#Open Houses South Shore MA

[myhauntedsalem]

9 Terrifying American Murder Houses

From Amityville Horror to Jeffrey Dahmer’s one-bedroom, these murder houses are home to some truly brutal murders.

9. THE AMITYVILLE HORROR HOUSE 112 OCEAN AVE, AMITYVILLE, NY

When the deal is too good, start asking questions. In 1975, George and Kathy Lutz bought this sprawling Dutch Colonial on the south shore of Long Island at a bargain rate. The reason for the discounted price tag? Just 13 months earlier, previous resident Ronald “Butch” DeFeo slaughtered his parents and four younger siblings while they slept in their beds. It didn’t take long for the weirdness to begin. Demonic voices, oozing walls, cloven hoof prints in the snow. The Lutz family lasted just two months before fleeing 112 Ocean Avenue in the night.

8. THE HEX MURDER HOUSE REHMEYERS HOLLOW RD, SHREWSBURY, PA

In 1928, John Blymire was convinced a reclusive neighbor named Nelson Rehmeyer had put a hex upon him. Believing the only way to break the curse was to track down Rehmeyer’s spell book and set it ablaze, Blymire rallied two buddies for a late-night visit. While the gang never found the book, they did find Rehmeyer whom they murdered and mutilated before setting his body on fire. In 2007, an effort was made to open the Hex House to the public, but the plan was eventually scrapped.

7. MOORE FAMILY AXE MURDER HOUSE 508 E 2ND ST, VILLISCA, IA

On a cool summer night in 1912 someone broke into this peaceful Iowa homestead and bludgeoned all six family members plus two houseguests with an axe. The horrific scene was discovered the following morning by a concerned neighbor. Numerous suspects were named in the case including a traveling minister and State Senator Frank F. Jones. Nevertheless, the murder remains unsolved.

6. KREISCHER MANSION 4500 ARTHUR KILL RD, STATEN ISLAND, NY

German entrepreneur Balthasar Kreischer built this sprawling mansion in 1885 as a symbol of his success in the brick making business. The good times were short-lived. By 1894, his company had crumbled and his youngest son had shot himself in the head. The decaying mansion sat empty for years until its groundskeeper used the property for a mob hit in 2005. Joseph Young strangled and stabbed his target before finally drowning the man in a garden pool. Young then hacked up the body and burned it in the mansion’s incinerator.

5. LIZZIE BORDEN HOUSE 230 2ND ST, FALL RIVER, MA

On August 4, 1892 Andrew Borden was thrashed with a hatchet while he dozed on the couch of his parlor. Andrew’s second wife Abby met an equally grisly end in the upstairs bedroom. While everyone in Fall River suspected daughter Lizzie of the crime, the local judge remained unconvinced. She was tried and acquitted of the murder one year later. Oddly, the home is now a successful bed & breakfast.

4. MANSON FAMILY MURDER HOUSE 10050 CIELO DRIVE, LOS ANGELES, CA

In 1969, members of the Manson Family shocked the nation when they broke into this L.A. estate and slaughtered Sharon Tate along with four other victims. The murderers wrote pig in blood across the front door. Numerous residents have since called 10050 Cielo Drive home including musician Trent Reznor, who recorded THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL there. In 1994, the original structure was razed and replaced with a new mansion, currently occupied by the creator of FULL HOUSE.

3. JEFFREY DAHMER’S APARTMENT 924 NORTH 25TH ST, APT 213, MILWAUKEE, WI

Cannibal killer Jeffrey Dahmer lured numerous victims to his nondescript one-bedroom, where he drugged and dismembered them in a brutal campaign of murder. Severed limbs were packed in the freezer for future consumption; torsos were dumped in a vat of acid. Police finally arrested Dahmer in 1991 after one of his prisoners managed to escape. The entire apartment building was torn down shortly thereafter.

2. JOHN WAYNE GACY’S HOUSE 8213 SUMMERDALE AVE, CHICAGO, IL

It’s always good to know your neighbors especially if you suspect them of murder. John Wayne Gacy buried dozens of bodies in the basement and backyard of his suburban home while neighbors casually went about their day. When Gacy’s wife complained of a putrid smell, Gacy blamed it on dead mice. By the time police nabbed the infamous killer clown and excavated his 8213 Summerdale Ave property, they uncovered 29 bodies.

1. GARDETTE-LAPRETE HOUSE 1240 BURGUNDY ST, NEW ORLEANS, LA

In the late 1830s, plantation owner Jean LePrete leased his French Quarter Greek Revival to a mysterious man from Turkey. The renter, known only as The Sultan had more than a few roommates. He arrived with a massive entourage of eunuchs and concubines. The house quickly became known for its lavish parties, with music and revelry carrying on into the night. One morning, a passerby noticed 1240 Burgundy was eerily quiet. Then he spotted blood seeping out of the door. When authorities entered, they found everyone inside had been murdered and dismembered. As for The Sultan? He was buried alive in the courtyard. To this day, the case remains unsolved.

[universalthings]

Solar Eclipse!

On Monday April 8th, America experienced an event that will not be seen again anywhere in the country for another 20 years, and for the Northeast, not for more than another 50 years. For us in Bridgewater, MA, we experienced over 90% totality. The closest point of full totality to Bridgewater was in Northern New Hampshire, roughly a three to four hour drive north. The path of totality entered the US in Texas, and continued Northeast, leaving the US in Maine. The eclipse shed total darkness on many major US cities, such as Dallas, TX, Little Rock, AR, Indianapolis, IN, and Cleveland, OH. Personally, I saw the eclipse on the South Shore of Massachusetts, at my house as well as at a Walmart I pulled into as the eclipse reached its peak. Despite not seeing complete the eclipse in totality, it was still one of the coolest astronomical events I have witnessed. Spanning for over an hour in the midafternoon, I watched as the moon slowly continued to overtake the sun and revealing more and more of the sun again after the peak of the eclipse. I was fascinated with how quickly the moon had seemed to overtake the sun, as well as how dark it had gotten outside when the eclipse reached its peak. Compared to the last solar eclipse experienced in the US back in 2017, this solar eclipse had much more of an effect on the Northeast, which also made it seem like there was more interest than the previous eclipse. Overall, the eclipse was an extremely cool experience, and opened my eyes to how complex and fascinating our solar system truly is. While I didn't get the chance to see the eclipse in totality this time around, I hope that one day in the future I will be able to experience the rare and eye opening event in totality.

[grandstrandvacationsandrentals]

Mariners Cove 110A ( 2 Bdrm / 1.5 Bath )

Mariners Cove 110A ( 2 Bdrm / 1.5 Bath )

Second row 2 bedroom moderate sized condominium with 1-1/2 baths, living and dining area, breakfast bar, central air conditioning and heat, screen porch overlooking a salt-water tidal marsh, balcony, cable TV, internet, telephone, and completely equipped full sized kitchen with a range/oven, refrigerator, microwave, disposal, dishwasher, coffee maker, toaster, blender, and electric can opener.

 For more details on our products and services, please feel free to visit us at: myrtle beach vacation rental agencies, vacation rentals in ocean lakes myrtle beach, ocean lakes rentals pet friendly, pelicans watch myrtle beach & ocean lakes campground vacation rentals.

