There wasn't a memory before the first time the front door cracked open. No recollection of the framing, the shovels, the nails, only the resounding click of a key. Bubbling thuds from the footsteps and excited whispers of intrepid explorers followed in its wake, shattering the silence. When the beings left, and the entrance finally closed, they locked in a peaceful hush, and the house stood quiet again. The wind rustled, the Sun dipped, the Moon rose, and so forth, as songbirds sang passing days onwards. Things were peaceful. Life was calm, for a spell.
A drizzling day brought forth a muddy clamour. The intrusion burst through the door, and scuffed the hard wood floors. Haphazard furniture marked the halls as pieces bumped to place, complaining children echoed off walls, chorused by a bickering husband and wife. Dogs barked and whined, and the rooms sat aghast, powerless. The windows watched, their pane's frantic gaze followed the flurrying family flustering back and forth.
Night's inevitable knock called, and with it a pregnant quiet. Snores, heavy breaths, kicked sheets competed against crickets, and the breeze through leaves. The walls worried. The change had happened fast. Space filled, clocks counted, days cluttered, and the structure tensed. New nails jarred, frames gave weight, scuffs scarred, windows broke, doors slammed, corners kicked. As the family grew so did the pains. In the quiet of the night the home’s aches and bruises started to sound.
Yet, there was love. Compromise, understanding. Over time the house found harmony with the inhabitants, and became a home. There was a new warmth, heat in the chimney, a glow from the kitchen, coze from conversation, and so forth. Familiarity churned comfort, understanding, and appreciation. Years rolled. Walls were painted, shingles changed, decorations hung, things broke, and restorations made.
Ease arrived to the home, joy radiated from its very foundations. It released its yearnings for the peace of the past. Over the seasons the windows watched trees fall, and other homes sprout along the horizon. Construction banged, dogs barked, and a community sprouted like the family within, their neighbourhood a budding garden.
Years in an unguarded bliss ended in an abrupt, horrific crash. There were no signs, no warning. The same sudden scuffle, grunts and hollers returned. The door banged closed, and finality from the lock's clack echoed through a familiar emptiness.
When the silence settled, and their absence understood, the home's heart collapsed. While the house had had its occasional complaints, at times felt misused and maltreated, its new sorrow trumped it all. A lonely bell rang within. It longed for the padding paws, the laughter, the smells of breakfast, candles, and soaps.
As the season changed the empty home came to terms with the isolation and abandonment. With acceptance arrived another sudden tumble. New people entered and exited, stepped and stalked, until a new group came and stayed. Hammers fell, changes made, chapters turned. A new family settled in and the house held fast.
At first it was hard to adjust, to accept. Memories stuck, and the rooms were as reluctant to the new connection as some of the occupants were to them. When the witching hours called, the home sought calm. In the twilight quiet, where it gasped for a breath, it found its bones ache. The family's peaceful sleeping gave space for the wall's whines to rise, and voice their unforgotten sorrows, strains, and trespasses. The floorboards creaked, stairs groaned, windows whistled. Moments of tranquility came in sputters, drowned by the home's incessant fretting. It tried to embrace the new, and erase its history, but in its timber scores were marked, and the wood wouldn't forget.
Night after night ocean waves of emotions rose and fell. Up and down, back and forth as hours passed. When at last a puff of relaxation found its way forth, movement stirred, the dogs would rustle, and a new day would begin. The light brought perspective, and feelings changed with the calendar. Familiarity became a blanketing comfort, and new feelings began to blossom. Holidays, birthdays, school days, danced, and twinkled.
There were never any signs. Never any warnings. No clues in colour or light, in sound or touch. No cautions from the flowers blooming, or leaves falling. Whispers of snow on chilling temperatures, sizzles of sunlight stayed silent. Movers re-entered, and the family exited.
Empty mornings brought endless mourning. The home didn't know what it had done wrong, or why they'd gone. It knew only that it missed them. It struggled with the new reality. Fought with its own identity. From home to house, what was it, without a reflection of love? How could this happen again? Both families had flourished, together they'd spent happy years. Now they were gone and hollowness returned. The house starved. Creaks and groans heard by no one grew louder.
It wished it'd made better efforts in cherishing their time. Clung closer to the moments. Plagued at itself for not doing more to keep them. How it may have achieved that, the shelter had no thoughts, save that it should have.
