The Victorian House was on Illinois Avenue. The Old Man was five. A fireplace in every room. A coal furnace in the basement. Sounds throughout the night. Scampering of little feet. Life changed from Chicago. A sealed well in the backyard that sounded like someone was in it.

It was the first day of school. Walking with cousin Brenda. She was beginning eighth grade. Neva J and Bill were having marital trouble. Was the Victorian House haunted, or did the haunting come with the family?

‘I swear that is a big rat,’ Chet said as he looked at the dead rat in the bathtub. ‘Neva J found the rat in the tub, you say?’ Chet said. ‘Have you noticed the shadows when the High School Football Lights are on? They’re spooky,’ Chet continued. ‘This year we shall have the Halloween Party at the Old Vic,’ Chet winked. ‘We do things a bit differently in the south,’ Chet smiled. ‘We will explore what is behind the locked door on top of the well,’ Chet mused.

‘Come into my web said the spider to the fly,’ Neva J said to the first graders. ‘I have punch and Merlot and scary surprises,’ Neva J said, smiling a devilish smile. ‘We will bob for apples and drink cider, but before that we are going out back to the well to knock three times on the lid,’ Neva J winked. ‘It is said that if you enter the well, you never leave,’ Neva J danced on one foot and then the other.

‘Look, there is a winding staircase,’ Jane said. ‘At the bottom is a man and woman eating dinner,’ Jane continued. ‘They look like they are from the 1940s,’ Jane mentioned. ‘I wonder if they climbed down the winding stairs as we did,’ Jane asked.

‘Well, I’ll be, Fred, we have company,’ Sybil said. ‘No one has visited us in some time,’ Sybil continued. ‘I wonder if they are worried about the bomb as we were,’ Sybil asked. ‘They are dressed for Halloween and have Merlot and cider,’ Sybil exclaimed.

‘Welcome, all,’ Fred said with a broad smile. ‘We built this bomb shelter when the atomic bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki,’ Fred explained. ‘We have been reluctant to come above ground and have become quite satisfied with our community of underground dwellers,’ Fred noted. ‘We have stores and a theatre, churches and spas,’ Fred laughed. ‘There are miles of liminal space, but we miss knowing what year it is,’ Fred said quizzically.

‘It is October 1962, and there is fear of nuclear weapons being used due to a crisis with Cuba,’ Chet said. ‘President Kennedy has given Premier Kruscheve an ultimatum,’ Chet said, fearfully. ‘If a Nuclear War begins, it will be the end of all of us,’ Chet observed.

‘Truman is no longer President,’ Sybil asked. ‘We have only been down here a few months,’ Sybil said. ‘The world we knew has changed, and we were not a part of it; due to our infatuation with the liminal space of the underground, we have been under a spell,’ Sybil exclaimed. ‘Time has fooled us,’ Sybil said.

The air is a bit cooler. Our memories are clear. Out of loss comes strength. Our days are full of nights we reflect. I watched the workmen, first responders, and people from all over the country and the world come to where the World Trade Center was and dig to find survivors. Floodlights cast eerie shadows of the ruin. We waited for news of a survivor being found. Not many were. The pain, fear, ashen faces streaked with tears. A taste of Apocalypse.

The Queen’s Band at Buckingham Palace played the Star-Spangled Banner. America’s sorrow was felt worldwide. We did not know who we were, as the song says.

Members of Congress sang God Bless America on the steps of the Capitol. No division or backbiting that day. We understood we needed each other. We needed our enemies to be our friends and our friends to love us.

So it goes 25 years later, and still looking for the devil in all the wrong places. We are a nation of immigrants. If immigrants are the problem, we must raise our hands. Not naive emotion, but practical examination. We must not fight the peaceful. We must not wage war with our friends. We are not always right. God loves the world.

Former President Reagan asked whether, if we were suddenly under attack from an alien force, we would unite to defeat it. The scripture admonishes us not to seek the mote in our neighbor’s eye when we have a beam in our own.

‘If the blind lead the blind, will we not all go into the ditch?

A Peaceable Kingdom is within our grasp. To have it, we shall lay down our preconceived bias and prejudice and learn of each other our humanity. The lion and the lamb did not begin laying down together…they were inspired.

The day is locked in our memory: 9/11. What a horrible day. We did not know what was happening. We knew someone was attacking us and wondered what was coming next. Where would it stop, or would it? Life changed for us. Terrorists had brought destruction to our shores. Many alive today were not born when 9/11 happened. It is difficult to describe the fear and dread. I worked at the University. Was terrorism coming there? Attacked? In the years following, we had threat-level color codes. They were difficult to keep up with. Flying was an exercise in everyone assessing each other. Who was the next plotter? I stayed on one of the top floors of a hotel in Tampa in January 2002 for a University meeting and regularly looked out of the window at the sky. We were told If you see something, say something. What does that mean? The President told us to go to Disney World and live our lives, but our lives had been altered. Hate found a place in our lives. Hate never solves anything.

How have 25 years gone by so quickly? Now domestic terrorism is a significant problem. The politics of fear. Some call for America for Americans. Who is that…are you speaking of the indigenous people of our land? Healing is hard; hate is easy.

‘It appears a small plane has hit one of the World Trade Center Towers,’ Katie said. ‘We are working on getting more information,’ Katie continued.