Please feel free to visit us at: https://www.grandstrandvacationsandrentals.com/

The master bedroom suite has a half bath, balcony overlooking a salt-water tidal marsh, and a Queen sized bed. The second bedroom has a Queen bed. The living room has a sleeper sofa. Extra features include: 3 TVs, VCR, internet, iron, and ironing board and a washer and dryer inside the unit. This unit is located on the 1st Floor with a view overlooking the salt marsh. Mariners Cove Condominiums are located on the second row across Shore Drive. Project amenities include a courtyard, large sundeck, barbecue area and laundry rooms at the Club House. Convenient beach access is directly across the street. Convenient unassigned open parking is limited to two vehicles per unit during the summer season. Parking permits are required. Motorcycles, Recreational Vehicles, and Trailers are prohibited by the Homeowners Association.

  Bluewater 819 ( 1 Bdrm / 1 Bath )

Wireless Internet access is available in these Myrtle Beach vacation rentals so bring your laptop computer and get online. Marvel at the swimming pools; there is more than one. You can even swim in an outdoor pool and an indoor pool that are connected by swimming under the glass wall. The kiddie pool is just right for the toddlers in your family and the lazy river is something that everyone loves. Soak in the hot tub after 18 challenging holes of Myrtle Beach golf and have a little fun in the game room at Bluewater Resort or on the racquetball court. The on-site amenities at this Myrtle Beach rental include a restaurant where you can dine for breakfast or lunch, while overlooking the swimming pool and there is also an oceanfront beach bar, where you can enjoy live entertainment in season. Your Myrtle Beach condo rental at BlueWater Resort is minutes away from Family Kingdom Amusement Park, the Myrtle Beach SkyWheel, Broadway at the Beach and numerous live entertainment theatres. Golf courses, shopping, Sea Doo rentals and fishing charters are just around the corner from this Myrtle Beach resort. ***UNIT IS LIMITED TO THE NUMBER OF PERSONS ALLOWED UNDER LISTED OCCUPANCY NO SMOKING, NO MOTORCYCLES/TRAILERS. NO PETS ALLOWED***

  Sand Castle South 621 ( 1 Bdrm / 1 Bath )

This Oceanfront Resort located at 22nd Ave South on south end of the Myrtle Beach, places you in the heart of Myrtle Beach, a 9-minute drive from SkyWheel Myrtle Beach and 13 minutes from Grand Theatre. This beach resort is 4.5 mi (7.2 km) from Myrtle Beach State Park and 5.6 mi (9.1 km) from Ripley's Aquarium. Popular Hotel Amenities and Features Take advantage of recreational opportunities offered, including an outdoor pool, an indoor pool, and a lazy river. Additional features at this resort include complimentary wireless Internet access, Business, Other Amenities Free self parking is available onsite. Restaurants, Bars, Lounge & Dining options At this Oceanfront Resort, enjoy a satisfying meal at the restaurant. Unwind at the end of the day with a drink at the bar/lounge or the poolside bar. Rooms have private balconies. Complimentary wireless Internet access keeps you connected, and cable programming is available for your entertainment. Private bathrooms with shower/tub combinations This unit is not managed by Sand Castle South Homeowner's Association, Inc. Sand Castle Southbeach, LLC is the owner of Sand Castle South Beach Rental Management Company, LLC. Sand Castle South Homeowner's Association Inc is not responsible for the contents of this unit, the maintenance of this unit, the cleanliness of the unit or the linens used in this unit. The rental management company you have chosen is in no way affiliated with the condominium project, front desk or Sand Castle South Beach, LLC or Sand Castle South Beach Rental Management Company, LLC. ***FAMILIES AND ADULTS OVER 25 YRS OLD ACCEPTED***

For more details on our products and services, please feel free to visit us at: myrtle beach vacation rental agencies, vacation rentals in ocean lakes myrtle beach, ocean lakes rentals pet friendly, pelicans watch myrtle beach & ocean lakes campground vacation rentals.

Please feel free to visit us at: https://www.grandstrandvacationsandrentals.com/

[history-of-hanover]

A Taste of Hanover

Home to the very first “Marylou’s”

Hanover, MA is home to the very first Marylou’s, one of the most popular coffee shops on the South Shore. “The best coffee in town,” makes getting out of bed easy with their delicious selection of their own original flavors. Located at 211 Washington Street, you will be able to find a coffee to satisfy your every craving. With so many to choose from, you won’t be disappointed. Marylou’s will make your morning just a little bit sweeter. 

The coffee shop was started back in 1986, right in one of the most historical parts of Hanover, called “four corners.” Dating all the way back to 1856, a hotel was located in this part of town but was later torn down after World War I. The spot where the hotel was has since been turned into new shops such as baking and floral shops, and the rest of the area is surrounded by old houses, some of which even date back to the 1700s. The Marylou’s building also happens to be an old house that was converted into a coffee shop. Whether you are looking for something minty, sweet, fruity, or just a classic cup of coffee, Marylou’s has you covered. Their variety of flavors is what keeps customers coming back.

If you are looking for just a simple coffee, you can always just get black coffee and if you wuld like, you can add sweeteners or try one of their flavors, made however you like it. To name a few, you can choose from white chocolate chip, mocha mint, strawberry nut, banana nut, blueberry cinnamon, hazelnut, snickerdoodle, and many more. If you are going for something even sweeter or with all the more flavor, you can select from their “specialty” coffee menu, which includes flavors such as butterfinger, twix, peanutbutter, and almond joy. Lastly, if you are really having a sweet tooth, you can choose from the “extra specialty” menu, which I would say is their most popular menu, especially amongst the middle-high school age range, with flavors such as girl scout cookie, strawberry shortcake, minty lou, caramel lou, and many more including their signature drink, the funky fanabla, a delicious chocolatey treat. 

On top of all their coffee choices, you can also indulge in other options such as smoothies, frozen drinks, and even food such as pastries and breakfast sandwhiches. Their most popular frozen drink would have to be the oreo cookie monster, often ordered by young kids, but great for anyone to enjoy.  My personal favorite comes from the extra specialty menu and it is called the turtle, inspired by turtle chocolate clusters. It's the perfect balance of sweet and flavorful while still tasting like coffee. While the turtle is my personal favorite, I would argue that girl scout cookie is their most popular flavor. It has the perfect mint and chocolate combination, just like how you would imagine a girl scout cookie to be. Regardless of the flavor you choose, your drink will taste exactly like what it is called. With so many different coffees to try, how would you not you not want to keep coming back to try them all?

Upon entering the shop, Marylou's friendly staff will make you feel welcome. There is always a bubbly and active atmosphere that fills the building, and if you come by often enough, chances are they will definitely refer to you by name and know your order. The employees show great care towards their customers, as they will often ask them how their drink looks or if they would like anything else to be added to it. Feel free to take a seat at one of the stools by the window and chat with your friends while enjoying your cup of coffee. I have always felt welcome and comfortable when walking into a Marylou’s, and I have never left unsatisfied by the service or my order. The service is always quick and efficient and it is always a great experience each time I go.

Their pink and black color scheme that fills the store is one you would recognize anywhere. Since the Hanover shop was started back in 1986, many more locations have opened up across the South Shore, including five stores in Rhode Island, and one on Cape Cod. If you are ever visiting the South Shore of Massachusetts, Marylou’s is a place that you must visit. With so many options to choose from, I am sure you will find something you like, and want to come back for more.

