The following took place in Ooltewah, Tennessee. It is one of those stories that has never left me, although it took place sometime in the late 1960’s.
The house was one those local firemen
might have used to practice on,
but so far burnt when they arrived, there wasn’t
much to do but water down the shed
and kill the sparks that fell. A rented place
and everybody out was said. The stuff
inside was mostly old and not worth much,
so no one tried to go back in. Except
that in a closet up the stairs, two pretty
dresses hung, a gift the week before
of classes from a nearby church to fourth
grade daughter Carla, who never had a pretty
thing before, and watching crying from the
yard kept thinking they might be the last
she’d ever have. They were. For after while
they missed her. And when the flames
died out, the firemen dreading saw she’d found
that closet, reached inside, and there were
two bare hangers lying on the floor
with her. All black and oddly twisted.