Orphan House

The house sinks into the earth, heavier now that she’s empty than she ever was when children scurried across her floors every morning. The newest piece of her is a sign nailed to the front door: “Condemned.”

That, and the barn owl's nest tucked away in her rafters. She's been the house's only tenant for many years now, and she's raised and said goodbye to many children of her own. She isn't anything like the children, but the house likes her company all the same.

This will be the last year they gather. The last year those children's feet will scamper across her creaky wood floors. Of course, they aren’t children anymore. Some of them have spines bent with the weight of a life well lived, and some of them still have their golden years ahead of them. The only thing they all have in common now is the house, and the tragedies that sent them there.

Not all of them were happy, but they always found joy in each other. That’s why, one night a year, they come back. It’s not a holiday anyone else celebrates, but the children never miss it.

They bring trinkets from their travels to exchange and cheap booze to share, light the fireplace and reminisce. This house is the closest any of them had to a mother, and they've never let a year go by without reminding her of their gratitude and paying her respect. Toasts are made and glasses are raised in her honor, and this is the only reason the house has stayed standing this long. She's held on for them.

Them, and the barn owl chicks who learn to fly by being thrown from her rafters, their mother watching proudly from above. But even with all these small joys to live for, a house can only keep herself standing for so long all on her own.

That's why this year is different. This year they brought matches and gasoline, and the house settles another inch into the dirt as she sighs relief. Because the house has lived lives of her own. Many of them. And it’s time.

But these grown-up children would never let something as cold and impersonal as a wrecking ball take this house to the ground. No, they’ll do it themselves. This house built them, and now they'll take care of her by tearing her down.

So they come, one by one, and leave their shoes at the door. They duck through the sagging threshold and run their fingers along the dull wood of the staircase rails. They scurry across the floors one last time, like they did when they played hide-and-seek as kids. They laugh in each other’s company like they did all those years ago, the sound giving one last breath of life to the house's old bones.

The sound also startles the barn owl awake, and she hoots indignantly at the humans beneath her. She's had the house to herself for so long, no one can blame her. So the grown-up children lower their voices and speak to her in soothing tones, explaining that they will have to move her nest, but that she - as a mother herself - will be treated with the same respect they give the house.

She must believe them, because when one of the grown-up girls coaxes the owl into her gentle hands, she settle's into the girls palms and shakes out her feathers, watching as one of the grown-up boys carefully takes her nest in his arms. There are no eggs for her to guard at the moment, so she lets him work in peace.

The grown-up boy trims trees for a living, so he climbs a nearby trunk easily and finds a nice, cozy hole for the owl to nest in. The house knows it's a good choice - the night sky looks beautiful from the front yard, and the next time the owl has babies to raise, they'll take their first flight beneath it. When it's clear the owl is happy with her new home, the children return to their work.

They give one last toast and share one last drink, then they pour the gasoline and say goodbye.

The house moans her own farewell as the flames eat up the last of her. The barn owl falls asleep beneath the stars for the first time in her life, and the house is happy to provide warmth for someone she loves one last time in her final moments.

The children stay until there’s nothing left. Then they put on their shoes and go just as they came. One by one.