I've heard myself say
that a house with a death in it
can no longer be bought or sold by people who are still alive.
It can only be borrowed from the ghosts of who live in the house.
Forward and backward.
Issued and collected again.
Walk round and round on the floor with confusion.
Taking care of their deaths like a garden that has withered.
They live for glance backwards
from the last moments of their lives.
But memories of their death
is on the wrong side of the window
which is wet with rain water.
It is impossible to be seen clearly.
Nothing binds them to the place where they fall.
They are free to go.
But still they confine themselves.
Hold in place because of their search.
For those who live there,
they cannot see their own jail.
Left alone.
This is how they rot.
At that time I didn't know,
but the house is at the end of Teacup street in the city of Braintree, Massachusetts,
is a house like that.
A house that stores memories of a death.
The place of a decaying ghost.
By the time I arrived there at the beginning of August,
The house is inhabited by Iris Blum,
a writer from 13 novels.
A thick and frightening book
that people buy at airports or in supermarkets.
I've only read less than 9 pages from one book.
I read it while holding a bad taste.
I'm not even sure about the title.
From where I am right now,
I can only be sure of a few things.
The beautiful woman you are looking at is me.
I'm sure about this.
My name is Lily Saylor.
I'm a home nurse.
Three days ago I turned 28 years old.
I will never step on 29 years.
He...
He is above.
The bedroom is on the right on the front of the house.
Hello, Mrs. Blum.
My name is Lily.
I will stay with you from now on. I hope you don't mind.
Don't peek at people's items.
Polly!
I am very rarely required to wear white clothes by my employer.
But I always wear it.
White clothes entertain people who are sick.
That I will never be touched.
Even if darkness approaches them from each side.
Gripping like a claw.
Wake up, Spaz.
Then sleep. I do not know.
Bart is there with you?
You are a naughty woman.
Is he still awake?
Greet him for me.
No, no. Don't tell who, just...
What are you doing?
You are boring.
Nothing.
I can't sleep.
The first night in a place always makes me feel weird.
Kitchen.
The phone is in the kitchen. What do you want?
The telephone cord is very long like your mother's telephone first.
Do you remember that?
This is a very old house, so...
I don't know.
Thicker?
The walls are thicker.
Creepy? Why did you say that to me now,
in the middle of the night when I'm here alone?
I'm fine.
No, he hasn't called.
And he doesn't have this number.
I can't imagine what I would say if he called.
What does someone say?
"Remember that time when we were almost married but not done?"
"Because I still remember."
No, I think he too won't be like that.
Can we talk about Scott now?
Yes, happy to be here.
Glad to keep away myself to...
What are you doing?
Sounds pretty good.
Yes, I know.
I'm sure I will have to cook for Mrs. Blum.
No, the name is Blum, stupid. Not Mrs. Plum.
This isn't Clue.
Maybe I'll make pie. I think I saw blackberries...
Gosh!
Hello?
The phone is bouncing from my hand.
The cable is not as long as I thought?
Or I dropped it like a fool.
I can make myself get a heart attack.
So...
What's new with you?
There.
That time was there.
Even at that time.
On my first night in the house.
A death.
But I can't see it.
Not yet.
But I can feel it stepping with barefoot.
Stepping slowly behind the curtain of darkness.
Walking back and forth in the cage of my chest.
"Flowers from the dark moon."
"Housewife Under Water."
So that's where you hide.
They say there are no people here.
I don't mind telling you that at that time I was a little worried.
Come on.
No need to be rude.
Oh, Mrs. Blum.
You surprised me.
Let's go back to your room.
It's not a good idea to wake up without me from now on.
Can we agree on that?
Polly?
No.
My name is Lily, Mrs. Blum.
We met a few hours ago.
I will stay with you from now on.
Polly, tell me that you also miss me a little.
Can you at least give it to me?
It will definitely not be long.
Because of the time spent in a house with a death in it
passes faster.
Eleven months.
Feels like just one night.
Susie.
Sally.
Candice and Jane.
Creepy.