[southshoresir]

Essential Things You Must Consider When Buying a House for the First Time

When you finally save up enough money, you surely are so excited to buy your first home. People spend months searching for the perfect house for their needs as they have to consider many things before deciding on one. Some houses for sale in South Shore can be a bit older but are located in a great neighborhood and have plenty of space for growing families. Calling a real estate agent is also a great idea, but there are a few essential things that you must consider yourself. With that being said, let's take a look at the vital things you must consider when buying a house for the first time. Decide How Much You Can Afford The amount of home you can afford is determined by several factors, including your income, debts, and down payment. You'll need to look closely at your finances to determine how much you can realistically afford to spend on a new home. It's important to remember that you'll also need to factor in closing costs, moving expenses, and other one-time costs associated with buying a home. Once you have a realistic budget in mind, you'll be able to start shopping for your dream home. Just stay within your budget, so you don't get into financial trouble. With a little careful planning, you'll be able to find the perfect homes for sale south shore MA for you and your family. Hire a Real Estate Agent Hiring a best real state agent will remove almost every stressful task from the process. All professional real estate agents are adept at handling all the paperwork and negotiating with the party and will give you the best options. Real estate agents also attend the closing with you and visit all types of open house events to ensure everything goes according to plan. Keep an Eye over the Credit The only thing that decides whether you'll be able to get a mortgage is your credit score. Not only this, but credit score is also responsible for the interest rate you'll get from a lender. A good credit score will help you with the loan and even get you many other benefits. To ensure you benefit from your credit score, you must get multiple copies of your credit reports and fix any errors that can negatively affect your score. Also, you must pay your bills on time and keep your credit card balance low. Final Words

So, these are the essential things you must consider when buying a house for the first time. However, if you need the right choice and need the best real estate agent in South Shore, you can consult South Shore Sotheby's International Realty.

[jamskills]

3 Key Things to Do Now to Avoid a Furnace Repair Later

A furnace is a vital piece of equipment that keeps your home warm during the winter months. It also plays a key role in keeping your money safe during those cold months by keeping you from having to pay high energy bills. 

If you have been experiencing problems with your furnace or heater, you should not wait until it's too late! Call Furnace Repair South Shore MA technician for help as soon as possible so that we can diagnose the problem and get it resolved before it becomes an emergency situation for you or anyone else in your house (or building).

1. Keep up with Preventative Maintenance

There are a few things you can do to keep your furnace running smoothly, including:

Keep up with preventative maintenance. Most professional heating and cooling systems come with a maintenance agreement that includes scheduled visits from Furnace Repair South Shore MA technician. 

If this is something you're comfortable doing yourself, try scheduling an appointment at least once every year or two (depending on how often your furnace is used).

Check your filters. Every month or so, remove the filter and clean it with water. If you have a reusable filter, replace it with a new one when needed. 

Check for leaks. Check for leaks around air ducts and other parts of your system that might be prone to leaking by using a soapy water mixture.

2. Replace/Clean Your Air Filter Regularly

The most important thing you can do to avoid having your furnace repaired is to keep your air filter clean. Air filters are inexpensive and easy to replace, so they're well worth the investment. You may think that changing them regularly is a hassle, but it's not; all you need is a vacuum cleaner and some patience!

In order to keep your furnace running properly and efficiently, it's important that you replace the air filter on a regular basis—every 3 months or so (depending on how often you use it). 

If possible, take a look at where your current filter sits before installing one that's new; if there's anything stuck inside of it (such as pet hair), then do not use any cleaners for this purpose until after replacing the old one with something brand new instead.

3. Watch Your Vents

As you're cleaning your furnace, make sure to keep a close eye on the vents. If they are dirty or blocked, that could be a sign that something is wrong with them, and it needs to be taken care of before it's too late. 

It's also important to check for leaks in these areas as well; if there are any holes in them or any other damage caused by animals chewing on them (such as squirrels), then this could cause problems later on down the road.

You should also make sure that all openings around your home have been properly secured so they don't become trapped water sources during heavy rainstorms or when it snows outside; this helps prevent damage from occurring over time due to moisture coming into contact with metal surfaces inside homes like furnaces do often enough without fail!

Call Furnace repair expert.

If you suspect something is wrong with your system, call a professional. Don't wait until you have a problem to call for help; it's too late then. And don't try to fix it yourself—it could lead to serious injury or even death. 

You also should not wait until the temperature outside is below freezing before calling for help because this could damage the system enough that it needs replacing altogether.

Conclusion

As you can see, there are a few simple things you can do to keep your furnace running efficiently and avoid any problems down the road. By knowing what problems to look for, keeping up with preventative maintenance and regularly checking your system, you will be well prepared when it comes time for a repair or replacement.

Source From - 3 Key Things to Do Now to Avoid a Furnace Repair Later

[macdonaldandwood]

Buying Duxbury real estate in South shore MA

Duxbury is a coastal community that lies around 30 miles south of Boston in Plymouth County that is very beautiful. Many old houses from the bygone era still stand there to give you a peep into the history of the place and how people lived in those days.

The area is not densely populated, therefore there is very less noise and you can enjoy the pleasures of your home and surrounding areas without disturbance. The connectivity to major cities is good as a result of which people who wish to live a peaceful life opt for this place to reside.

The place is cheaper than other south shore homes but has all the facilities of more expensive south shore real estate houses. Kitchens and bathrooms are well made with all modern facilities with flooring done with the best of floor designs or wood.

Why choose best Duxbury real estate agent to buy south shore homes?

Choosing the best real estate agent has many advantages that many people often fail to recognize. They may look slightly expensive on the front face, but they have certain advantages that other real estate agents cannot even dream to offer.

Research on South shore real estate:

When you employ the best real estate agent to buy South shore real estate, you can be sure that you will get the best property of the area at the lowest possible price. Best real estate agents have a team of agents working for them. Their work is to move in each and every nook and corner of South shore and collect details of each and every South shore real estate and South shore homes for sale.

They have complete knowledge about the kind of structure that is built on the estate, the interiors done in the house and also the expected price that is on the offer and the expected price that you can expect to get if you are interested.

Best real estate agent in South shore also has a team of professional legal experts who can guide you about the complexities in all the South shore properties and the property that will be best suited to your taste and budget.

Tough negotiators:

The best real estate agent is one that can get his client the best possible deal on South shore homes and Duxbury real estate. They know in and out about all the properties and therefore they have an edge to negotiate with the sellers. They are very persistent in attitude and will not rest until they get the property at almost your price range.

Full legal team:

While small time real estate agents cannot afford to employ an attorney full time with them, the best real estate agents have a team of legal experts in various fields related to real estate. If you employ them, they will make sure that all the papers relating to the property are in place before you get the property registered in your name.

Experience:

One of the foremost reasons to employ best real estate agent in South shore to buy houses for sale in South shore is their experience. They know from their experience in work, what property will suit their clients and what property is not worth them.

If you are looking for a real estate agent for buying Duxbury real estate, you should visit South Shore Sotheby’s International Reality. They are one of the best real estate agents to buy real estate south shore MA.

[althememelord]

The Draft

Part 1/ Part 2/ Masterlist / Part 4

XX Month, 1917

 Mirabel remembered it like it was yesterday, a knock on the door had echoed through the Ortega house stuttering the usual bustle of the home’s Sunday lunch preparations. Mrs Ortega had been the one to open the door, whilst Mr Ortega and Mirabel were wrapping up their own personal research concerning blood transfusions between patients. Over the years, Mr Ortega’s work as a physician and surgeon had greatly attracted Mirabel towards the medical profession, leading to her attend the New England Female Medical College (NEFMC) in Boston, MA thanks to the head of the Ortega household.

