It's a grey square house. As a kid I burned my eyebrows and eyelashes off when we lit a pile of gunpowder we removed from various firecrackers on fire in front of the house. That was over fifty years ago. But the house has always been strange.
The last renters had a sheriff's swat team out. Guns, flak jackets, the works. The family directly across from us and next door to the grey house moved their kids to the far end of their home. Nothing happened, no spray of bullets or tear gas bombs but the swat team was there for a few hours.
Wally and I were taking a walk a couple of weeks ago and went by the house on our way home. There was a slapping noise and the voice of a male followed by screams of help from a woman. I took Wally in the house and was about to call the cops when a car showed up with two guys in it. The woman came running out of the house and right then cops showed up with rifles as big as bazookas. The guy that rented the house knew what the cops wanted, laid down on the sidewalk and after handcuffed and taken away, has never came back.
The house is again, up for rent.
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