House of the Matriarch
Fred L. Taulbee Jr.
Copyright 2011 Fred L. Taulbee Jr.
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Dedicated to my Aunt Shirley Osborn,
who could tell people where they lost things.
Chapter 1 Ana
Ana and the house were like one.
She couldn’t open her eyes. She was suffocating, moving slower than slow motion, a sticky hovering sensation as something moist and firm and suffocating pressed in on all sides and seeped into her nose and mouth and ears and eyes.