 She worked hard at learning English and spent several nights burning the midnight oil, slightly forcing Sebastian, Hector and even Camilla to practice English with her as much as possible in preparation for university. The Ortega siblings had become like real siblings to Mirabel after all the time they had spent together, the closest of which was Hector who was close to her in age, and someone who had just completed his degree in mathematics. Despite, his rough exterior the younger Ortega son was incredibly gifted in numeracy and the duo plus Sebastian enjoyed discussing technological advancements occurring within their respective professions. Camilla although not particularly studious, was fascinated with buildings and architecture which the family indulged her in. She would be starting university the following year, if all went to plan.

 The knock at the door came from a well-dressed man, wearing a three pin suit, something quite odd to be wearing especially in the South American summer. In fact, the young Madrigal was sure that she spotted beads of sweat dotting the man’s brow. The whole family was then called to the living room where the man introduced himself as an envoy for the governor looking for volunteers to serve in the Puerto Rican regiments. He had explained that the war in Europe had reached American shores, something the whole household was familiar with as it was one of the reasons Mirabel was currently in Puerto Rico instead of Boston. The ensuing silence was only broken by the sips of water from the man.

 The chaos that exploded after the man left however would forever be ingrained in Mirabel’s memory. Maybe it was preview of what was to come but Mirabel was too young, too ambitious and too naïve about the world to see the wisdom hidden behind barred words.

 Mr Ortega had blatantly refuse to allow any of his children to volunteer.

 “It’s a foolish endeavor!!” he shouted as both Sebastian and Hector protested.

 “We need to help protect our people, how can we leave others to defend us without volunteering” Hector argued vehemently.

 Sebastian nodded in agreement, “if the war extends to us, they need people at the ready.”

 Mr Ortega’s face was so pinched in anger that Mirabel was surprised that he didn’t pop a blood vessel in his head. Still she knew better than to bring up her opinion on the matter. She was under their care as instructed by her Abuela long ago and they would never allow her to help but she wanted to.

 She knew what she did was wrong nonetheless in the dark of night she wrote a letter addressed to the US Army Medical Corp detailing her position and intention. She should have known that it was the beginning of the end when she dropped the letter in the postbox but once again, she could have never known that they would take her time in service to equate towards the medical studies. Nor would she have met a personal hero of hers Dr. Dolores Piñero, one of the first Puerto Rican women to earn a medical degree. But of course, hindsight was always 50/50, and by the time you acquire it, it would be too late to turn back the clock as the sands of time flow downwards forevermore.

[egoludes]

heat wave.

summary: as brooklyn’s temperatures rise, so does one woman’s interest in her local mechanic.

note: honestly, this is nothing but gratuitous 1950s!bucky smut inspired by @siennarossi​ blessing me with picnic content and the image of that seb under a car that’s plagued me ever since. the summer theme came out of nowhere, but i’m sick of snow so it felt right.  hope you all enjoy!

wc: 8.8k

warnings: nsfw (18+), oral (female receiving), unprotected sex, cheating, introspection about unhappy relationships / societal expectations for relationships, a bit of angst

july twenty-first — ninety-one degrees.

There's something about summertime in Brooklyn. Days of eighty-eight degrees with humidity to boot, it’s a menace, an absolute force. But for all its faults, nothing can compare to the sunny shores of Coney Island; to the chorus of children’s laughter, untouched by schoolwork; or to late nights in Prospect Park with cicadas overhead. They make the heat tolerable most days, even pleasant others ---- until the twenty-first of July.

It starts at dawn, sun barely risen when the air starts to thicken. And by the time the city comes to, it’s to air too dense to breathe and heat so heavy it’s disarming. Even you, pretty girl from down south, can’t remember a time that you’d experienced ninety-one degrees; but it only takes a brief taste of it (the walk to your mailbox and back) to want to hide away for the rest of the day.

But, that’s just wishful thinking. Even when it’s so muggy, routine is what you have. You’re newly married, after all --- a late June wedding on the back of a six-month workplace courtship — and you want to make the honeymoon last. You want to prove that you’re as suited for this, for him as you’d thought you were when you said ‘yes’ to his proposal. So, there are things to do, errands to run, and there’s no avoiding the outside to get it all done.

That doesn’t mean you won’t do your damndest to delay it, though. Your husband already gone for the day, you start your chores to light jazz, trumpet notes grainy on your centerpiece record player. An air conditioner — the first on the block — sits inviting, but unused on the far windowsill; you don’t want to risk the electricity in heat like this. Instead, you’ve settled for an old fan that drones beneath the music you’re swaying your hips to. In due time, you’ve found a steady rhythm: laundry, cleaning, a dusting here and there — you pause a few times for something cool, but you find it isn’t as unbearable as you’d feared.

Then, comes groceries — the one task that requires you to leave your refuge. Shopping list in one hand and car keys in the other, you eye the front door warily because you know what’s on the other side. At least here, the heat is just that; sticky weight as the temperature rises faster than a fan can handle. Out there, you have heat and sunlight, working together to make ninety-something degrees feel a lot more like a hundred. But, the sad state of your fridge leaves you little choice, and with one big steeling breath, you step out into the summer.

Your car is the only one in the drive - a cream 1950 Buick that your husband had gotten you a month into your relationship. For a long time, seeing it made you uncomfortable - the gift was too grand too soon, stoking a sense of debt that felt odd for a lover. But now, it is just another part of your lavish life with him; a part you appreciate as you think about the cooling unit waiting inside. Waving to your neighbors, you hop in in a hurry, purse finding a haphazard spot on the passenger seat. Eagerly, you brace for a rush of that cold air as you turn your key —- only for that hope to wither when you get a pathetic sputter from the engine instead. You try it once, twice, three more times before you let out a groan and slap your hand to the steering wheel.

Of course this would happen today. 

Deflated, you sit back against your seat (ignoring all the places it sticks to you) to weigh your options. At this point, there’s no way to get anything started for dinner before your husband is home — you only have two cars and he’s taken one with him. He’ll need to grab you something on the way back. But the bigger issue is not having a car for the days to come. You don’t work anymore, but groceries are impossible to get without a vehicle, especially when it’s so hot. 

You need repairs, and fast.

First, you consider your husband. He’s no genius when it comes to cars, but you wonder if the time he spends poring over catalogues and talking makes with the neighbors have taught him anything useful. Just as soon as the thought comes, though, you recall how stressed he’s been, how the pressure at his firm has had him wound up lately. The thought of his disdain at your request — or worse, rejection — is enough for you to resolve to plan b: brave the few blocks to a garage you’ve seen on the way home.

Altogether, you spend maybe ten minutes weaving between cars and open hydrants to make it to the shop. But the weather makes it feel like hours, sweat beading at your hairline from the first few steps. When you get there, you’re fully winded, fanning at your cheeks, and there’s nothing in sight but a few cars and scattered parts. You’re reassured, though, by the clang of metal tools that lets you know there’s someone that can help.  

“Hello?” Your voice feels tiny between the sounds of work and radio. You’re not even sure that whoever’s around heard you until you catch movement behind a truck nearby. Slowly, a man rises into your eye line and your breath thins at the sight of him: six feet something of muscle and sinew, covered in oil from his work and sweat from the heat. Your mind wanders without your permission —- guesses at what he might feel like, taste like if you had the chance. But, as quickly as the thoughts arise, you’re turning your eyes away in shame.  

What the hell are you doing, married and thinking like that?

“What can I do for you, miss?”

The question forces a glance at him and you feel energy run through you at the way he watches you back. A few strands of dark hair fall into his eyes, but it doesn’t stop him from drinking you in. Slow, deliberate, his gaze picks you apart as if he can see right through the careful style in your hair; the stain on your lips; the light cotton of your dress. You feel laid bare just standing there, and somehow, it feels good. You shift nervously on your kitten heels.“My, uh, car – it… well, it doesn’t seem to be working. Won’t start, really, so I was hoping someone could take a look?"  

