I can't remember which shitty Stephen King book it was in, but in one of them he asks the question, "What if the dying wasn't the end? What if dying drove you insane?" I think it fits in well with my story.

When I was ten, my dad took a new job in another town a few hours away from where we lived. We moved into a new house on the fringe of a small town. It was a two story home with dirty-white siding that sat back away from the road on a small hill.

The yard was empty except for a few scrub-like bushes and a concrete walkway lined with flowerbeds. The back yard was a long, flat field with quite a few acres of woods and hills behind it.