I never questioned why Ms. Joanne never came out of her house next door, until the day that her house burned down. It happened on a windy night when I was awoken after falling asleep minutes earlier by the sound of sirens. They screeched rapidly and eerily in the otherwise silent night while I quickly snatched my robe off the bathroom hook, and shoved my hands in the pockets as I left my house. The chilly air was a slap to my face, the breeze sending chills down my spine. The winds wouldn’t have been such an issue if they were buffered somehow like the skyscrapers do in the windy city but alas we live in the bland plains of Nebraska. I skipped down the steps of my porch eager to see what the consequences of this commotion would be.

Ms. Joanne had always been the talk of the neighborhood: in our small Nebraskan town news was rare and far in between. Not only did she never leave her house, but numerous people also claimed to have seen lights on during the late hours of the night. Whenever she did leave her house, she came back with children. They were all different ages and looked elated to be entering the strange woman’s home. After the initial sighting of the children, they were never seen again. Some believed they were murdered, and their corpses buried in Ms. Joanne’s overgrown garden. Others believed she was a witch, using them for her potions and concoctions. I could never decide myself what she was, all I knew was to distance myself.

Police cars and fire engines lined the curb in front of her house–they seemed to have appeared rather quickly despite the distance to the nearest city–which at this point wasn’t much of a house anyway. The entire top floor was black rubble. The once antique architecture, the pieces that were cracked and chipped and falling away no longer existed. The top level was once old and rusting away while most of the lower level was youthful, gleaming, and, sanguine. Nonetheless, now the lower level of the home was dimly lit by the faint glow of the dying fire which was encompassed to small areas that almost looked like settled glowing lanterns, small and simple, yet shining and shimmering as luminous as the stars above, pinpricks in the night sky. The firefighters had done their job well; the fire was certainly contained. It seemed the entire neighborhood had come out of their homes, heads tilted back gazing at the sky and the smoke storm cloud above. They couldn’t help but gossip about the possible causes of the fire with their provocative ideas about what Ms. Joanne was doing, as our small town charm also came with unprogressive people.

“Maybe one of her spells backfired,” Mr. Walker snickered.

“No no, it was probably the act of cremating one of the children. She must have gotten too tired in her old age to be burying them anymore,” Ms. Little argued.

I stayed neutral on the situation. Maybe my neighbor was a witch. Maybe she had forgotten to blow out a candle before bed. Yet, I couldn't help but wonder if there was something sinister occurring and despite my natural tendencies to try to avoid the rumors, human nature’s craving of them prevailed. I became disgusted with the direction of my hopeless thoughts.

Rather regretfully I joined my neighbors on the sidewalk, unable to steal my eyes away from the sight of the now-demolished house. This was an event to keep them entertained for weeks. I questioned if Ms. Joanne had made it out okay. To my left, an ambulance was parked, lights turned off, masking a hooded figure, almost blending in with the night, the silhouette the only indication it was human. Had Ms. Joanne survived? Fearfully, I took a shaky step forward, after all my years of living next door to her it was time to finally meet Ms. Joanne.

When I walked hesitantly over to Ms. Joanne, I could see that tears were flowing down the deep crevices in her face, dripping from her long black eyelashes, adding contrast to her ancient graying wispy hair.

“The children,” she croaked, not even slightly alarmed by my presence.

“What children?”

“My children. It wasn’t their time. They still had a few weeks left,” she sighed, her wrinkling hands white with the strength of grasping to the side of the ambulance for support.

This was creepy, even for me. I turned to walk away, wanting to run but trying to save my dignity. Moving was an option, but I doubt I would have to. There was no way that house was suitable for anyone to live in, surely Ms. Joanne would leave the neighborhood first.

“No please don’t go. It’s been too long since I’ve had someone to talk to.”

She appeared smaller suddenly, like the simple old woman she was. The sympathy got the better of my initial gut feeling telling me to run. She softly turned to me and sighed. “I know that you don’t know me and maybe don’t want to, but here’s my story. I had always been so lonely, until I heard of an opportunity that allows capable adults to adopt terminally ill orphans, giving them the best life possible before they pass. It’s more preferable than dying alone amongst people paid to take care of you. Tonight I had dear Bennett. He was always smiling despite his knowledge of his impending doom and his missing front teeth. His curly blonde hair and positivity made me smile. I normally wake up around three, because of his medical emergencies that require me to run around the house, turning on lights as I try to care for him. Tonight was different, he didn’t make it out.”

This was too much. It explained everything and nothing but filled me with an overwhelming sadness. How can anyone be so cruel to someone this kind? How could we have judged her? I didn’t know how to respond. I stood there, shocked, not able to comprehend all that I had been told. Close knit community life had been the bane of my existence. I never understood the allure of leisure life and aspired to someday live in a vast city, where there was never time to be focused on one thing for too long, where things were normal, not based off a Hallmark movie. It became clear that these desires had overwhelmed me to the point that I was no longer myself. I was a mindless fool, full of want and greed. It made me forget how to recognize kindness in my own need to fulfill the expectations of my wanted “normal” fast-paced lifestyle.    

Ms. Joanne’s final words pulled me out of my dream-like state. “Thank you for letting me talk to you.”

She hobbled away, still distraught over the events that had taken place that night, but content that after all these years she had someone to confide in. I’m glad that person was me, and not one of the other clueless neighbors. They broke their group up at the sight of her returning to her house, yawning as they left to get a few hours of rest before the morning. I returned to my own home, back to bed, unable to sleep, listening to the wind’s whistles exploring my house’s crooks and crannies. Staring at the ceiling, I questioned whether Ms. Joanne would ever find out that the deaths of those children were caused by the fire I started in an attempt to ensure her death. If only I had realized sooner what her true motives were.