This is how you rot.
France.
Your journey is smooth?
Yes Summer finally finished and everything goes the other way over the bridge.
- How is this hostess today? - He feels comfortable.
He is taking a nap, as usual at this time.
And the walls?
Yes
Everything is fine when I just move.
But now I think it's worse in the last few weeks.
Maybe because of mold or something.
Maybe there is a water pipe behind the wall.
- Pipes that go to the bathroom. - Laundry room is just above.
I sometimes hear the sound of water rising up and a kind of knock sound.
You said you didn't see it elsewhere?
No. Only here.
Whether the housing will approve the cost of repairing the cosmetics or not.
I don't agree this is only cosmetic.
Cosmetics I mean not damage to the structure of the house.
Only on meat, not bone.
For the respiratory system Ny. Blum...
For my respiratory system, I smoke the mushroom powder...
As you know, wishes of Mrs. Blum is
to stay in this house until he dies.
And all medical care is given to him in this house
without regard to the financial burden on this land.
And you've been here for almost a year.
Given the advanced age and the current state,
fair enough to assume that maximum you will stay here for another 2 years,
right isn't it?
Overall in my opinion physical health is quite good.
So I can't agree with you.
No, of course. That is good.
He only has this land?
He doesn't have children and family.
No visitors as long as I'm here.
Right, but Mrs. Blum has pointed at this property
as a core part of a grant
to be given to a decent woman writer after he died
as a home and workplace without costing a penny.
He calls it, "Home with various stories."
Then this house must be repaired for that person.
This house will be repaired when the time comes.
But housing parties cannot pay for everything.
Here it is.
They have taken care of this in the past and can give a better explanation.
- Is there anything else? - No.
Yes
Do you know someone named Polly?
Polly? Polly who?
Ny. Blum insists on calling me Polly.
He never called me with another name.
Of course it's a natural thing for someone with his condition.
It's just an error like that
usually comes from memory will be someone important.
Not an unknown person.
There is a Polly character from a novel by Ny. Blum,
The Woman on the Wall.
The most famous novel of his work. You haven't read it yet?
No, never before.
I am easily scared.
Yes, that's true.
There is a film that isn't too good if you prefer it.
No. That's much worse.
I can run to the street shouting.
After that who will take care of Mrs. Blum?
The novel is known for Mrs. Blum deliberately chose
to make an end to the story which seems terrible.
Although he always says that is not an option,
but an obligation.
An obligation for does not deviate from the subject.
For Polly.
I don't understand.
I don't want to ruin the story for you.
Mr. Waxcap.
I will never read it.
I don't want to confiscate your time.
The house was built in 1812
with both hands of a local man as a gift for his new bride.
The couple was last seen said their marriage oath
in the middle of the city.
And the next day they disappear.
Disappear before placing one piece of furniture at all.
City residents shook their heads and clicked their tongues.
They say, "Some people are easily scared."
The Woman on the Wall.
You're not a big and tough book.
Beautiful women who are you see right now are me.
My name is Polly Parsons
and I came to this world the same as when I left it.
I was only a few minutes old and my mother was dead.
His forehead was wet with sweat and his face was white like ice.
I am bound to my mother's body by a bad rope,
the sparkling blackish blue.
The doctor lifts me toward the light.
But now I'm dead.
And yes, I left the world like when I came into it.
And I'm just wearing blood.
No.
Nuts.
Polly!
My color is white like a screen.
I often say this to myself.
I told myself that no one can impure me.
But it's not too much for me.
Those words come out of my body.
Too many holes in me.
You have to be mature, you are scared.
Those are only artificial words of that are on a piece of paper.
"My readers.
You must know that the story in this book
is told directly to me by Polly Parsons,
a young woman who experiences it but does not survive.
For the sake of our female main character, my main character,
I have written all the that she is willing to reveal.
Everything except the end of the story,
that cannot or does not want she tells me. he can no longer see it.
And even though I feel tempted,
I have refrained from urging him talk about this.
But it is safe to assume about the end of this story,
that Polly is not a beautiful woman.
