Late one night I sat on my computer looking at pictures of old houses. In one of them there was sign of a fire that had occurred many years ago. I noticed my mom was online too so I sent her a link. She should get to enjoy the pretty derelict old houses with me.  We started talking about the cause of the fire and began concocting stories to explain it. I loved our story too much to let it go there, so here it is. A very fictional (maybe) story of a ruin. With pictures!

Me: How do you think the fire started?

Mom: I hadn’t noticed the fire. Maybe the fire place?

Me: No, the fire was by a window. Not to big of a fire but lots of smoke damage.

Mom: It does look like that. Wonder what happened. Your theory?

Me: Cigarette? Electrical outlet?

Mom: Mine was the fireplace…  Maybe someone hated them and threw a burning ball of rags through the window. Before it could do too much damage they found it, fought through the smoke, and extinguished it.

Me: (ever boring) Much more exciting. But the worst of the damage is directly between the windows against the wall, if they threw it through the window I would expect it to be more towards the middle of the room and in line with a window.

(I’m not completely boring though, just mostly) Still possible though. I say it came though the window to our left hit the side of the couch that was there against the wall and burned.

Mom: They didn’t throw it, they came on the porch. There were no screens back then, they poured the tar dipped rags through the window. No they didn’t pour it they pushed it through the window and to the side.

Me: Luckily the girl who had thrown him over heard a noise. When she awoke she laid there disoriented and scared until she came to enough to recognize the smell of smoke. She then woke up the rest of the family and they were able to put the fire out.

Mom: Sadly the man who started it got the burning tar on his hands. He was horribly scarred and disfigured. The girl did the only thing she could, she forgave him, married him, and loved him forever.

Me: She loved and forgave the physically and mentally scarred man and married him anyway, but the scars on his mind, the deep and insidious damage to his mind. From his difficult childhood, their tumultuous romance and the pain of his injuries continued to resurface. They moved into her house with plans to repair it but he would never let her touch that room. As his delusions grew worse he no longer let her leave the house. It slowly rotted into the ground around them. Their once beautiful love for each other collapsing into a rotting wreck taking them both down with it. Very symbolic all around.

Mom: Sadly their son and his wife bought a house in the country along a beautiful stream, in the hills, peaceful and beautiful. He had become so warped by his parents unhappiness that he lost his mind and, some say, killed his beautiful wife, burying her body in the basement. To this day no one wants to buy as they say it is still haunted by their spirits.

Me: Oh, I remember that one!

Me: (back to the original house) Then many years later the door to the house, normally sealed shut, was found open. Upon searching the house the lifeless body of a homeless man who had sought shelter within was discovered. He lay huddled in the pink room near where the fire had started. An autopsy revealed he had died of smoke inhalation. No new sign of fire was found.

We were alone in the house, the children and I. My hard working husband was putting in a late night. He wanted to be home and was going to hurry back to us as soon as he could. Bedtime was near, children were tired, tempers flared. I may have yelled at them once or twice.

At the end of one yell the back door rattled loudly. Great I thought. He got home just in time to hear me yelling at the children. His hands must be full, he was going to bring us deserts after all, and he needs help opening the door. “It’s Lala!” I told the children “lets go let him in”! We dashed down the stairs, flung open the door, turned on the light.

No one was there.

I stood staring at the empty back porch in horror. I knew I had heard the door rattle. I knew it to the depths of my soul. That had not been my imagination. He, or anyone else, surely couldn’t have gotten out the back door already? Could they? The possibilities raced through my mind. None concrete, simple wisps of ideas, frightful and vague.

Then grasping for hope I thought of the cat. Where was that creature? Looking around I noticed The Goblin Child’s door was closed. Could it have been? I heard a door, not necessarily the back door. They are right next to each other. It could have been. Here I opened wide the door.

And there stood the cat, waiting patiently to be let out. Why had we taken so long. Hadn’t we heard it shacking the door off its hinges?

The Goblin Child fell off Princess Onna. It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t either of their faults. A total and complete freak accident. The Goblin Child was zipping along, giggling and having a blast. She was happy as could be up until that exact second. Then Onna tripped over something and went down. She fell clear over on her side throwing T.G.C.  clear.

There was lots of crying but no real harm done. 8 was on Coyote behind me at the time and I had to get out from in front of him before I could get to her. Easier said than done. I left him there on Coyote while I picked her up and searched for injuries. Coyote stood wonderfully. So did Onna once she got up. We walked back to the corral from the hill by the windmill. Then she was settled down enough I thought I could put her back on. I couldn’t.

She was alright until I tried to set her on Onna then she started crying again. It wasn’t happening. I took 8 off Coyote and put him on Onna. She was willing to ride Coyote and I walked back to the house leading both horses. Once there I turned 8 loose to roam and took The Goblin Child off Coyote. And put her on Onna.

She was scared at first. Then calmed down as I led them around. She has been back on Onna a few times and they seem to be doing well together. I hope they can get back to their former level of confidence.