There is a very old, worn out, whitewashed house near the entrance to the town where I live. Every time I go past it I think “poor house, I’d like to rescue you someday.”
Sadly though, we recently learned that the new (giant) overpass that is about to be build will go straight over where that sad old house is! Mum and I were very distressed to learn this, and decided to go and explore it before it is demolished.
It had a very odd feel about it, especially inside. I’m not usually one for ghost stories and that kind of thing, but it did feel very eerie and forlorn. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was someone else in the house, moving silently from room to room to avoid us. Every time I went to open a door, I was sure I would come upon them, slipping down a hallway or perhaps just on the other side of the door, listening to our footsteps on the creaky boards.
All through the house there were these amazing decorations on the ceiling, straight out of the victorian era. it made me wonder how old the house was, and it made me so sad to know that a bulldozer will come through and just obliterate all of it, every single tiny whitewashed bow and delicate rose.
So many people have poured their life out into this building, and filled it with innumerable tiny triumphs and tragedies. But still, like everything, it crumbles, and hollows out, and becomes a victim of progress.