Fred, the moniker I've given my subconscious/muse, was stumped with my "not exactly a haunted house" book. I gave him the day off last week and wrote a little on a science fiction/future noir story I've been kicking around.
And then Fred came back from vacation, sipping a piña colada and wearing a vintage "I Survived the Orient Express"* t-shirt. His little imaginary head was filled to the brim with ideas for the house story (heretofore only known as "the house book").
He suggested several titles, too, some with "smoke" in them, others with "fog". The house, it seems, plays with those inside, toying with their memories.
Especially memories which elicit fear, sadness, or outright paranoia.
So... The House of Smoke and Fog?
It sounds a bit too much like The House of Sand and Fog, a much different story altogether.
*The Orient Express was the bad-ass roller coaster at Worlds of Fun, a Kansas City amusement park, when I was a boy. It's gone now, but the memory remains.