I have been around for 100 years. I have seen many awful deeds of all sorts. Many of them are unspeakable, but a few are all right, so I suppose I should proceed. Each decade brought more wear and tear with it. My walls were once wonderfully bright and expensive. I was first owned by the wealthiest family in all of this godforsaken town. That first family, however, brought with them a curse that will never be gone from me! In my walls lies an awful secret. One that has spread like Ivy vines along Harvard's brick structure.

The fisrt family was the MacDonalds. They were bright children, and their parents wer obviously at least half-way decent, for they had much money, and it was not all from inheritance. The MacDonalds, John and Harriett, had three children. One of them was Gary, another was named Jennifer, and the littlest one was Mary. Mr. MacDonald went on a trip to a foreign island for his flowering business, and came back cursed. He was half-delusional, and speaking in a strange language that nobody could figure out. He died within the walls of this house, and now I am cursed. The MacDonalds left soon after the horrid incident.

Another family I had was an awful thing--really awful--the mother was a streetcorner woman, if you know what I mean, and the father, an abusive, dominant male. They had seven children, all of whom were abused with utmost cruelty. I've seen many things come of that family. Once, a middle boy was running in the house. He slid on my polished wood floors and ran lightly into a teetering endtable. The vase on it crashed to the floor and broke into a million little pieces. The father was so angry that he beat the boy until the poor child could barely move and had to be put to bed. Soon, the father fell ill and the family had to move to a lower income neighborhood for lack of steady income.

A later family, the Stewarts, had five children. They were very odd and the father and mother were hippies. They taught their children about drugs and the "wonderful things they can do for you". They only lived here a few months before the father died of a drug overdose.

Within these walls I have seen and heard what the police have not. I have strived to get rid of this horrendous curse, but alas, it cannot be done. So I sit here, with this Ivy vine curse, awaiting the next unfortunate family, who dares to take on my land...