Cold Waffles and # 19

As I write this, I am eating a cold three-day-old waffle of a formerly delicious nature. Elton John's "Tiny Dancer" is playing on shuffle, which, by the by, the original is better than any cover, though Tim McGraw's does come in a close second.

But neither weak waffles or wonderful music is the topic of this post.

Today's Topic: Creepy houses that should be avoided at all cost.


Across the street from my humble abode is a dilapidated dwelling of such deplorable conditions I shudder just thinking about it. The wooden house's white coat of paint is peeling, revealing the bare planks beneath. A brick chimney, likely once stately, is crumbling away one brick at a time. The whole house seems to sag, as though weary with time. The glass windows, that is those that remain intact, are thin, suggesting glass of a different era. Most of the windows, however, are cracked or shattered. Beside a broken window near the door, one can still clearly make out the house number, 19; a number ominous enough for any horror flick. There isn't really a lawn to speak of, just a weed patch in front of the house. To the weed's credit, they are fine weeds indeed. Two overgrown trees stand on each side of the house, casting an eerie shadow over the dwelling. The tar shingled roof is the only thing about the place with some respectability.

The basement is of most peculiar nature. A small hole has been dug in the dirt; a crude crawlspace of sorts, that leads directly into the basement. Perhaps someone was once locked out of the house one night and needed a way in... Or there could be a stash of booze lurking the corners, the hole dug by some bootlegging college kid. Whatever the original purpose it is odd indeed.

Behind the house, if you could call it that, sits a crazed sort of shed constructed of a patchwork of aluminum. It is the sort of shed one imagines serial killers sleep in at night, knife in hand, as the next murder is plotted. However, little can be said on the shed as I chose not to investigate it further. I shall instead allow the reader's imagination to run rampant, as I have full faith and confidence in my reader's phantasms.

So, as established, the exterior alone of the house makes it a worthy subject for blogging, but it is the quirky details that capture my attention. Cases of Campbell's Tomato Soup are stacked haphazardly near the open hole to the basement. If tomato isn't your preference, there are stacks of chicken noodle in the backyard. Peering in through the broken glass reveals a most puzzling interior. Food is stacked on the shelves, the labels faded and long outdated; yet why do they remain? I picture a nuclear bomb scare, early 1970's, frightening away the tenants, leaving no time to grab up the food. The house is perhaps a time capsule to an era gone by. Yet, the container of Raid in the corner looks brand new, and so does another can here, and a bottle here. Puzzling. Trash is strewn casually across the floor; maybe remnants of a recent kegger?

If I was brave enough, I'd walk right through the screen door that's hanging by one hinge, and I'd see what there was to see. If I survived the tour, perhaps then I'd have more concrete details to share, a factual account to give. But, I rather enjoy the mystery that now remains, giving ample room for my imagination to play freely. Fiction, I've found, is often more enjoyable than reality.

And, I should really stop eating this cold waffle.

Photograph by Valerie Owens