The Hoarders House

We would walk past the house everyday on our way home from school, we would huddle together as we got closer and whisper the words of what caught our eye about the hoarder's house that day. We were too afraid to speak with our normal volume, imagining that the hoarder might pick up the sound of our voice with some sort of witchcraft or supernatural power. One day we got a quick glimpse of the hoarder scurrying in from getting her mail, she could have been a witch it was hard to tell she kept her head down  she was quite hunched over and her grey hair was all matted at the back . She was moving pretty quickly for an old woman , she didn't pick her feet up and we heard the frantic sound of gravel crunching under her feet.

We got past her house quickly , and continued our huddle snickering to each other about her taking in her mail and flyers from the letter box. Where will she put it ? From what we could see, and what we couldn't see through the windows, there were already papers , books , cans , toys , you name it piled sky high , right up to the ceiling , it was the same in every window that we managed a quick glimpse into. We might have thought of her as a witch because we knew not not even a ray of sunlight would survive in that dark , damp house. The papers and boxes had even started encroaching on the verandah and even down the sides of the house, not an inch was spared inside or out. The gutters were literally hanging from the house , old enough , neglected enough to not even be able to support the rain to give it some direction. They were just rusted pieces of metal hanging from the roof. 

The neighbours hated her , although I don’t believe any of them had ever uttered one word to her. They hated her because her house was an eyesore , a haven for rats , a death trap , the parents would huddle in the playground and we would hear them talk about if that place catches fire it will burn to the ground with everything in it, so much fuel for the fire. Now I feel sorry for the old woman , even if she is a witch , how would she get out , all the windows and doors are blocked with all her rubbish. Why does she keep all the rubbish ? It's all junk, just a bunch of junk . I don’t want the witch to burn just because she is a hoarder.

I don’t want the witch to burn because I am the witch. My home is not piled high with papers or boxes crushing under the weight of each other but I hoard different things. I am a hoarder of feelings and emotions. My rooms are bursting at the seams , I get the physical signals , the smoke alarm perhaps, the warnings to evacuate . My body is telling me to get rid of some things , to open the doors , move all the stuff cluttering the windows and get rid of it, scream because this fire will kill you. Physically I can't carry it around forever and it's starting to take its toll, the physical damage is gaining momentum, I am becoming weaker trapped inside here with all this stuff.  I hear the striking of a match. I can smell the smoke and I have been trying to navigate my way to the front door for what seems like forever .There are things in my way and I am frantically trying to pick them up in case I need them but I feel the fire chasing me, licking at my heels. The only way to get to the front door is to leave all the stuff behind, I won't be able to take it with me, I've got to let it burn. 

The witch didn't burn ,and she even lifted her feet when she walked and her head was up this time, her hair was still matted but she was in a hurry after all. She got to the end of the street , she heard the sirens and the smoke had started to fill the air. The neighbours had all come out by this time , she knew they would, all nattering away" it was just a matter of time" like they said. They wondered if the witch was still in the house when it burned . They saw a woman turning the corner but the fools didn't know it was her because she was walking with a spring in her step , same clothes and the same matted hair. She never looked back once at what she had been holding onto so tightly for so long.

The burning witch remains an urban legend.

You will find that it is necessary to let things go; simply for the reason that they are heavy- C. JoyBell C.