The house I grew up in was L-shaped, split-level, surrounded by trees. It had a stone fireplace in the lounge that took up most of the wall. Once, I wrote my name on one of the smooth grey stones – at the time I was writing my name everywhere – and then panicked when I couldn't scrub it off. I tried to put the blame on my sister, an intruder, the supernatural – but I was fooling no one.
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