He nods in quiet understanding, hands wiping grime on the top of his jeans. “You walked here?” He pauses long enough for you to answer. “Where’s your car? I can give you a tow.” 

“Just a few blocks out, I live over on seventh.” 

Another nod, this time pensive as his eyes search the shop until they land on a set of keys. He crosses the room for them, giving you a sinful view of his back along the way, before gesturing towards a red truck with the words Barnes and Son printed on either side. You gather he‘s likely the ‘son’ in this equation. “You can go on and wait by the truck then – I’ll just need to grab a few things from the back.“  

When he returns, you’ve found a spot beside his truck that’s shielded from the sun and he’s changed into a shirt with a name stitched into the pocket. He gets close enough to help you in, one hand in yours and the other at your hip, which gets you close enough to read it. “Thank you, James.” His name leaves you with a careful lilt, like a delicate lace you’ve slipped on just for size, and he gulps at how good it sounds. Lips curl back in a grin, and he takes a moment to watch you settle before responding —  

“Bucky.” 

You blink. “Bucky?” 

He hums in confirmation, moving to the back of the truck to ready a hook for your bumper. Even then, his voice is clear - steady as he calls back up to you. “Only my ma calls me James these days. Everyone else calls me Bucky.” 

“Ah,” a knowing nod, “then, thank you Bucky.” 

You catch his gaze in the side mirror and he watches you through his lashes, a look that makes your thighs press together. “You’re very welcome, miss.” 

july twenty third, ninety four degrees.

Three days pass at a snail’s pace; seventy-two long hours of grueling heat, sputtering electricity, and rising restlessness. On the twenty-third, the weatherman on morning radio is the first to call it by its name and after that, it’s all you hear: heat wave, heat wave, heat wave.

In that time, you haven’t heard much from one Mr. Barnes. That doesn’t keep him from hijacking your thoughts, though —- edging into your head when you least expect it. The ride to your home had been short, the time to hook your car to his even shorter; but he’d snared you easy with that rumbling voice and careful, but natural humor. He’s unlike most men you’ve met during your time in Brooklyn; the trim, proper types at school and their older counterparts in the office. Pretty boy looks with an air of danger, he’s at the crossroads of rugged and polite. Man raised right with the eyes of a wolf. You want to know more about him, but don’t dare linger more than you need to. A man like him will only bring rumors, and it’s the last thing you need in your fledgling marriage. So, you do your best to forget about him — out of sight, out of mind.

Today, the house is too stuffy to be a haven from the sun and you’ve found yourself a spot on the porch, nursing the tallest glass of water you could find. In front of you, children play beneath their mothers’ watchful eye, as bare as they can be without being indecent. The sight makes you think about your future here — the newest, and youngest, couple on the block, you’re an outlier compared to the rest. Nothing to fill your days but a few chores and idle conversations. And though you’ve only been here a month, you imagine it won’t be many more before children are a consideration, and then, an expectation.

The thought guides hand to tummy and you imagine it all swelled up - full. You’ve always wanted that at some point, yes, but here? With him? You ask yourself the question often and always, the answer is unclear. Never no, but certainly not yes. And when you close your eyes to consider it further, the details are out of reach — more fuzzy than it should be when you’ve promised him forever.

That you hesitate makes you dizzy with guilt; bile in your throat whenever you just consider it. And this time, the heat compounds it, shame rolling off you like the beads of water dripping from your glass. You take a swig to wash it down, but the cool only brings clarity — sharpens your uncertainty into doubt. Suddenly, the trill of children’s laughter becomes more accusation than background noise, and you swear the other wives are watching across their lawns. Knowing, judging eyes that straighten your spine.

It makes the porch chair feel too hot to stay in -- its surface seeming to singe anywhere you aren’t covered -- and you bolt so fast your dress shifts around you. Fingers smooth out the wrinkles as steadily as they can before scooping up everything you’ve brought to carry back inside.

Perhaps a nap might be a better escape.

////

You wake up a few hours later to a setting sun and a much quieter street. A glance at the bedside clock lets you know it’s just past five and your mind turns instinctively to dinnertime. On most days, you’d balk at having only a couple hours to cook, tidy, and shower before your husband got home. But, with your car still in the shop and him back too late for grocery shopping, you know you’ll be working with leftovers. Two hours is all you need.

There’s still sleep in your eyes when you pad to the kitchen; but with time, the room starts to smell rich, the aroma of herbs rising steady, and your tired falters, then retreats altogether. It’s so good, you forget you’re working with an old meal and you almost don’t mind how hot you’re getting so close to the oven. As expected, the food — a simple casserole — doesn’t take long and by the time it’s left to warm, the dining table set, you have the perfect window for a cold rinse in the shower.

Your husband arrives as you step into a fresh house dress, and you know something’s wrong the moment he pulls in. Rubber squeals angrily against the pavement outside and the steps on the porch that follow are heavy, disgruntled. When he opens the front door, it’s with force that makes the frame groan and the sound rises a second time when he slams it closed. It’s been a pattern as of late, the way he moves through your home like a tempest; but you still aren’t quite used to it. How can you be, with your union so new as it is? But even as a different man stands before you, watching you emerge from your bedroom, than the man who’d courted you, you try to give him the benefit of the doubt. Work has been hard for him, and you know it. And it’s all to help you live the life you do — you know that too. So, that ever-present urge to please, to be the good wife stays steady. Even now, it compels you to help him out of his shoes as he tosses aside a blazer that ought to be illegal in this sort of weather. “Is dinner ready?” He grunts without any other greeting, and you nod, taking it in stride. He’s just stressed, you remind yourself, it’s not personal.

“Yes, dear, go and get settled — I’ll get you a beer, hm?” Your mouth meets his cheek in a chaste kiss before you lead him to the dining room by the hand. The table in it is set for two, unassuming but homey, and you maneuver around it with learned ease. Beer to the right of his plate, food dished out neatly, you hum to yourself as you go, hoping the domesticity will be a salve to his long day.

It turns out to be anything but. When you turn back to the table, you can see the displeasure radiating off him, his features turning into a sneer as his eyes assess the meal in front of him. “What is this,” he grunts. “Leftovers?"

You balk immediately, twisting hands in front of your apron until your knuckles feel like they’ll pop. “Well, it’s still all we have — as long as I don’t have the car, I won’t be able to make much...”

He concedes in a huff, the itch to start an row calmed by your sound, albeit nervous, logic. But it doesn’t make him any less prickly, any less distant. He eats dinner like he’s wounded by it, a grimace on every bite. Eventually, it’s unbearable to watch, and you sigh with a pensive glance at the fridge. You have no idea what else you can whip together at this point, but anything would be better than this. “if you want, I can try to make something else—”

“it’s fine,” he sneers, "don’t bother.”

The rest of dinner is choked and tense, the only sounds between you forks against your plates. He finishes first, lingering only long enough to drop his plate into the sink. Then he’s off; more weighted footsteps that you listen to until they disappear behind the door of his study. You are free to take your time then, savoring the rest of the meal as best you can. But, all his harsh judgment makes the casserole taste like mush and tears burn at the back of your eyes, so you give up not long after he’s gone.

You aren’t all that hungry anyway.

A new still settles over the room as you pack the rest of dinner away. You’d hoped this silence would be relief compared to the previous, but somehow it’s worse. Without someone else there to distract you, you spiral — hyperfixate. Before long, the walls seem to bow in, your home buckling with the weight of this disconnect. And soon, nothing can buoy you — your eyes swim, head pounds, and it takes only another minute of it to decide: you can’t stay in this house.

