It had been standing in almost the exact same form for over six hundred years so it only stood to reason that sooner or later it would begin to collapse.We hoped it wouldn't attempt this while it was still occupied but it seemed determined to die.
Over the centuries it had been patched up, torn out and put back together, modernised over and over and over again and all it wanted was to rest for good. It didn't want measle little humans running around its rooms forcing nails into its walls or ripping the carpet from its poor worn floors. It wanted to be broken down on its own terms and reduced to rubble like all the others it remembered from its youth.
Every other part of the street was now utterly alien - full of new builds that had barely seen a decade and roads that were re-paved every five or so years and the constant roaring of traffic. The days of quiet horse-and-carriage rides once a week for church were as long gone as the family that built it.
So in its desperation it did the unthinkable - it made contact with its inhabitants. They cried ghost at first, calling in all the wrong experts and even a few priests before the right ones came. The ones who read the mould-writing on the walls and told the owners that the building needed to be demolished for it to be at peace.
They warned the inhabitants that the longer they delayed, the more dangerous the house would become until it was actively hostile to any lifeform inside it. Like rational, modern people the inhabitants scoffed and refused to believe that their house wanted to die. Ghosts made more sense somehow so they threw out more holy water and waited for normality to return.
It took less than a week for the house to finally succumb to its despair and collapse in on itself.
"Unexpected instability" and "freak accident" were thrown around until it was believed.
Nobody wanted to say it after such a tragedy but the air around the broken remains felt... happy.
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