinas, an orphanage in Ohio. It provided safety and security for a bandit out in the desert and was a gathering house of the faithful out in the wilds. It settled in hundreds of different places and housed hundreds of different people.

And then it decided to go home.

Home was the coast where it had its first memories, where it could still hear echoes of the dancing and the singing and the young girl playing in the shade. Home was where the House had first come into being, where it had watched the growth of the People. Home was a small island now called Manhattan by the Others who had settled there.

Much had changed since the House had first left the island. The small village that once was had grown into a giant city. The Others from across the Ocean swelled the streets.

The House nestled itself amongst the newly constructed buildings and lost itself to the city. It shaped its outer shell to better blend in with the surrounding architecture, all the while it dug its roots deep into the city to better survive.

There it sat for years, feasting on the limited energy that soaked the land. The energy was smaller now. More diluted and lacking. The fish and streams and waters were polluted. And the People...something was wrong with them.

When once the residents of the island had burst with energy and willingly bled it into the surrounding lands, now they kept what little they had close at hand. The rituals that the House had once enjoyed had changed, but there were still prayers. And the People still worked, and lived, and spent their energy. All of that slowly filtered to the House.