When hope dwindled new dwellers entered. The home's walls held high. The new one's racket came and left, their time short, and meaningless. Familiar loneliness welcomed, its sadness safe. As much as it comforted itself pretending solitude was a chosen preference, in the twilight hours the house's limbs howled against the lie.
The fated door opened again, and a new set entered, gutting the old home, rearranging its insides before they even bothered to stay a single night. New walls rose, and the house sectioned and divided into new units. Corners calloused, and when the hammers halted a new hurricane of activity rose.
The home couldn't keep track of the who's or how longs. Its many doors opened and closed to its divided heart. People moved in and out and in and out and in and out with new frequency. The household busier than ever. While curiosities and kindnesses happened, attachments were impossible and exhausting. Confusion carpeted the whoms it gave home to each section, a different connection, a unique story. The units are too small for families. There wasn't the same care or quiet. Televisions, stereos, calls, showers, and alarms cluttered the night. The home looked back on the it's old quiet midnight complaints fondly, missing the simple irritants of happy dog barks, baby cries, and trivial tifting.
The tides turned, and its attitude changed. The home remembered the regret it experienced not embracing the seconds of good in the past and fought to find new moments to hold. While magick was felt in slivers, the interruptions were numerous. The temporary connection wasn't the same. It hadn't known how well it'd had it. The joy of healthy upkeep, regular washes, painting, attention to its gardens, windows cleared, dust lifted, wall scrubbed, floors swept. The care it had experienced when the families added themselves to the space. Extensions made, verandas, fences, gardens, and forts. How cozy it felt when windows were replaced, and roof sealed.
It didn't know real pain, until obtuse neglect and abuse arrived. For the first time it knew why each occupant left. A small kitchen fire scorched and smoked. Rather than stay and tend to the home's wounds the transient inhabitants scattered. And the house stood with its shame exposed to the bustling neighbourhood.
Seasons spiralled like clock hands. Deranged weeds climbed, and the gleaned house became a museum of amateur graffiti tags. No one stayed, save for an occasional vagabond, or wayward teenager. Dormant until the mice arrived. Spiders, rats and squirrels were quick to follow, nested in the attic, chewing through walls. As with the rest of the it's homemakers, the house found an inevitable acceptance, and provided a numbed shelter. At first, like the others, their compatibility or initial introduction had been in some ways painful. Connection came. While it wasn't the same, the home found a dash of contentment in serving its purpose, and cherished the small wonder of its little pets.
The walls aged, its roof sagged. The elder home felt decrepit. In its youth it had been valued and prized amongst the neighbourhood. Now it rotted. It watched its neighbours be demolished. Homes younger than itself came and went, torn down, pulled apart, replaced. Cold fear rose. The furry dwellers couldn't save a collapse. An end loomed.
Until a bright young bride and her rough young man arrived. Joy radiated between them, and the house dared to hope. The newly bound couple polished the floors in their sweat. The critters scattered. The change was painful, walls torn apart, the floor plan rearranged, windows cut, electrical refurbished, entire rooms renovated. Friends and family came in and out aiding in the surgical restoration. When the tension eased, calm washed. So little of the original part of the house remained that it wondered if it was the same at all. Long days of cleaning, and sanding were capped with delighted camping as the lovers moved from room to room.
Where years had striped away its emotions, the determined couple built them back up. Together they grew into a new flourishing form. They cradled their home, and it leaned forth with trust, faith in their care. Growing pains were better than eradication. First, the demolishing terrified it, but its bones were kept intact, reinforced the home relaxed. Panic slowed, faith grew. The team was measured and thorough. The more the pair gave of themselves to the structure the more the house felt at home with them.
Before the final nail was driven into place there was a new cry and creature in the house. Familiar coos from the past settled the home's heart. The walls insulated the love within and the home cradled the family. It welcomed the aches of the late hours, clung to the clammers and sounds.
That night when the bolt cracked, and they locked themselves inside to sleep, the home allowed itself to feel safe. It was a first. Its lifetime had been refurbished, renewed, the home opened its doors to attachment. The sun shone another day. Seasons would change, as would its occupants, it'd had come to accept that. When the old worries rose it let it them go like smoke from its chimney, and held the heat instead. Embracing the joy it had instead of worrying over what it might lose. The young family might not stay forever but the home knew the love shared within its walls would.
Thanks for reading!
-Mr. Write