THE MAN IN THE HOUSE

Once, many moons ago, there was a man - a very particular man. He wasn't special by any means but that doesn't make him unimportant. The man spent his days alone, inside, at home. He never left. He never so much as looked out of the window. Nobody ever saw the front door open. It was wide spread belief that if the door opened and you entered you could never leave. You would join the man for the rest of eternity. The children in the village would dare each other to knock on his door and throw stones at his window all hoping to be the one to finally get his attention but still he never came out of the house. The same kids made up stories about him; about all the things he did, why he kept hidden. "He's a murderer", some said, "maybe he's a celebrity that faked his own death", said those who didn't want to believe there was a monster in their midst. But none of these things were true. As we have said, he was a particular man but by no means was he special. He was quite ordinary. But the children didn't know this and they relished in the wonders of him. They would sit in the grass opposite his house and take turns with binoculars, trying to catch a glimpse. They'd tell their stories and someone would take the risk of being swallowed up into the house. The children aren't whom we need to worry about though. No, the children are quite safe. The door won't open. Not for them. They won't be taken. The man did exist, I promise you that, though many people would disagree - adults, mostly. They seemed to think that because they couldn't see something it wasn't real. Because the house looked different to everyone else's it was "derelict", empty and gathering dust. But it wasn't. Perhaps to them that was the truth but he was there. I don't know what he did all day. He just existed. The thing is, he only existed because the children believed. I never told you he was alive. Nor am I saying he is dead. But he exists. He lives in the imaginations of those children, the stories they tell. Whether they realise the man in the house is a being of their own creation I don't know. But he is there. Whenever they need him to be, he is there. Unknown - unseen by nonbelievers. Just because something isn't there in front of you doesn't make it unimportant. I said that, didn't I? The man wasn't special, but he was important. Important because he brought those kids together, he nurtured their creativity. He gave them countless hours of fun, of playing make-believe. He taught them not to judge others, to understand the different reasons behind decisions. But ultimately, he taught them this: Imagine. Believe. Anything is real if you want it to be.