"Well, Trust Issues Not To Mention"

The house was old, crooked and crumbly- somewhat mysterious. I do not know what it was about the house, but dad seemed unusually attracted to it. The other day, grandmother, who people believe is senile, told us something that struck me. Certainly struck Jackson. She kept on rocking back and forth in her tall chair whispering,"It was the tree man sitting high in the branches, looking over his property, that took away my love poor old Bertie. He sits among twigs, ready to pounce, if you don't believe me, check under the floorboards for the accounts." She always said this after Grandad died, but everyone just saw it as post mortal depression. I later learnt that was not the case. I saw it. I saw him. I felt it, him, his touch, his cold whisper. No-one ever believed me, noone believed Jackson not even whilst I was looking blue on my hospital bed...until he came to take me.