text: I found my dream house, and it wasn't easy. They didn't advertise it on redfin or zillow or any websites. They had placed an ad in the newspaper, almost as if they didn't want it to be sold. But I'm one of those people that still enjoys newspapers and magazines, so I noticed it. A Queen Anne Victorian built in 1884. I didn’t know how much I would LOVE this house. I just had a hunch and felt intrigued, and you didn’t need an appointment to view it. This place was so far off the beaten path I worried about reception through the hills and trees, so I brought a map with me just in case. I always like to be prepared, for any situation. My back up plans have back up plans. This place was unusual though, the land was technically in an enclave and the property lines weren’t marked. That was going to take some time to clear up. The ad didn’t have any photos of the house, so I was coming in blind to check this place out. It was a really lovely drive once I got off the freeway. It was one of those old winding roads that are too narrow for two cars to drive in opposite directions at the same time. One of those scenic routes that wrap around the hills. That might make it difficult getting a semi-truck through here in one trip. It would take multiple trips in order to move out here, probably a very slow process because we could only move a little bit at a time. I remember thinking the trees and plants that border the road smell wonderful, and that I could get allergies from them, but that a little discomfort is worth it for your dream house, I'd be fine. When you begin to dip in elevation the shadows from the trees close their fingers around the path and block out any sign of daylight. It gets so isolated at the bottom you can’t see more than a few feet off the road before all you see is darkness. Spaces like this are interesting, there’s probably so much life hiding out there. A unique little ecosystem hidden away in this deep valley, with its own food chain and balance of life and death. I don’t think many people can appreciate it all. I was driving for a little too long and I was wondering if I missed a turn somewhere. I get lost easily. Just as I was slowing down to reach for my map the trees opened up a bit and the space began to get wider. I expected it to split into two paths of light and shadow like a metaphorical fork in the road, but I was pleasantly wrong. The darkness parted like curtains revealing a clearing in the trees, the dense flora surrounding the road melted away, and I could see the tall fluffy grass that was hidden away before. The ad mentioned “no neighbors” but I didn’t expect a single building surrounded by a meadow in a private glade. It was absolutely perfect, including the ominous drive in, even after realizing I would be making that drive on a daily basis. I love old houses, they have so much history. This one was listed as “has potential” but that’s almost insulting now that I have it in front of me. Saying it has potential implies it’s not already loveable. The driveway came up to the front of the house and wrapped around in a loop on itself. In the space inside the loop there were overgrown boxwoods that looked like whimsical shapes that had overgrown and been forgotten over time. The house has three stories with a wrap around porch and an asymmetrical mashup of towers. The turrets were tall and skinny with pointy tops and I remember thinking if it was painted black it would look like a haunted house (which made me love it even more). But the outside was a faded grey, the paint chipped, curling, and peeling. I parked my car and stepped out to look at it. I don’t know how long I stood there. There were so many details to take in, everything was so gorgeous, I could have stared at it for hours. The steps led up to a front door framed with embellished wood carvings that were missing parts like gaps in someone’s teeth. As I was about to take a step up I noticed how the wood in front of me looked like a corkboard. I took one step carefully, it creaked beneath my foot, but luckily I hadn’t put all my weight on it yet. It was weak and began crumbling. I quickly took two steps back. Where I had put pressure there was now a hole big enough for my hand to go through. I took another step back. I hadn’t looked very hard at the stairs before, I was so enamored with the ornate front door. There were holes everywhere leading up to the top, people had clearly walked up carelessly and fallen through. There wasn’t a single step that looked safe enough to support someone. No one was going up those stairs again, not safely anyways. Something pulled me towards the side of the house, I walked around a corner and found a small garden of just gladioli. It was overgrown and looked ignored for many years. It was contained with a small picket fence that was probably white at some point in time, but now the cage was faded and brown pieces of broken wood stuck out. The red and yellow petals grow upwards in different directions like flames frozen in time. I approached for a closer look and instead noticed a set of stairs on the side of the house. These ones looked safer, maybe a few cracks but no holes. I tapped the toe of my shoe on the first step, it didn’t sound hollow. I pushed down with my foot and heard a creak but I didn’t feel the step buckle. I slowly, carefully took one step at a time. This staircase wasn’t deteriorating like the other one. I wondered why people kept using the other set over and over when it was clearly falling apart. There was a side door, but this one had no decorative wood or hand carved elements. It was discreet, so it must have been a service door that wasn’t used by the owners. I tried the door, it was unlocked, so I pushed forward. I think I was right about it being a servants’ door, because I was standing in the kitchen. It was a funny mix of old carved wooden details and flooring and newish countertops and appliances. The previous owners didn’t remodel the kitchen in a cohesive way to compliment the Victorian style, they kind of