When the front door shuts behind you without a sound, you draw in a deep breath — the first in what feels like years. Out here, the air is syrupy, like you’re sucking it down through a straw; but it’s ten times better than the staleness you’re leaving. It makes your throat dry out just thinking about it, and you push off the porch with a click of your heels.

Head ducked and shoulders bowed, you walk with no real destination, mind wandering as much as you are. It isn’t until you hear the increasingly familiar sound of metal gears whirring that you realize you‘ve walked towards Bucky’s garage. Filmy light spills out of the cracked garage door, leaving shapes on the otherwise dark sidewalk. It beckons you, a different sort of warm, and you duck inside with arms around your middle.

“Excuse me? Bucky?"

The sound of company — a tentative call of his name --- makes Bucky jolt, and he narrowly misses hitting his head as he straightens beneath the hood of a car. The garage isn’t well lit at this time of night, but it isn’t hard to work you out in the doorway: head tipped, arms pressed tight to you. To say he’s confused would be an understatement but, he certainly doesn’t plan to send you away. There’s something rolling off you that he can’t place — exhaustion, maybe? Perhaps even dejection. Whatever it is, it implores him to indulge you. Begs, even. “Miss? You here to check in on the car—“

“Why do you keep callin’ me that,” you spit, anger dissolving timidness into something rough and raw. Bucky quirks an eyebrow in question and you barrel forward to explain. “Miss — there’s no way you haven’t noticed my ring by now, you ought to be calling me Ma’am.�� The outburst is misdirected and you know that — but this is a sore spot right now. Feeling so inadequate as a wife, unhappy in your marriage — this man you know you shouldn’t want and his refusal to acknowledge your status only makes it worse.

“I don’t mean any harm by it,” he shrugs, hands raising slightly in surrender, “‘s just odd calling you ma’am, young as you are. You don’t even have one wrinkle.” His tone turns playful there and you feel your whole body warm. There’s no way he can know what’s bothering you, or that’s something bothering you at all. But if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s trying to comfort you, even as your rage targets him. He drives it home with all his focus on you, a concern in those blue eyes that makes you want to weep.“You prefer I call you ma’am? I can, if you do.”

His earnest gives you pause; tempers your upset into a thrumming discomfort. Do you want him to call you ma’am? As visceral as your reaction had been, there’s a part of you that’s aware enough to know that you only care because you’re supposed to. It’s the right thing to call a married woman and you want to be like the best of them. At least, normally — right now, in front of Bucky and his lack of pretense, you find you care a lot less. His offer makes you realize how much of this is reflexive and you shake your head after another beat of silence. “No, I...suppose it’s fine if that’s why.” You still, feeling your face grow hot with shame. ”I’m sorry.”

His shoulders lift in a shrug and just like that, the moment’s forgotten, its tension gone. He turns the conversation elsewhere as graciously as he can. “So, what is it you’re doing here? I usually don’t do calls this late.”

“I just…wandered here to be honest. It’s awful in my house, heat and all. Needed air.” 

He watches you the way he had that first day in the shop; unflinchingly. Fear curls up your spine at the thought that he might push you for more. Instead, Bucky nods, accepting the answer with a click of his tongue, and you press out a shaky breath. “Well, it won’t be much better here, but we got a fan you’re welcome to sit by ‘till you cool off.” He nudges a hand in the direction of the fan, but you hardly need it — you’ve eyed it now five times in as many minutes and could feel yourself swooning at the sight. It’s an industrial model, just shy of your height with blades twice as strong as your model at home. A stool sits next to it and you choose to settle there.

Bucky keeps watching until he knows you’re comfortable before returning to his work. On the radio, a singer you’ve never heard before croons about love, slow and sweet. It’s not what you’d expect for a mechanic's working music, but the way Bucky hums along makes it a perfect fit. He sways as he tends to the engine, as if the car dances with him, and you watch him with a smile — small enough that he misses it when he peeks up to check on you.

An hour passes just like that; a comfortable, easy quiet that’s only fractured when one of you hums louder than the fan next to you or laughs at something on the radio. Bucky works steadily, but makes a point of turning your way every so often to make sure you’re alright. Make sure you’re still there. You manage to catch his eye every time, which leads to a smile, a tip of the head, a sharp, careful breath. 

You feel right in in that room of sparks and oil, and it overwhelms you.

“I think,” you start, standing to smooth your dress. The night deepens, and you imagine your husband’s noticed your absence by now. “I'll get going now, Bucky. Leave you to your work.” You offer him a smile that he returns easily, watching you as you take steps towards the door. “Have a good night, hm? Don’t work yourself too hard."

A chuckle rises from him in a rumble and you can feel your tummy turn. “Same to you. Sweet dreams, miss.”

The walk home is much lighter than the walk there had been. There’s contentment settling in, even through the heat, and it doesn’t break, not even when you get home to find your husband waiting for you. The door clicking shut behind you is the only greeting you get out before he’s standing, eyes narrowed. “Where did you go?”

You slip out of your heels carefully, as if sudden movement might shake hints of the garage out of your dress. “Just for a walk. I needed some air after I finished cleaning up, I wasn’t feeling very well.”

The answer seems to satisfy him; releases the tension in his back and shoulders until he's unwound enough to move. “Alright, well…are you any feeling better?” You give one quick nod in response, to which he hums, drinks you in for a moment, then offers a hand. You inch closer, each step more careful than the last, until he can press palms over your hips. Once he has you, your husband bares down to find your mouth; one soft kiss in apology. Eventually, though, those kisses deepen —- press you into bed with your clothing stripped in favor of sweat-streaked skin, and he murmurs more sorries into your throat, your thighs, and the sweet heat of your mound until you’re crying out forgiveness.

All the while, you see blue eyes in the ceiling; think of hands calloused from engines and gears; and swallow down guilt as you take your husband into your mouth.

There’s no room for Bucky Barnes when you do that.

july twenty fourth, ninety six degrees.

It’s half noon when the sound of heels echo in Bucky’s garage. They cut through his music well enough that he’s immediately searching out the sound from his spot beneath a cream 1950 Buick. A pair of baby doll pumps appear in his peripheral to answer his curiosity. “Just a minute,” he offers before his guest can speak, smiling so big already his jaw smarts. One last turn of his wrench brings him at a natural stopping point and then, he's rolling out to see you, as he suspected, beaming down at him. 

There’s a tumbler of lemonade in your right hand — fresh, by the looks of it — and tupperware in your left. His heart stutters at the sight of it; you, all dolled up, bringing him lunch. He wonders if this is what your husband gets every day — a precursor to what he imagines are just as pretty nights — and can’t help but envy the fucking bastard.

What he’d give to see this every lunchtime till the end of his days.

“Ma’am,” he greets with a smirk, reaching for a rag to wipe his hands.

You huff loudly, lips turning sideways in a grin of your own. “You are never going to let me live that down, huh?”

Laughter shakes his shoulders. “Not any time soon, if you smile like that when I say it.” Your body heats immediately, eyes darting down in a show of shyness, and he almost coos at how easy it is to make you so bashful. “Brought that for me?”

You welcome the distraction, nodding as you hold out both offerings. “They said today’s the worst day yet for the heat and I know you’re here working in it, so…just wanted to make sure you had somethin’ to enjoy during your breaks.”

“Why, thank you,” Bucky pauses then, thoughtfully at first before his features go boyish, playful. “And you’re not just tryin’ to get out of paying me later, right?”

