Haztelo

 It was a day colder than most were in October when my father called. He told me to come back to rural New York and tend to an old building that had supposedly been in our family for generations. This struck me as odd, being as this was the first time I had ever heard word of said house. He said that the person he had been paying to tend to it for the past year had gone crazy and hung himself. "Poor bastard," My father said solemnly. "He was a young'un, too. Mid twenties, I'd say. He called almost every week, complainin' of headaches and nausea. He couldn't sleep, he said. 'He' wouldn't leave him alone. Now, I don't k