just stuck in the things they needed for the kitchen to be functional while they lived there. The next room was a dining room and connected living room. It had generous nine foot ceilings and all the original moldings and baseboards. The colors were already off-putting; bright lime green that had somehow stayed bright all these years and white on the wainscoting accents. I looked at the walls closer and saw how smooth and undefined some of the paneling was. The previous occupants had no idea what to do with this gorgeous house. They just kept painting the walls over and over again covering up what makes the house unique instead of spending the time and effort to restore it. I don’t think anyone has appreciated this house in a long time. They didn’t know what they had; they just thought of it as a house and changed the parts they needed for the building to work for them. I’m sure they weren’t doing it on purpose, I’m sure they had good intentions. I’m sure they did the best they could. But I know I can do better. The more I walked through the house the sadder I became. Years of neglect and half-assed care, layers and layers of paint as if each new owner just painted over everything instead of putting in the work. Has this place ever been loved the way it deserves? I found myself examining every corner of the house and everywhere I found exquisite details, but they were mostly hidden, unappreciated. Even the fireplaces; there were several of them because they were the heating source for the house. They had suffered years of being used repeatedly without being properly maintained. They were completely covered with ash and soot. It looked like some had even been used as a garbage can. I guess most people forget about those parts of the house. They’re such an important part of the functionality of the house but they must not have paid any attention unless they were actively using them. But since I am the way I am, I looked closer. There was something, there in the back, something that wasn’t smooth brick. When I got down on my hands and knees in front of the opening I was met with a hard gust of wind that had come down from the flue. It stirred up the ash, leaves, sticks, and I don’t want to think about what else, and it had gotten all over me, tangled in my hair, burned my eyes, and into my nose and mouth. When I blinked enough to be able to see again I spotted the shapes on the back of the fireplace. I reached out to rub some of it off and I was surprised to see teeth, sharp, long, and pointy, and then I heard something thumping and felt a sharp pain on the back of my hand. Some sticks must have dislodged from the wind, they had fallen and ripped my skin open. Is this why the others didn’t bother to look inside? That fireplace had some great defense. I aggressively slapped my palm on the back, closed my eyes in case something else lashes out, and rubbed back and forth. I opened my eyes and saw my entire hand was completely black, except where shiny wet blood was pooling in my cut. I could see what was covered and forgotten about. A wolf, and a fox, entwined in a battle with each other. It was really beautiful and I can’t believe no one remembered it was there. That made me curious, so I found the fireplace in the next room. I ran over and knelt quickly to reach the back and started wiping off the soot. It was a more detailed scene than the first one. There was a man who appeared to be a king looking up at a bird, the bird was pointing with it’s wing at the ground, and on the ground was a spotted trail that led to a small carriage in the background. I ran room to room to see what other tales were depicted. Two small children in a cage and an old lady preparing dinner, a little girl offering a basket to a wolf wearing human clothes, a large spinning wheel with a young woman and short man handing her a rope. Every fireplace was different, and every single one coated in darkness and forgotten about. I kept wandering the house imagining how I would carefully, slowly, lovingly restore each part. I don’t want to demolish any of it. I started thinking about where furniture would go. Where we would sit to drink our coffee in the mornings. Which corner has the best natural lighting for a reading chair. I really wanted this house. I went into the last bedroom on the top floor, it wasn’t the biggest room but it had the biggest window. I had been exploring this house for so long I had lost track of time. By the time I was standing in front of that window the sun had begun to set. This was the back of the house, and all I could see was the meadow, the trees, and a sky the same colors as the flowers in the garden. It was...the most beautiful moment I have ever experienced. I had found my home. Something chirped outside and I looked at my phone to check the time. I had a tiny bit of reception in this room. I sat down to look at some numbers, reality was hitting me and reminding me of the duplex I am still making payments on. This house isn’t top dollar but it still costs more than what I have. I spent an hour looking through my finances to see if I could move some stuff around to make it work. I couldn’t. I was heart broken. Here was the house of my dreams, the first place I wanted to call home, and it was just out of reach. What if someone else buys it before I can save up the money? Are they going to know how to take care of this type of architecture? Are they going to appreciate and embrace the house or just try to make it work for what they want it to be? Are they going to tear it down and build a completely new house? That would be terrible to completely erase what’s standing now. But at the same time, do I really want this house to sit here unoccupied, alone, and empty until I can move in? I have no idea how long it will take me to save up for this house. I was devastated. I still am. I hope some young family will move in that will have the patience, energy, time, and love that home deserves. I've thought about it every day ever since. I miss it and I never even had it.