Steven LaChance Blog

It is a strange moment when you begin to realize your life story has slipped out of your hands and into legend.

There was a time when the Screaming House was just my house. It was simply a place where I lived, survived, and eventually escaped. But over the years, it became something else. A living thing. A ghost story told in dark rooms and whispered across the internet.

Now it walks without me. It appears in podcasts, videos, and late-night retellings by people who have never met me. My story continues on, even when I remain silent.

And the truth is, that is kind of incredible.

Because it means the story found its own pulse. It became larger than the pain, larger than the fear, larger than me. That little house in Union, Missouri grew its own mythology, a place people still feel drawn to long after the last door closed.

Every author hopes their words will live beyond them. But it is something entirely different when your life does.

When people tell your story, even imperfectly, even without your name attached, it means it stayed with them. It means something about it reached the collective imagination, the place where stories live forever.

And if my ghosts have become folklore, then so be it. Because that is the nature of legend. It never really dies. It simply finds new voices to keep telling it.