You laugh this time, a hearty sound he hadn’t heard before the previous night, but can’t seem to get enough of now. “Nope — scout’s honor. This is all on the house.” 

You’re unlike any client he’s ever known; few wives make it as far as his door, their husbands preferring to come in for them, and the others that have certainly don’t make him feel like this. It would worry him if he dwelled on it, so he makes a point not to. Presses the oddness you cause in him to the back of his thoughts — out of sight, out of mind. 

You set both the pitcher and plasticware down on the table closest to you, and quickly, Bucky is upon them. Scooping a clean cup from one of his nooks, he reaches for the lemonade and takes a hearty pour, humming at the sound of ice against glass. “This looks real good — you really didn’t have to.” 

“Nonsense,” you wave him off, “it’s the least I could do."

“Well — cheers.” With eyes trained on you, Bucky brings cup to mouth, drinks in long, tapered swallows that work his whole throat. It’s mundane enough in theory; but there’s something in the way he does it. Something that unravels you, keeps you from turning away though you know you should. When he’s done, his mouth is fuller than ever and wet, wet, wet with drops of lemonade at the corners. He reaches a thumb up to wipe them off and in one fluid motion, brings them to his tongue. 

Your eyes are pinned to it, darting after the curl of his tongue; and, by the time he finishes, blown wide open. You’re lightheaded, desire and guilt sending your senses into a tailspin, and you have to clear your throat to get words out. “I, uh, — I should be heading home. Couple other errands to do before the day is out — enjoy those, Bucky!"

Before he can get respond, you rush through the garage door, jasmine perfume in your wake, and Bucky stays put until the smell of you wanes. 

Maybe you’re not all that out of mind after all.

july twenty sixth.

“ —— the massive heat wave hitting New York City continues today as temperatures reach a record one hundred and five degrees.”

The first thing you feel when you wake up is wet. Seeping into your sheets, your pillow case, your chemise nightgown, it's an uncomfortable feeling, being so sweaty. Feels gummy and unnatural — you make a note to be in the shower as soon as you can manage.

The second is pain, palpable as the fight you’d had with your husband the night before returns to the forefront of your mind. The cause had been insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but heat has a way of undoing sensibilities. You’ve never seen yourself like that, so belligerent, so vicious, and wonder how much of this summer is changing you the way it’s changing him. It feels like coming out of a hangover, and you lift yourself from your bed with a ragged sigh. The house seems still, and after a moment’s listen, it’s clear your husband's already left for the day —— without breakfast and, notably, without goodbye.

As much as it stings, there’s relief knowing you won’t have to face him yet, nerves dulled now that you can move through your routine at your leisure. You’re fresh out the shower, drying with the softest towel you could find, when the shrill ring of the telephone cuts in. In no mood to be personable, you have half a mind to ignore it, but decide against it — you wouldn’t want to miss anything important.

“Hello?"

“Hello — I’m lookin’ to speak to Mrs. Miller?” The voice on the other end is like honey; sweet and sharp as he asks for you. You know it’s Bucky almost immediately and straighten up as though he can see you, a finger tracing over the lapel of your robe.

“This is she…”

“Mornin’, miss,” he offers, voice dropping an octave or two — it’s subtle enough to seem innocent, but suggestive enough, at least to you, to make you gulp. “I’m just phonin’ to let you know that your car is all ready.”

Your heart stutters at the promise of seeing him, your earlier grogginess all gone, and you find yourself biting back a smile as though he might catch it. “Thank you, Bucky — I can be right there.”

////

The walk to Barnes and Son is muggy, even worse than it’d been the day your car shut down. And when you arrive, there’s sweat lining your forehead and under your arms. You take a moment to dab at it before ducking inside, where Bucky is waiting by his work table. Today, there is no radio — the only sound between you is the traffic outside and a buzzing that you only notice when it’s too hot to think. 

“Mornin’ again,” he offers as he stands straight, beckoning you to your car with a hand. When you’re close enough, he starts to walk you through his fixes, gesturing here and pointing there to guide your attention. But, despite his best intentions, your head stays fuzzy - you can’t tell how much of it is the heat and how much is the distracting cut of muscles in Bucky’s bare arms. He’s worn that white tank top a few times now, but it’s more soaked than it has been and the sight of it makes you feel rabid. 

He notices when you go long without even a word. “You payin’ attention to me?”

Too much, you think to yourself, mustering a sheepish nod and a cough to clear your throat. “So, how much do I owe you?”

He rattles off the price and you try not to grimace — a habit from before you had the means -- as you rifle through your purse to count out the bills. When you hand them over, Bucky’s fingers brush your own in a touch too light to be intentional. But that doesn’t stop it from knocking the wind out of you. You must just be sensitive, you reason, after the fight and, now, this oppressive heat putting your body on edge. But, deep down, you know it’s more than that and Bucky seems to know it too — his fingers linger, keep yours there, before curling around them altogether.  

“I ought to go.” The words hang between you, but you make no actual move to step away. Bucky’s touch, as mundane as it is, has you completely rooted.

“I could tell, you know,” he’s speaking soft, one hand scooping the money out of your hand while the other runs a pointer finger along the lines of your palm. He stirs sparks in every spot he touches, electricity that spreads and spreads and spreads until it’s all you can see. He’s all you can see. "— that night you came to the garage. It wasn’t the heat that ran you out, it was your man. It was that godforsaken house that looks like every other one on the street — you hate it there, don’t you?”

For the first time in days, you feel chill sweep over you; shock at being unmasked so bluntly. And it’s enough to wake you up to snatch your hand out of his grasp. “Stop,” you hiss, “you don’t know anything about this, about me.”

If he’s wounded by your retreat, it doesn’t show. All you read in Bucky’s expression is understanding, sympathy, concern. There’s tenderness on every inch of him and it makes your body shake to see it so plainly. “Nah, I don’t think that’s true. Think you know it too.” He steps closer, and closer still, until you can feel the grooves of his workstation against your spine. Large hands come down against the wood on either sides of your hips and you can smell him, musky and sweet, as he leans over you. “Think I know more about you from this week than any of ‘em have cared to learn in months. Even him. Am I wrong?"

“B-Bucky—“ you shake your head as if it’ll stop the inevitable; this breach of your defenses that’s laid your worst bare. Of course he isn’t wrong — your unhappiness swells faster than you can control it, and he’s been the first to notice. You imagine it won’t be long before your husband, your family, your friends are onto you too. Right now, though, your attention stays on the man before you; the way your hands have found his chest without you meaning them to, and the way the muscle flexes to the touch.

His mouth is close, trembling with anticipation. But, you can see where he’s holding back — the tension in his jaw, flexed fingers at your hip. No amount of desperation will make him move before you say. “Tell me if I’m wrong.” Hooded eyes bore down into yours as Bucky waits for an answer — you give it to him in a searing kiss, reservations undone in the face of pure need. He returns it just as desperately, slipping fingers over your throat and shoulders before resettling at your waist. 

He uses the grip to hoist you up onto the table behind you, giving you the leverage to pull him in by the legs. He’s already half-hard, cock against your tummy, and the feel of him is enough to make you moan into his mouth. This is wrong — this is so goddamn wrong, but you’re dizzy with how badly you want him, this man who’s seen you, and you dismiss your guilt for a later time. “Off,” you pant, fingers already working at the buttons on your blouse.

