Tapestry of the Mind

It took me a while to gather enough courage to enter the dilapidated old house. After all, who wouldn’t be hesitant to willingly walk into a building in such disrepair? If I weren’t the city building inspector, I wouldn’t be here; that’s for sure, but it’s my job, so here I am.

It must be the abundance of spiderwebs keeping the walls from collapsing because the rotten ceiling beams and floor joists don’t appear to be willingly doing their job. Every step I take further into this decaying structure is followed by the loud crack or pop of a protesting floorboard. There is no reason for me to continue with this evaluation; the place is beyond renovation and needs to come down. At least that was my initial assessment, before I spotted it hanging on an attic wall.

Sunlight shimmering through the broken attic window illuminated something large hanging on the far wall. The light summer breeze caused it to flutter slightly. Initially, I had no intention of climbing up the rickety pull-down attic stairs, but just the small glimpse offered to me by the sunlight had stirred my curiosity. I reached up, grabbed the rope attached to the stairs, and pulled. The rusted hinges squealed in protest as the ladder slowly descended from the ceiling, granting me access to its protected space. I took a deep breath, steadied my nerves, and climbed.

The attic was void of anything save for spiders, an occasional skittering mouse, and the large item hanging on the wall. Walking gingerly from ceiling joist to ceiling joist, I cautiously worked my way over for a closer look. It became obvious the closer I got that this was more than an old blanket; it was an ornate tapestry. The longer I gazed at the complicated story created by the weavings of multi-colored threads, the easier it became for me to identify the tale it was sharing.

The house was the main character throughout the entire narrative. People provided the various sub-plots, but, from its initial construction to its final occupant dying of old age, everything was based on the house’s struggle for survival. It hadn’t been an easy existence, and there were several times when it looked as though all would be lost. The worst episode came when a careless occupant fell asleep with a lit cigarette falling from his hand to the carpet. There were other incidents as well, but even the fire wasn’t as disastrous as being left abandoned for more than thirty years.

The tapestry wasn’t all doom and gloom. It depicted several births, a joyous homecoming from both World Wars, Korea, and Vietnam. There were college graduations, wedding receptions, renovations, and younger generations returning to the house and claiming it as their home. Unfortunately, none of the latest owner’s children either wanted or could afford the house, so it has stayed empty for decades.

I came to what appeared to be the end of the tapestry, but it didn’t feel complete. There were some unanswered questions. To start with, why had people removed everything in the house, from furniture to literally the kitchen sink, but left this work of art? My next question is who has been updating this tapestry over the decades, and is there anyone left who would care? These were troubling questions, but they were not my concern.  

I turned to leave, but my shoes felt as though they were glued to the floor. Yanking, twisting, doing everything humanly possible to free myself from whoever or whatever had me in its clutches, but all my efforts were in vain. As a last-ditch effort, I dialed 911 and managed to ask for help before everything went black.

When EMS arrived, they scoured the house from basement to attic, but all they found was my phone on the floor in front of the tapestry. Had they looked closer, they would have seen me locked in the diorama begging to be freed. The house had won once again. I was no longer able to submit my order to demolish it.