Just last weekend my editor and I came across this house. I expect some of you would cringe when looking at it while others would be packing up their gear waiting for me to mention where it is. The Red Pen saw it as a photo opportunity. I saw it as an object of inspiration. We both saw it as a mystery to be solved. Why? It’s because this house contains something very valuable.
This house haunts me. How had it fallen so far into ruin? The roofline shows that the house’s foundations are good, and the interior woodwork is still sound. I found it odd that there was still a smoke detector in place considering the crumbling plaster walls. I did not venture inside; the floorboards had seen too many winters exposed to the elements for me to feel safe treading upon them. We peeked in windows, aiming our cameras at anything that caught our eyes. That’s when I saw it. It was breathtaking…
Deep inside the house, on what I imagined to be the dining room wall, was a painting. Some tagger (unknown to me) had taken the time to produce a marvelous Steampunk image on the wall. It didn’t escape me again that the artist had painted screws and saw blades, and I pondered what would happen if the painting could somehow come to life and fix the old place up.
At present, the origins of the house are a mystery to me. I don’t have an Audrey to research the property or the name of the artist either. We didn’t catch any ghosts with our cameras, but we were there such a short time. I, also, don’t have an answer for why there were shoes piled in the middle of the parlor floor. But it’s the painting that interests me. The artist was inspired by the same thought that I had. Someone needs to save this house.
Old house, you are not forgotten by me. Perhaps I will write about you, explore you with my mind. Murphy may have seen it built, and Mia may have avoided it. Yesterday you were a ruin; today you are my muse.