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I can never remember the facts after I awaken, but I've possessed the same headache too many times throughout the years, more than I can count. Recently I asked my siblings if they ever before dream about the old house. Some tell me they do--of a room that wasn't there. That settles it. I'm turning this history to my twelve-year-old incorrigible self applied. Only a scrawny kid skidding awkwardly toward puberty can make clear how it seems to be haunted by the sins of his father, hunted by the city bullies, and taunted by the cantankerous ghost.
