The bomb that fell on 37 Everson Terrace
By Terrence Oblong
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The bomb fell on 37 Everson Terrace in the middle of the night. At 2.32 a.m. precisely according to one of the neighbors, Gerald Austenberger, though he is generally considered an unreliable source of information on most matters.
It woke the whole street, for although it didn't explode, it crashed through the wooden floor of the Johnson's porch and made a considerable racket, the like of which was quite unknown in the neighborhood.
The Johnson's were rushed out of the house by the Porters who lived opposite, and given blankets and tea while they waited for the emergency services to arrive.
It was daylight before an official arrived. He walked over to the porch and peered down at the bomb.
"It didn't go off," he announced.
"We noticed that," said Mr Johnson, unsure whether or not the official was joking. "Is it safe?"
"It's safer if it doesn't go off," the official said.
"Does it need to be defused?" Mr Johnson persisted.
"No, it's fine. It's a dud," the official said.
"So will you take it away?"
"Oh we can't do that, it might go off."
"I thought you said it was a dud."
The official circled the bomb with red tape ("You can't be too careful,") and placed a sticker on the bomb with the word 'safe' written in reassuring lettering, before departing.
"I suppose it's safe," Mr Johnson said to his wife, sounding unsure in spite of the sticker.
The Johnson's took a few days before they moved home, only going into the house for clothes and essentials, and sleeping on the Porters floor.
However, the bomb continued not to go off and eventually they moved back in. "We can't sleep on your floor forever," Mr Johnson told the Porters.
That first night in the house the Johnsons slept badly and for a long while they spent very little time in the house, always finding a reason to be somewhere else.
After a few months, though, they stayed out less and less and the following summer they started spending evenings on their porch, though they could never persuade any neighbors to join them. The following summer they had a baby, Samuel. Sam grew up to be a bright, athletic boy, popular at school, though he could never persuade his friends to come home with him. "Mum won't let me play near bombs," was the constant excuse.
The bomb exploded one day in June. Nobody was hurt, Mr Johnson was at work, Sam was playing baseball and Mrs Johnson was shopping. However, though they were all safe, the house itself was a wrecked and most of their belongings were destroyed.
"I don't know what we're going to do," Mr Johnson said, when he returned home to the bombsite. "I could never get insurance, the companies kept refusing because of the bomb."
As they had many years before, the Johnsons spent the night on the Porter's floor. Not for long this time though, as much to Sam's delight a neighbor lent the Johnsons a pair of tents and sleeping bag, "A camping trip in our own garden," he said.
The bombsite was soon cleared, with the whole neighborhood helping out. An official came and declared that the bomb had indeed exploded and was now spent and posed no further risk.
It became everyone's summer project to help out. Remarkably the foundations were still structurally sound and the front wall mostly intact.
People asked people, who knew people, who asked people. Someone know of a truck-full of bricks that had gone unused from an abandoned construction job when the building firm went bust. Someone else had cement left over from building an extension, someone's cousin had access to a cement mixer at weekends, and someone's lover was a brickie and Derek worked in a window-manufacturers.
It became known as the house that built itself, for in the entire year it took to rebuild the house, not a single contractor was ever hired.
A big party was held to celebrate the completion of the house, everyone who'd helped out was there, and that was pretty much everybody, making it the biggest party ever. Many loves, friendships and grudges were formed at that party.
Years later the house is standing firm, the Johnsons moved on, and no sign that the house was ever bombed. It looks just like any other house in the street.
"How could it have been bombed," skeptical children ask. "We've never been at war. You're just telling tales."
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Comments
A good story! It tells much
A good story! It tells much about human nature and institutional nature. Thankfully no one was killed or injured!
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Well told, good story
Well told, good story, but where did the bomb come from in the first place, just out of the blue?
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No problem
No problem. Nothing is also something. After all it's not blue at 2:32am.
Cheers! Tom
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