After my muse decided to come by for a little night time visit, throwing a random “Does it always have to be a mansion?” at me, I noticed a somewhat odd trend in my writing. A lot of my short stories, at least, either have a threat contained within a single building, but unavoidable by the protagonist, or feature a house out to kill whoever dares to enter. And it’s not a new thing either. One of the first novel ideas, I ever had–back when I was eight and supposedly still innocent–was about an orphanage, that stole children’s souls. This idea was quickly followed by what some might call my baby–the story, that’s been within me for most of my life. This one featured a sentient mansion, which took over its owners mind and turned them into killing machines unless they possessed a certain amulet.
In reality, i don’t fear buildings anymore than anyone else, but I am fascinated by old buildings. So maybe that plays into it.