One Tower collapsed. A jet aimed for and hit the second Tower. The scene was surreal. We were all in a shared nightmare. The second Tower collapsed. People were running, covered in white dust. Covered in the ashes of others. The look on their faces: Dante’s Inferno. The White House was evacuated; a jet was on its way to hit it.

Thousands of photos of missing people were posted outside the World Trade Center thousands who would not be found. People came to help. Dig. Breathe the toxic, pervasive white ashen dust. We did not know.

So, what do we do 25 years later? Hate has not worked. There are terrorists within and without. The job of terrorists is to cause terror. When we are afraid, we think poorly. Ethnicity, religion, and country of origin are not the answer to Terror. Perhaps we should talk together. Be honest with each other. Pray for each other.

Consider others’ feelings. Find the numerous similarities, not the few differences. Be quiet and watch, listen, and think before we speak. What if God tells us we all failed the test?

It started small. An indentation in the earth. When the grass was tall, you barely noticed it as you walked over it. Something must have given way underneath the valley in the yard. It seemed to get a little deeper each day.

‘The Hole has taken a life of its own,’ Chet said. ‘It makes an excellent foxhole,’ Chet continued. ‘I wonder what is causing the subsidence,’ Chet mused. ‘The yards of our neighbors do not seem to be affected,’ Chet commented. ‘It is as if someone was digging upwards,’ Chet winked. ‘I am going to sell tickets to see the ever-deepening hole,’ Chet laughed. ‘Neva J told me that all of our homes are built over former underground coal mines; perhaps we will soon see coal,’ Chet noted.

‘Hello…Hello…is anyone out there?’ the Voice asked. ‘My name is Tom, and I have been lost next door for a while,’ the Voice said. ‘I was playing pool with Herb, and when it was time to leave, I lost my twine and could not find my way out of his humongous basement,’ the Voice said. ‘I could hear Herb and someone he called Fats laughing and the pool balls clacking, but I could not find them; the basement went on and on with mostly liminal space,’ the Voice said. ‘I did encounter some Alien Hunters who were as lost as I was; they had not found any Aliens nor the door out of the basement,’ the Voice said. ‘Matilda called my name many times, but she was so far away,’ the Voice said. ‘All of the houses on Seventh Street are three-storied or more, but you only see the tops of them at street level; the rest is underground,’ Tom lamented. ‘An Old Man told me that they had been built during World War II as Atomic Bomb Bunkers,’ Tom continued.

Yes, I was one of the original builders of the Seventh Street Houses, the Old Man said. ‘The idea for them was sound, but something happened,’ the Old Man reflected. ‘They kept growing in dimension with no visible ending to the expansion,’ the Old Man noted. ‘Many folks have entered the front door of the little row houses and never came out,’ the Old Man mused. ‘As near as I can tell, the halls and rooms go on forever,’ the Old Man explained. ‘I entered one of the front porch doors in World War II and never left,’ the Old Man winked. ‘There is no time in the expanse, no clocks, no watches, only endless liminal space,’ the Old Man whispered.

Neighbors once borrowed from each other. Everyone knew one another and spent many evenings on their front porches, visiting and swapping tales. You might not be familiar with the inside of their houses, but you had a lived experience with their front porch. The cool of the evening chat was welcome. Little was thought about what the neighbor’s house looked like on the inside. Coal mining towns had similar houses built by the Coal Company for the workers. A kitchen, living room, bedroom or two, and if lucky, a little restroom. The roofs were all alike. Built side by side, you could smell what was for dinner next door. You could also hear conversations not meant for your ears without trying. Life was shared outside; inside were secrets.

‘Go next door and borrow a cup of sugar,’ Neva J said to Billy B. ‘Here is the cup,’ Neva J noted with a smile. ‘Wait on the porch while Matilda gets the sugar,’ Neva J noted.

‘Come in, Billy B. I don’t think you have been inside before,’ Matilda said. ‘Do you like to play pool? There is a pool table downstairs in the basement,’ Matilda said, grinning. ‘Herbert is down there now playing; I hear the balls cracking,’ Matilda said, laughing.

‘I did not know Matilda and Herb had a basement,’ Billy B thought. ‘These appear to be the stairs to the basement; I hear the pool balls striking each other,’ Billy B mused as he climbed down the steps.

‘Welcome, Billy B. Come on down. I bet you did not realize our house was so big it appears very small from the outside,’ Herb winked. ‘In fact, the inside dimensions are different than the outside dimensions,’ Herb smiled. ‘A neat architectural trick,’ Herb laughed. ‘I got lost in here for a month once; now I trail twine to find my way back to Matilda,’ Herb said softly. ‘The Snider family, who owned your family’s house before you came, lost their son here; we looked and looked but never found him. Sometimes I think I hear him crying,’ Herb said with a gleam in his eye. ‘So I hear you are a pool player as good as Minnesota Fats in his heyday,’ Herb said. ‘Fats played here many times; I think he is still here…somewhere,’ Herb mused. ‘Before you go, Matilda will take you to the third floor so you can admire all you can see of our little village,’ Herb said.

‘Hi, Neva. Billy B is downstairs with Herb playing pool. Would you like to go to the third floor with me and see the view of our village?’ Matilda asked. ‘Take this twine with you so we can find our way back,’ Matilda said, laughing.