Brigit's Flame Entry: July Week 1
Madelyn
I’d driven by the place several times before I actually stopped. From the road it looked so non-descript, a rectangle of peeling white paint; two square windows above, and two down, one wistfully hosting a small red and black FOR RENT sign. The house fronted a busy road and promised nothing to me but an unprepossessing space, and a fixer-upper at that. I wasn’t much with nails and hammers. Nor did I have much money. But I was getting desperate. I slowed my car as I passed the house, turned left into the grass of the side yard beyond it, and got out to take a look.
The side view of the house offered nothing more than the front. But I noticed that the tangle of trees and shrubs that blocked the back of the property from view came all the way over to the house along the side, obscuring it, except for the second story which continued a ways into the overgrowth. After walking around to the other side and finding it similarly blocked, I began looking for some sort of pathway. None was apparent, but I was now too intrigued to stop and began pushing at the leaves and branches to make my way through, forgetting to even watch for poison ivy. I could feel my face and arms getting scratched and attacked by gnats and other insects inhabiting the greenery in the August heat. Within a few minutes, however, I emerged sweating and a little bloody on the other side, only to be stunned by what I saw in front of me.
The grassy yard curved down until it met a creek, probably an arm of one of the small nearby lakes. The creek itself was fairly wide and looked deep enough to maneuver a boat through. Moss covered stone steps led up from the water, bisecting the yard and becoming a path that led to the front of the house. My eyes took in the porch that extended across the front of the house and promised a place for a swing and some Adirondeck chairs. The front door was oak and featured a stained glass window at the top. I strode over to the porch and went up the stairs to peek in the front windows, which looked out over it. The room on the right side appeared to be a living room with a fireplace along one wall. The room on the left might have been a bedroom, or perhaps a dining room and it also had a fireplace complete with blue and white tiles around the center. I turned around to take the scene in again, knowing I’d found what I wanted, even if it did need work. Maybe that would keep the rent from being too high. I only needed a number to call. It took a while to find another For Rent notice, this one at the water’s edge, at the bottom of what turned out to be rather slippery stone stairs, posted on a stake stuck into the ground. I copied the phone number down, re-climbed the stairs, and looked at the house once again. Satisfied, I made my way back through the shrubbery to my car.
Olin
I been stayin’ here for upwards of a month or so. Found an unlocked side door half hidden by the shrubbery and just walked on in. It’s dusty and dirty and smells of mildew. Probably mold too. Good thing I ain’t allergic. I’ve been beddin’ down in the back room next to the kitchen. It has a fireplace, most every room here does, so I’ll be fine when the nights get cooler soon. Been able to cook there, too. I’ve been able to panhandle enough to buy some food, so I’ve been jus’ fine. Even done some fishin’ in the creek. There’s an old shed out back I found one day. It has a boat in it, and some fishing gear. The boat looks to need some repairs, so I’ve just been fishing from the grass, or sometimes wading out a bit. Not that I couldn’t fix the boat. I’m pretty handy. I’ve even thought of callin’ the owner’s number and seeing if I could fix things up around here in trade or something, but they’ll probably do a reference check. That prison thing doesn’t look so good to people. So I’ve just kinda kept to myself the last few weeks, grateful for a place to be.
I saw the woman peekin’ in the windows out front. Pretty thing, although middle-aged. Kinda stange someone like her’d be peekin’ around. I thought of scaring her by yelling or something, but I thought better of it. More ‘n likely she’ll look around and just go away and I’ll be jus’ fine. What would she want with a house like this anyways?
Madelyn
I was sitting in my car, still in the side yard of the house. I was nervous when I dialed the number from the FOR RENT sign. But I’m always nervous calling people I don’t know, even businesses like doctors and dentists. But I got my nerve up and dialed my cell phone. “A woman answered.
“Hi, umm, I’m calling about the house for rent?”
“Yes. Goodness, we haven’t had many calls. I’m Mrs. Nesbitt. It was my grandparents house.”
“Well, that’s nice. I wanted to see inside and ask how much it rents for.”
