I lived in north central Iowa for many years and
moved into a 9 year old ranch house outside of Grafton, Iowa, a town of 280.
On the property, within 15 feet of the newer house
was an older home that was built around the
time that the town was founded over 100 years prior.
The old house was a wreck, cold and damp with the kind of
upstairs that you wouldn't let your kids mess with today, a loft really with a certain death kind of drop-off with no railings.
The fuse box, put in many years after the house was built, was located up there.
The house had an old open porch that was rickety, so I tore that off
and added a room that I was going to use
as a ceramic shop. I had purchsed the kiln and molds
and was all set to go.
After everything was framed in, I put in the rolls of insulation
and was busily cutting wall board, purchased from Winnebago Industries.
I had behind me, the old front door of the house
which had a window about 2 foot square in the top part.
I was working at night out there in that new addition, my blue healer, Ragsy, lay next to me.
It was about 9:30 p.m., I was kneeling there
cutting the wall board, and rags stood up,
looking past me at the door to the old part of the house,
at the window, her fur rose along her back, her
lips curled, foam appeared around her mouth and she
turned, this fearless dog, and ran to the front door of
the new addition I had built. She flung herself
at the door repeatedly.
I laid down the box cutter I was using on the wall board, and
as calmly as I could, the hair raising onthe back of my neck
a cold chill running through me,
my heart pounding, and without looking back at whatever
my dog was seeing, I walked slowly to the door,
opened it and pulled it quickly closed behind me.
I never found out who or what had been in that house, and, worked on it and at my ceramics no later than 9pm after that.
It wasn't long before I had everything set up in the shop
and that spring I began making my little ceramic
items destined to be christmas and other special day things.
As happens in a small town like that, news quickly spread that I had
a neat little hidden shop and folks started dropping by
and eventually I got my first paying customer.
In a small town, you get way more NON payers, but this was actually a paid job.
For those of you who are clueless about firing stuff in a kiln
a short lesson is needed here, you show the stuff you can make by
having what is known as "greenware" on the shelves and a buyer
looks stuff over and picks out an item and pays the price you have on it in pencil
they take that home, or sit at a table in your shop, and "clean" it,
which means, getting the marks of the mold, the seams, off
Then they either under-glaze it and have the
shop "fire" it, or they simply clean the item and have it
fired to "bisque" which is what ceramic is called with one firing.
This particular customer placed an order for a coffee server
an ornate and highly detailed coffee pot and wanted me to do
the cleaning, under-glazing and then fire it a second time
with the regular glaze coat (thats how dishes are done)
It would be a pricey job for a customer with taste
who would give me much business, so it was important.
The item chosen, the price discussed and paid, I got out
the mold and poured the pot special for her
making the item a bit thicker, a bit more detailed.
Afer the cleaning and the under glazing, the pot was
ready for its first firing.
Now, see, when you fire something you are bringing
the kiln slowly up to 2500 degrees farenheit.
Then, after it hits that, you start bringing it back down.
The process takes 12 hours.
With out thinking, I had started the project at 11 a.m.,
which, if you are doing the math Kidzzz, ends the project at 11 p.m.,
well into the no go into the shop time
because of the oogey boogey man in the
old part of the house, which as we recall is securely
attached to the shop and therefore, an unavoidable fright.
Everything was cool though, I didnt look at the door, the dog didn't As I made my way to the stairs that were about 20 feet
The house burned down one summer day many years later.
come into the shop and I just went out every
once in a while to see how the het dropping was going,
when the unexpected happened. A FUSE BLEW.Oh Kidzzz
remember where the fuse box was located??? YEssssss,
in the upstairs of the old part of that rotten house.
Steeling my courage and grabbing a flashlight, I set
off on my mission into the unknown, my heart pounding
like a jack hammer. I grasped the old glass doorknob
with a sweaty hand, my heart now beating in my ears,
and stepped through that doorway and into the unknown.
from the front door, the flash light began to go dim,
as they do when the batteries are getting low, dimmer
and dimmer, til I had no light at all. Not
being able to take the stress of being in the dark with
whatever had taken up residence there, I turned to
go back and get new batteries, but by the time I
got to the shop, the light was bright again,
so I turned to go back and replace the fuse, but as I
turned, the flashlight went dead and I made a fast exit,
bumping directly into a buddy who had stopped by hoping
for a beer having seen the lights on.
I handed him
the flashlight and told him to go up the stairs and check
the fuses. When HE went back there, the flashlight acted normal, the fuse got
changed and the job went well. The next morning,
I saw that the pot had shattered in the kiln over
night and I had to do it all again, but started
at 6 am the next time.
It was like the top of a bald head,
Thinking back to when I was a kid
I was probably about 9 years
old when this happened and thememory isn't one
bit fuzzy to this day
(when I was 9 it was 1958 kidzzz)
I had a little welsh corgi dog named Sandy
not a very original name actually, as he was a sandy color. My bedroom was at the top of the
stairs, the door at an angle on the landing
and the light on the landing would shine directly into my room
bright enough for me to read by if I didn't do something
really annoying and have pop shut my door with a
firm "go to sleep".
One night I was in bed reading, the dog laying
by my side as he usually did, I could
hear the television downstairs (those were
the days when there was only one tv in the house). Dads
voice was a low rumble talking with mom and
listening to the news. I was really tired, my
hand resting on Sandys back, when suddenly,Sandy
started to growl low in his throat, I glanced
at the side of my narrow "hollywood" bed, and,
moving along, from the foot of the bed, close to
the side of the bed itself, was,..something.
skin colored, it moved slowly, ever closer
to my face, the dog was going haywire and leaned
in tight at my side.
I pulled the sheet and
blanket over my head, I didnt even have spit in my mouth I was so scared,
I couldnt call out, I was ridgid under those
blankets and somehow fell asleep. I didnt dream
it, or did I? I will never know, but I DO know
that the dog began jumping onto the bed from
about three feet away and never hid his
stuff under it ever again.
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