🕯️ The Nightly Storyteller Presents: House (1977)
--- Monologue I remember a house. But not my house. The wallpaper pulsed with flowers I don’t recall planting. The stairs sighed beneath my weight, though I never walked them. And in the doorway stood a boy. He held a chipped toy soldier in his fist. His smile stretched wider than it should have. “Don’t you remember me?” he asked. But I didn’t. I don’t. Even now, when I try to summon his face, it blurs—like a painting smeared with water. The more I chase the memory, the further it runs. And yet… I know I’ve been inside that house before. I know the boy knew me. I just don’t know why. Perhaps it’s better that way. --- Movie Review: House (1977) Few films manage to be both nightmare and dream at once, but Nobuhiko Obayashi’s House does exactly that. On the surface, it’s simple: a group of schoolgirls visit a country house, only to be consumed—sometimes literally—by its secrets. But beneath, it’s surreal, experimental, and unhinged. The film breaks every rule of horror and inv...