“We live in Wisconsin. How do you feel about seeing it by yourself? It needs a lot of work, you know. We don’t really want to sell the house, but being so far away we haven’t had a chance to really do anything about it yet. There’s a side door on the right that is open and leads to the kitchen. The keys then are inside the cupboard over the stove. Why don’t you go take a look and see what you think? It just needs so much work . . .”
“Well,” I was feeling a little surprised, “I guess before I do that I need to know how much the rent is. The house is so what I’d want, but I have a budget for my rent and . . .”
Mrs. Nesbitt interrupted. “We can make it work for you if you can promise to fix the place up a bit. How does that sound?”
“Umm, sure!” I breathed, a little too optimistically. I wanted that house! “I’ll take a look and call you back?”
“That will be fine. If you decide to rent it, we’ll set up all the details then. You do work, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. For years. I work for an advertising company - graphic designer. I’ll go look at the house again now and call back after.”
After closing my phone I got out of the car and headed back through the thicket, emerging with even more scratches, mostly on my face. This time I looked for a side door and spotted it, overrun with ivy, just past the bushes. I was a little hesitant as I turned the knob, feeling a bit like an intruder stepping into someone else’s life. What surprised me was that the door opened easily; I thought I would have to push against it a few times. What I didn’t notice at the time were the areas where the ivy had been broken along the top of the old door. I peeked around before walking in. There was enough light from the windows that I could see well, so I went ahead and entered the kitchen. There was an old stove and refrigerator, tall cabinets that stretched almost to the 8 foot ceiling, painted a now-chipped green. Not my favorite color, but painting I could do. The floor, though . . . that would require some work. The probably ancient linoleum was stained and cracked. But didn’t they make things in tiles now you could just lay down and press? I remembered the keys. Mrs. Nesbitt said they’d be in the cabinet over the stove. I made my way over and reached for the handle when I heard a sound to my right. My eyes widened in alarm as I spun and saw a man, fiftyish, standing in the doorway to the next room. I tried to keep my voice even and firm. “Who are you? There’s not supposed to be anybody here. I’ve just talked to the owner This is going to be my place.”
Olin
Her voice was trembling, but she had her lips set in a determined line. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, clear body language for self-protection. I had to smile, then laugh. She was trying to be so forceful.
“Well, my question would be who are you? Possession is 90% of the law, as they say. Or somthin’ like that. I believe I was here first.” I smiled as charmingly as I could, although I am missing one of my upper teeth. Canine, I believe.
“I’m, uh, here by permission of the owner, Mrs. Nesbitt. I just talked to her”. Her voice was high and tremulous. “ I’m planning on renting this house. She didn’t say there was an occupant. So who are you?”
“I found it first.” I was trying to make her uncomfortable, so she’d want to leave. For good.
“You’re just a vagrant, aren’t you?” she asked. “I’ll call the police.” She reached into her jeans pocket for her phone, but her hand came out empty. “Damn!” she exclaimed, now starting to look around anxiously.
“Now tell me,” I drawled, “what do you want a place like this for? It’s a mess, dirty and dusty. And it needs a lot more than TLC to fix it up right.” I moved closer to her and she took several steps back. I was enjoying the alarm on her face. Thought I’d take it a little farther . . . “What you so scared about, darlin’? I’m not that dangerous. Only killed a couple of people before they locked me up.”
“OK, I’m leaving, but I’m coming back with the police. And I have the keys,” she said, backing toward the door.
Maybe I was taking it too far, and maybe she had more determination than I originally assumed. “Wait a minute, darlin’ . . . I wasn’t serious. About killing anyone, I mean. Just robbery, no one died.”
She stopped suddenly and looked straight at me. Her voice came out firm this time. “Look, Mr. Whoever-You-Are, I am going to rent this house. It’s just what I want, what I need really. You have no idea. Scaring me isn’t going to make me change my mind.”
I had to admire her at that point, and I didn’t want her returning with any police. What I started thinkin’ was maybe we could work something out . . . ‘Hey, gotta deal for you,” I said. She stopped, the side door held partially open, and turned around. “It seems like we both need this place, then. You’re maybe runnin’ from something. I just left my own nightmare. And I’m pretty handy at fixin’ things. My name’s Olin, by the way,” and I reached my hand out towards her.
She hesitated. “Oh my god,” she said, “I can’t believe this.” Then her small hand touched mine. “I’m Madelyn,” she said.
