One thing that amazed True most, as we peddled over little used dirt roads looking for new areas to explore, was the amount of abandoned homes we found. In the years since I’d met True, we’d never seen a home become abandoned. The houses we saw seemed to have been already vacant for years. I remember at least a half dozen scattered though out our town. True just couldn’t fathom why they were there at all. Questions, more questions.
“What do you think happened here, Man? Did the people just up and move out? Was it maybe a family that went bankrupt and couldn’t afford the payments? Maybe they were old folks who both died at the same time. Why hasn’t someone come around to take care of the house? Somebody, somewhere must know something. Wonder if there are dead bodies still inside? Maybe there are skeletons or old valuable coins . . .” On and on went the questions until I started scratching at my hives some more and wondering if True would simply bust with frustration about those poor deserted places.
I had no answers. Any adults we talked to about the deserted houses couldn’t be bothered to really tell us anything useful. True used to sit and draw the houses on a sketchpad he always carried with him. He’d show the drawings around town and ask the same questions he’d pumped me with. Seemed nobody could tell us what became of the people that belonged in those homes.
“Thar treacherous places pigeonholed wit termites and bad floors. You younguns stay out o’ thar.” Or . . . “Dangerous spots, strange things been known to happen round them ole deserted properties. Strange things indeed. You boys stay outa there! Don’t go messin around in them shoddy places now, hear?”
Continued in the next post
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I’ll Call When I Get There - Her phone sang its happy song from the crisp white countertop in front of her. She sat on a high wooden barstool, still in her lounge pants and a half t-sh...
2 months ago