Scratch Manor

"No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream. Hill House, not sane, stood by itself against its hills, holding darkness within; it had stood so for eighty years and might stand for eighty more. Within, walls continued upright, bricks met nearly, floors were firm, and doors were sensibly shut; silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone."  

-Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House

  Nestled atop a secluded hill, surrounded by the ancient forest of The Black Hills, Scratch Manor stands as a haunting sentinel of the past and a bastion of the enigmatic Scratch Family. The imposing structure, draped in trellised ivy and shadow, rises with a gothic elegance that sends shivers down the spines of those who dare to approach. The manor's silhouette, stark against the moonlit night, hints at a history steeped in mystery and veiled in the tendrils of the surrounding woods.   The architecture of Scratch Manor reflects a blend of imposing grandeur and eerie charm, with towering spires and intricate gargoyles that adorn the eaves. Time-worn stones, weathered by the ages, bear witness to the passage of centuries, creating an atmosphere that resonates with both antiquity and a spectral aura. Arched doorways, heavy with ancient oak, creak open to reveal dimly lit hallways that wind through the heart of the manor like veins in an ancient creature.   The expansive grounds surrounding the manor boast a sprawling, tended garden where grey statues peer through neatly trimmed hedges, frozen in perpetual watchfulness. A weathered gazebo, thick with many coats of peeling whitewach, stands as a bright distraction from the otherwise dreary grounds. The twisted branches of ancient trees cast eerie shadows across the grass, creating a haunting tableau that adds to the mystique and dread of the place.  

In the psychology of the modern civilized human being, it is difficult to overstate the significance of the house. Since as early as the neolithic era, humankind has defined itself by its buildings. Buildings for washing, buildings for socializing, buildings for protection, even buildings for the commemoration of the dead. But of all the structures mankind has invented for itself, there is little doubt that the house is that which it relies upon most completely for its continued survival.   The house is one of the key elements that separates modern humanity from its more primitive antecedents. No other creature goes to such lengths to create lasting, permanent shelter for itself, nor regards such shelters with such reverence and import. Why do human beings of our modern age foster this tremendous sympathy towards their homes? There are many reasons, of course, but perhaps it is due in some small part to seeing them as a reflection of ourselves.   The anatomy of the house is such that this analogy is less superficial than at first it may seem. To carry it further, if we were to dissect a house as we might a human cadaver, we would find ourselves able to isolate and describe its various appendages and their functions in a decidedly anatomical fashion. There is even a fair number of direct comparisons to be drawn between those organs of a house and those of a human body.   For example, let us examine the living room. Often the dominant space of a house at ground level, as well as typically the center of activity in a well-populated home, the living room is very much the heart of the house. While a human heart circulates blood to oxygenate the body's extremities, the living room circulates people, activity, communication. It is the room most often to be found "beating," as active and vivacious as its name would imply. The comparison is only strengthened when we consider also the living room is most commonly the room to contain the fireplace, making it additionally a locus of actual, physical heat.   It is easy to think of the kitchen and dining room as the stomach or digestive system of the house, though this comparison is tenuous. A contrast: the function in analog of a bathroom should be immediately obvious. The hallways and corridors of a house are its veins, providing circulation coursing throughout its frame. A staircase bears more than a passing resemblance both physically and symbolically to a spine. The windows serve much the same purpose as eyes, and anyone who has rounded a bend or long drive and come suddenly face to face with a tall, dark manor will tell you that it is difficult to shake the impression that the house, through its lightless windows, is a creature capable of vision and intelligence.   The bedroom is perhaps the room that most eludes direct comparison in this fashion. At a stretch, and allowing for a bit of poetic sympathy, it might be said that the bedroom is not unlike the human mind – or those parts of it that dictate thought and imagination. In the bedroom, dreams are dreamt, passions are ignited, epiphanies are experienced in cold sweat at early hours. In the bedroom is where people invariably spend the majority of their time, though comparatively little of it whilst conscious.   And yet this analogy is an incomplete one. Obviously the mind is an exceedingly complex thing, but the bedroom represents the thinking, dreaming part of the brain and it is the basement that represents those lower, unconscious parts. The basement is dark, it is buried. It is a place full of cobwebs where memories are stored. A point of comparison, truly. Often the unnerving uncertainty that comes with considering the deeper aspects of the human psyche is not unlike gazing down at the swimming blackness pooled at the bottom of the basement stairwell. It is a place we spend our childhoods filling with monsters that will lay for years in patient silence. It is a place that, barring some specific errand, we seldom ever want to go.   Of course this comparison, though appropriate, is a very heavy-handed one. Often the basement is little more than a storage space, littered with the corpses of spiders and woodlice. While poets and psychoanalysts no doubt dread the thought of a dark basement, in truth it is the bedroom, the waking mind, that place of dreams, which is actually the most frightening of all.   It is here, in the bedroom, that we are at our most vulnerable. Each night we shut our senses to the world for hours at a time, trusting in the house to keep us safe until next we wake. In this state of extreme vulnerability we will spend something like twenty percent of our lives. Anything might stand beside us, watch us, keep us company until dawn and we would never perceive it. We can only pray that the house will not let such things carry on while we sleep. In this way, during these hours, the bedroom seems less like a mind and more like a mouth. For it is here that the house is most likely to betray us. It is here that we place ourselves most at the house's mercy and spend each night hoping that it will not bite down.

-ANATOMY, Tape 1