I’d driven by the place several times before I actually stopped. From the road it looked so non-descript, a rectangle of peeling white paint; two square windows above, and two down, one wistfully hosting a small red and black FOR RENT sign. The house fronted a busy road and promised nothing to me but an unprepossessing space, and a fixer-upper at that. I wasn’t much with nails and hammers. Nor did I have much money. But I was getting desperate. I slowed my car as I passed the house, turned left into the grass of the side yard beyond it, and got out to take a look.
The side view of the house offered nothing more than the front. But I noticed that the tangle of trees and shrubs that blocked the back of the property from view came all the way over to the house along the side, obscuring it, except for the second story which continued a ways into the overgrowth. After walking around to the other side and finding it similarly blocked, I began looking for some sort of pathway. None was apparent, but I was now too intrigued to stop and began pushing at the leaves and branches to make my way through, forgetting to even watch for poison ivy. I could feel my face and arms getting scratched and attacked by gnats and other insects inhabiting the greenery in the August heat. Within a few minutes, however, I emerged sweating and a little bloody on the other side, only to be stunned by what I saw in front of me.
The grassy yard curved down until it met a creek, probably an arm of one of the small nearby lakes. The creek itself was fairly wide and looked deep enough to maneuver a boat through. Moss covered stone steps led up from the water, bisecting the yard and becoming a path that led to the front of the house. My eyes took in the porch that extended across the front of the house and promised a place for a swing and some Adirondeck chairs. The front door was oak and featured a stained glass window at the top. I strode over to the porch and went up the stairs to peek in the front windows, which looked out over it. The room on the right side appeared to be a living room with a fireplace along one wall. The room on the left might have been a bedroom, or perhaps a dining room and it also had a fireplace complete with blue and white tiles around the center. I turned around to take the scene in again, knowing I’d found what I wanted, even if it did need work. Maybe that would keep the rent from being too high. I only needed a number to call. It took a while to find another For Rent notice, this one at the water’s edge, at the bottom of what turned out to be rather slippery stone stairs, posted on a stake stuck into the ground. I copied the phone number down, re-climbed the stairs, and looked at the house once again. Satisfied, I made my way back through the shrubbery to my car.
Olin
I been stayin’ here for upwards of a month or so. Found an unlocked side door half hidden by the shrubbery and just walked on in. It’s dusty and dirty and smells of mildew. Probably mold too. Good thing I ain’t allergic. I’ve been beddin’ down in the back room next to the kitchen. It has a fireplace, most every room here does, so I’ll be fine when the nights get cooler soon. Been able to cook there, too. I’ve been able to panhandle enough to buy some food, so I’ve been jus’ fine. Even done some fishin’ in the creek. There’s an old shed out back I found one day. It has a boat in it, and some fishing gear. The boat looks to need some repairs, so I’ve just been fishing from the grass, or sometimes wading out a bit. Not that I couldn’t fix the boat. I’m pretty handy. I’ve even thought of callin’ the owner’s number and seeing if I could fix things up around here in trade or something, but they’ll probably do a reference check. That prison thing doesn’t look so good to people. So I’ve just kinda kept to myself the last few weeks, grateful for a place to be.
I saw the woman peekin’ in the windows out front. Pretty thing, although middle-aged. Kinda stange someone like her’d be peekin’ around. I thought of scaring her by yelling or something, but I thought better of it. More ‘n likely she’ll look around and just go away and I’ll be jus’ fine. What would she want with a house like this anyways?
Madelyn
I was sitting in my car, still in the side yard of the house. I was nervous when I dialed the number from the FOR RENT sign. But I’m always nervous calling people I don’t know, even businesses like doctors and dentists. But I got my nerve up and dialed my cell phone. “A woman answered.
“Hi, umm, I’m calling about the house for rent?”
“Yes. Goodness, we haven’t had many calls. I’m Mrs. Nesbitt. It was my grandparents house.”
“Well, that’s nice. I wanted to see inside and ask how much it rents for.”
“We live in Wisconsin. How do you feel about seeing it by yourself? It needs a lot of work, you know. We don’t really want to sell the house, but being so far away we haven’t had a chance to really do anything about it yet. There’s a side door on the right that is open and leads to the kitchen. The keys then are inside the cupboard over the stove. Why don’t you go take a look and see what you think? It just needs so much work . . .”
