I’m not made up of wood, glass, and nails, but I am more than that.  I feed off of the emotions that others feel when they see me. Even if they are away in their rooms, I absorb their emotions.  If you wonder off around my torn walls, and you feel frightened, that very emotion rises inside me for decades.

I remember, years ago, when I was first built, a young lady paced my kitchen floor with worry flooding her mind, she shook vigorously, but I never knew why.  However, I began to feel nervous, scared, and anxious, after being happy for so long.
That’s when it started. My every emotion was made up by humans. Without the ability to speak, move, scream, or breathe, I couldn’t act on these emotions, so I sit here every day, 150 years later, and bathe in this wasted sorrow.
Children have wandered around me for these 150 continuous years and I’ve watched their overwhelming fear give them chills down their spines as they see me.  But if I had the voice to tell them I’m a good place, maybe they would like me.  I am not scary, my emotions are scary.