But Polly doesn't want to say it me directly.
And I can't fabricate anything.
So I just let it go.
Based on respect for those who are dead.
Because it's true, my readers,
Polly Parson, the subject of this book, is dead.
It's dead but hasn't been buried.
Carelessly hidden in a tomb.
Graves that are too shallow to be called a tomb.
More worthy of being called a hiding place.
But I've said too much.
And now we leave everything to Polly himself.
That was my intention from the beginning.
Iris Blum, Braintree, Massachusetts, 1960. "
Your basis.
Your base.
Thin walls and windows like bones.
A person can walk through it.
Stand up and leave this house just like that.
Come on, come on, come on. Stop.
This is how you rot.
But it's safe isn't it?
Will no one collapse?
When will you come to do that?
To unload...
Dismantling the wall.
Yes, Monday may be.
Any day may also, I don't go anywhere.
I haven't seen it, I'm...
I hate to see it.
But alright.
I can do it.
I will do it.
Okay, thank you.
"I now trust to Polly completely
when he said that he didn't remember what happened to him at the end.
I sometimes see it dwelling with the form of the incident.
Like trying to remember a song he had heard,
and not like trying to remember an event.
How can someone forget something important like that?
How can someone forget a death?
Maybe the body remembers.
And without his body, there is nothing he can hold.
We make our own ghost by looking,
but pretend not to see.
And then forget about about ourselves.
Really a terrible thing see yourself
and then don't see anything.
Surely this is the way we make our own ghosts.
We make them from ourselves. "
I take one of your books from the bookshelf in the study.
I hope you don't mind.
The Woman on the Wall.
But I have to put it.
Too frightening for me.
You know that one book isn't it?
Where did you go then, Polly?
I didn't go anywhere, Mrs. Blum.
I'm here with you, just like all this time.
Lily Saylor on 43 Hoover Road, Altoona the same.
Pennsylvania.
Ready to serve you.
Much of what you say in the years first.
When you stay here with me.
Enough to fill a book.
And then...
There is nothing.
You turn me back.
And you turn me back.
Very often.
Your feet are facing the wrong direction.
And I have to pay attention to you enter a room.
See your back.
I just sit and listen.
I don't make a sound.
I don't accept visitors.
And now you are back.
But only to hurt me, just to show yourself,
but don't let me see it.
You are no longer like with yourself.
Ny. Blum, please help.
You're a beautiful and unfortunate woman.
Your beauty only holds a guarantee.
Learning to see yourself like the world sees you and you will continue to live.
But left alone, only with your own eyes staring at you,
even the most beautiful things can rot.
Fall like flowers.
The beautiful woman you see is me.
But still I am not able to see what is coming.
I don't know where to look.
I can only see open drawers
and claws that close.
Bel that rings.
Spots that spread.
The holes that release water.
Cable that stretches.
Hammer and pliers.
And creepy books.
And the face of the woman who wrote it.
I can only see his name.
Only the name.
But I can't see what's coming
even though I looked right at him.
Really a terrible thing see yourself
and then don't see anything.
Hello?
I arrived there in the early days of in August.
Hired to take care of Mrs. Blum.
Winter that year turned out to be quite warm.
And when February comes, all the remaining snow
on the roadside most have turned black.
Rain often falls in spring,
and fruits depend heavily at the end of a bent branch.
The sun in summer is really very hot.
My shoulders burned when I touched them.
I remember thinking
that autumn looks like will never come.
But then indeed never come.
Hello?
Polly!
Polly?
I've heard myself say
that a house with a death in it
can no longer be bought or sold by people who are still alive.
It can only be borrowed from the ghosts of who live in the house.
And indeed like that.
A house at the end of Teacup street in the city of Braintree, Massachusetts.
You can borrow it from me.
Because the memory of a death is something that is permanent,
stick to that place like a kind of paper.
Although after being covered with there is nothing left to see.
But I guess I'll stay
to see it again.
This is the way I let myself rot.
The beautiful woman you are looking at
is me.