“Well,” I was feeling a little surprised, “I guess before I do that I need to know how much the rent is. The house is so what I’d want, but I have a budget for my rent and . . .”
Mrs. Nesbitt interrupted. “We can make it work for you if you can promise to fix the place up a bit. How does that sound?”
“Umm, sure!” I breathed, a little too optimistically. I wanted that house! “I’ll take a look and call you back?”
“That will be fine. If you decide to rent it, we’ll set up all the details then. You do work, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. For years. I work for an advertising company - graphic designer. I’ll go look at the house again now and call back after.”
After closing my phone I got out of the car and headed back through the thicket, emerging with even more scratches, mostly on my face. This time I looked for a side door and spotted it, overrun with ivy, just past the bushes. I was a little hesitant as I turned the knob, feeling a bit like an intruder stepping into someone else’s life. What surprised me was that the door opened easily; I thought I would have to push against it a few times. What I didn’t notice at the time were the areas where the ivy had been broken along the top of the old door. I peeked around before walking in. There was enough light from the windows that I could see well, so I went ahead and entered the kitchen. There was an old stove and refrigerator, tall cabinets that stretched almost to the 8 foot ceiling, painted a now-chipped green. Not my favorite color, but painting I could do. The floor, though . . . that would require some work. The probably ancient linoleum was stained and cracked. But didn’t they make things in tiles now you could just lay down and press? I remembered the keys. Mrs. Nesbitt said they’d be in the cabinet over the stove. I made my way over and reached for the handle when I heard a sound to my right. My eyes widened in alarm as I spun and saw a man, fiftyish, standing in the doorway to the next room. I tried to keep my voice even and firm. “Who are you? There’s not supposed to be anybody here. I’ve just talked to the owner This is going to be my place.”
Olin
Her voice was trembling, but she had her lips set in a determined line. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest, clear body language for self-protection. I had to smile, then laugh. She was trying to be so forceful.
“Well, my question would be who are you? Possession is 90% of the law, as they say. Or somthin’ like that. I believe I was here first.” I smiled as charmingly as I could, although I am missing one of my upper teeth. Canine, I believe.
“I’m, uh, here by permission of the owner, Mrs. Nesbitt. I just talked to her”. Her voice was high and tremulous. “ I’m planning on renting this house. She didn’t say there was an occupant. So who are you?”
“I found it first.” I was trying to make her uncomfortable, so she’d want to leave. For good.
“You’re just a vagrant, aren’t you?” she asked. “I’ll call the police.” She reached into her jeans pocket for her phone, but her hand came out empty. “Damn!” she exclaimed, now starting to look around anxiously.
“Now tell me,” I drawled, “what do you want a place like this for? It’s a mess, dirty and dusty. And it needs a lot more than TLC to fix it up right.” I moved closer to her and she took several steps back. I was enjoying the alarm on her face. Thought I’d take it a little farther . . . “What you so scared about, darlin’? I’m not that dangerous. Only killed a couple of people before they locked me up.”
“OK, I’m leaving, but I’m coming back with the police. And I have the keys,” she said, backing toward the door.
Maybe I was taking it too far, and maybe she had more determination than I originally assumed. “Wait a minute, darlin’ . . . I wasn’t serious. About killing anyone, I mean. Just robbery, no one died.”
She stopped suddenly and looked straight at me. Her voice came out firm this time. “Look, Mr. Whoever-You-Are, I am going to rent this house. It’s just what I want, what I need really. You have no idea. Scaring me isn’t going to make me change my mind.”
I had to admire her at that point, and I didn’t want her returning with any police. What I started thinkin’ was maybe we could work something out . . . ‘Hey, gotta deal for you,” I said. She stopped, the side door held partially open, and turned around. “It seems like we both need this place, then. You’re maybe runnin’ from something. I just left my own nightmare. And I’m pretty handy at fixin’ things. My name’s Olin, by the way,” and I reached my hand out towards her.
She hesitated. “Oh my god,” she said, “I can’t believe this.” Then her small hand touched mine. “I’m Madelyn,” she said.