I’d seen this house some months ago already. It hardly could have been closer to mine, just on the next crossing street, on the same block, and I can almost see it from my old bedroom window on the second floor. Most likely because of that proximity, it took me some time to realise that it might as well be as mysterious and fascinating as any of the other distant abandoned houses I know.
It used to be just next to an old factory building, that I hardly recall, though it was just there out at my window for years. A few years ago they destroyed it and quickly grew a big orange block of apartments.
Stubbornly still there, just next to that clumsy modern building, the little parpen construction slowly rotted, abandoned. A couple of days ago, i passed by it on my way to the post office, and realised that – strangely on that early spring – the vegetation blocking the entrance had diminished. I figured that I could easily get in.
I approached cautiously, as in that residential street, only ten minutes away from downtown, i was uneasy as to how the neighbours would react to my curiosity. With a single little rangefinder camera in my pocket, i crossed the street and took a couple of pictures of the front and of the surrounding constructions. Waiting for some passers-by to go, I walked around slowly, and then, as things got quieter, i turned back around towards the house 67, rue du marquis.
A woman was standing on the sidewalk, just in front of the house. She was obviously waiting for me, and i feared she would give me the usual paranoid neighbour alarm. But she seemed as uneasy as me. A middle-aged, little woman with colorful square glasses. Without me needing to say anything, she proceeded by telling me what she knew.
« I’m living nex door, she said pointing the little individual house on the opposite side of the new building. I saw you were taking pictures, and i was wondering if ever you were a relative, because i guess it must be some kind of shock to see the house that way. I think they must have crashed the roof while building the new apartments, and you know how it is, as soon as there’s no roof left, it’s the end.
I knew the owners, you know, before they left. They were in the middle of their divorce, and the man hung himself. She left then, she had to settle the loan by herself, and she left and never came back.
So they built the apartments, and it was quickly looted just after. When i saw how forlorn it was, i went to the town hall to get some information. I figured that i could maybe buy the house, destroy it and build me a garage. But it’s a mess, you know, there’s no way. There’s inheritance matters that won’t be settled.
Anyway, I hope i’ve not been to much of a bother. Have a nice day… »
Just as she left, i jumped into the house.
The wall of the corridor, on the building side, had been completely destroyed and was now in a way replaced by the external grey concrete wall just near, which seemed oddly recent compared to the rest of the house.
The planks of the roof were slowly making their way down on a floor i couldn’t figure of what it was made, so much covered as it was with a strange magma of wood, waste, earth and crushed furniture. An old brown leather armchair was emerging out of it, still in front of the fireplace. In the second room, the crashed roof had taken almost all the space, except for a cupboard in a pretty good shape. The worn yellow tapestry contrasted with the blue sky of that sunny afternoon. A broken TV set laid on the cluttered up floor.
On my way to the third room, i encountered my usual friend from the ruins. A grey and white cat was curiously looking down at me from the remnants of the roof.
The last space was the bathroom. Each of the pink ceramic squares on the wall had been pinched and now held a white spot. There was still the cabin of the shower, as it was built in metal and glass. But there was now a tree too.
I stood there for some minutes in the quietness. Once again, surprised by how silent and peaceful ruins can be, even in the middle of the city. The few noises from the street were muted. Then, some people appeared on the new buildings’ parking lot, that i could see from there. The former corridor of the house ended by the kitchen room and there was no wall left to separate the bathroom from the parking lot, only a broad grid. I could see people come and go, unloading their car, but they never saw me. They never looked towards the house, even when broken glass crushed under my feet. It was like the little house wasn’t even there anymore… and had already swallowed me in its inexistence.
I made my way out, and as i stepped on the sidewalk, catched a glance of the neighbour lady putting things out of her house, and in her car.
I left, but still for some reason felt compelled to look back at her. Alone, she was filling up her car with stuff, just as if she was leaving for good : several large travel cases, a little piece of furniture… Stunned, i stopped to watch from a distance. A couple of minutes later, she went out, locked the door, and in her small pink car, went away on the road.
