To this day, I have fondly remembered my visits to Mrs. Burnage's home. The neighborhood I lived in was small, with only ten houses on the entire street. Each house was spaced apart and each had at least three acres of property. Our house was at one end of the street and Mrs Burnage's at the other. Burnage was a sweet woman, probably in her fifties, when my three sisters, Jason Adams (another younger kid from the neighborhood), and I would visit her. I visited her from ages eight to thirteen. Mrs Burnage had no children of her own; he couldn't, according to my mother. So she liked it when we came over, and we did too. Even though she had no children, her home was every little girl's dream. When you entered, there were two living areas, one on the right, one on the left. The one on the right was pretty normal with couches, television, coffee table, some hunted animals hanging on the wall, etc. The one on the left, which is one step lower (and therefore one step higher) than the rest of the house, was a children's paradise. The main thing I remember about that room was that it had one of those red carts with a popcorn machine. As soon as we arrived, she would put out fresh popcorn kernels and butter and have it hot and ready for us within minutes of arriving. He had dolls with elaborate houses scattered throughout the room for the girls, and he had trucks, Legos, K'nex, an assortment of balls and even a pinball machine for the boys. We played there for hours and never got tired. Mrs Burnage didn't seem to know either. He loved listening to us play. She baked cookies and smiled widely when she heard us laugh. He always told us that our laughter was the happiest sound. We loved the time we spent in that game room... middle of paper... without popcorn on us, "I told you I never wanted to come again! I don't need you anymore! Leave me alone!" I quickly left and she followed me out and stood in the doorway, watching my every retreating step. As I moved down the street, I could still hear the recorded voices and laughter of my sisters, me, and Jason. My stomach turned as I thought about how disturbing this all was, but then my stomach turned as I looked back at a wide-eyed Mrs. Burnage and then through the gate to the backyard pool. Standing next to the pool was what appeared to be a statue. At this point I was quite far away, but the figure appeared to be a little boy, motionless, looking through the gate into the woods behind the house. The boy was wearing a familiar red hooded sweatshirt and blue jeans. Did I ever mention Mr Burnage? He was a taxidermist.