Unit Six

On a boarding request:

the same apartment in

a small building. The doors

in a string along the

sidewalk. Constant return

as board after board gets

pulled off. Bit of a thorn –

Six units in total.

Doing the work, a man

comes up to me and says,

“You know why you have to

keep coming back here, sir?”

I say no; he tells me why:
A man and wife lived there.

Their home for years after

their children grew up and

moved out on their own, but

the couple stayed and grew

old; her mind, his body.

They were both near the end

of it. The husband lit

a fire. They think the wife

may have been dead or the

man may have caused it all

while they were both breathing.

Some would say murder or

some would say mercy was

the hidden, but the fire

was out quick with both dead.

Fire fighters found them both.

The unit was boarded.

Building was dying too.

Then the whole place was sealed

and door left untouched for

years. Secure and vacant.

Except this one: the boards were

always torn away and

left propped to the north side.

It was the adult kids,

he said. They never lived

there, but it was where their

parents spent their last days,

so at night they open

the place up to stand in

the living room where it

all happened. They all seem

to want to just be there.