To your surprise, Bucky’s hand cages wrists to keep you still. “Not here,” he grunts into the side of your mouth, pulling your arms to wrap around his shoulders instead. You’re about to question it when he lifts you once more, this time into him, and braces your weight with hands under your rear. The shift makes you squeak and his laugh as he carries you shakes your body. In a few short strides, he takes you through the door he’d come into on the day you came to him, and you realize quickly it’s an office - surprisingly tidy for a place so busy. On the far side of the room, a couch waits, a pillow and blanket folded on the arm rest. He must notice the way your eyes linger on them because he squeezes your hips as he purrs: “‘S cooler here now than my house — makes working easy too.” He slots you onto the cushions, and you note how easily they mold to you — how lived in they seem. From where you lay, you glean pictures on the walls and table, Bucky in some of them, smiling faces in most. It’s a window into his life you hadn’t expected at all, much less in the middle of something like this —and it terrifies you how much more you want to know.

How much more you want of him.

As if reading your mind, Bucky climbs in over you and reels your attention in with his mouth back over yours. He kisses you deep, slow, fingers replacing yours on your blouse as he picks the buttons open one by one until you’re left in a plain pointed bra. You shrink a bit, knowing how simple it must look — but the hunger in his eyes seems to ease that concern. He’s had dreams about this, about you, in the damp of this very room, and had just managed to convince himself that that was where you’d stay. At arm’s length, in his fantasies. But now, here you are, propriety set aside as you seek out your gain. Something he fully intends to give to you as he slips you out of your skirt as well.

Your legs slip shut instinctively when the material falls away but Bucky’s hands settle on either thigh to still you. “No, no — let me in, sweetheart." the plea carries like a song, melody and harmony that soaks into your panties as you part your legs at his behest. The sight of you, so open, so soft, makes him dizzy and he steadies himself with nose to your inner thigh, breathing you in slow and deep. “God, you smell good — bet you taste good too, huh?” His thumb comes down over you as if the touch might answer his question. You tremble at it, let out a sound into the room that’s choked and desperate. “Could eat you right up.”

And god, does he. Panties pressed unceremoniously to the side and his tongue to your wet, Bucky Barnes eats you alive in that New York City heat. Somewhere in the madness, his nose finds your clit, nudges it each time he laps, and you arch off the couch keening, hands framing his head. Tugging, pulling, you’re done apart by his touch, jerking hips up needily to find his mouth. “Fuck,” he grunts against you, “keep goin’—”

You don’t need him to spur you on, but it does wonders nonetheless. You can’t remember the last time you’d felt so good. Even your husband the nights before, in all his earnest, hadn’t done you in like this. But, Bucky, with all that hunger and ache, has your body coiled up, eyes squeezed shut as you chase your pleasure. And as if he can sense the way you teeter on the edge, he presses a finger into you, the pad of it searching for the spot that’ll bowl you over.

“B-Bucky—“ you gasp, hips twisting because it’s so much, too much, and instinct makes you want to run. He shakes his head with a hand keeping you still, and a second finger joining the first inside you.

“Make a mess for me, sugar,” he commands in a purr, full lips brushing your clit, “don’t be shy now.” With that, his intent is crystal clear and he can focus on the task at hand; no more sweet nothings or encouragement — just his mouth back over your mound, flicking, sucking, in time with his fingers until you arch up off the couch with a cry of his name.

Your climax is hot-white; tears at the corners of your eyes as they dart, unseeing, to the ceiling. Bucky coos into your cunt in a tone akin to praise, and you shiver at how good it feels. He guides your hips for a moment or two more, just to help you ride it out, before rising from between your legs with a sheen of sweat, satisfaction, and you. His mouth curls up in a wolfish grin, canines sharp against his bottom lip, and you feel your tummy clench at the sight. This man will be the death of me.

The room is boiling, lust and tension at critical mass now that Bucky’s coaxed one mind-blowing orgasm out of you. And as uncomfortable as the sweat pooling in your corners is, you want more; need it, even. Your fingers find purchase at the base of his neck, forcing him up and over you until you can meet his mouth. Your body thrums at the taste of him — you, all over his tongue — and he kisses you deep when he realizes how much you like it too. In your earnest, you reach down to palm him through the jeans hanging low on his waist. You don’t know when his shirt had come off, but you’re appreciative of it. Eyes dancing over the expanse of bare skin, scarred in some places, but no less beautiful. You want to see the rest of him and you tug at his bottoms until he gets the message. While he works on that, you shed your underwear and bra and once you’re both naked, he settles back against you, sighing at the press of your skin. The contact is delicious, and it has you seeking out mouths for a kiss that’s as hungry as it is fond.

“Ready,” he murmurs against your lips, the head of his cock nudging at you as he draws closer. You nod, and he reaches down to guide himself, cock probing a bit until it slips past and slowly finds him settled. The way he sits inside you, stretching you to your limit, makes you gasp. Like you’re breaking water for the first time in a  long time to the bite of fresh air. You crane up to kiss him with that newfound clarity, moaning when he twitches inside you.

“You alright?” The question comes out in a pant, Bucky’s mouth starting to trail over your jaw as he flexes to hover over you.

“Yes, Bucky, god yes, please move—“

Your plea’s barely out before he delivers, a slow drag of his hips that finds him out to the tip, then back to the hilt. The way he moves is like poison, like fire, and you wrap all your limbs around him to keep him close. The first thrusts keep you tangled like that, his head against your throat while he moves inside you. But, then you pull fingers through his hair, nail over scalp, and it’s like a switch flips inside him. In a flourish, Bucky sits up, shifting you until your knees nearly meet your chest and his hands hold you open by the underside of your thighs. The new angle guides him deep and makes you cry out, loud and with abandon.

The sound of it eggs him on; draws sharper, deeper thrusts from him as he watches you come apart from what he’s doing to you. “Doesn’t fuck you like this, does he? The way you deserve.” The accusation leaves him in a growl as his teeth close over your collarbone.  Your throat is dry, and head too jumbled for you to do anything but shake your head — as if Bucky even needed an answer. “‘Course not — bastard.”

Thinking about your husband while you’re beneath another man shouldn’t feel good — but the possessiveness, the raw claim Bucky lays to you is addicting. It makes you want to be his beyond this, and you grip him close, nails leaving marks in his arms and shoulders, as if to keep him there. His thrusts quicken in response, hips finding yours in a delectably rapid rhythm, and you can feel your climax build for a second time already.

Bucky feels the way you pulse around him, grunting at the heat, and brings a finger down to your clit to keep you rising. The stimulation makes you arch, eyes squeezing shut as your legs tighten at his hip, and he uses his other hand to guide you down to meet him still. “Shit, look at you — gonna cum for me again, huh? Want it — god, I want it.” His body falls forward, keeping you chest to chest while he grinds down into you. “Come on, sweetheart, give it to me.”He reaches between you to bring his thumb down on your clit; flicks it once or twice before your peak barrels over you. It draws a cry that goes hoarse at the end and you fumble to pull him down and silence it in a kiss. He keeps his mouth on yours as his thrusts grow more erratic, his own climax not far off, and when he finally finishes it’s with a low groan of your name — eyes wrenched shut as he melts into you.

It takes a few moments for things to settle; Bucky stays over you, inside and pressed near as you both catch your breath. When he does slip out of you, it’s with a shudder and open-mouthed kisses to your wet skin. The loss of fullness makes you want to whine, but it isn’t until you start to feel his cum drip out of you that the sound actually makes it out. There’s something filthy about it — freeing too. And Bucky shares the sentiment as he presses your thighs up once more to look between your legs. “Push, pretty girl,” he murmurs, entranced by the sight of you. If it were anyone else you’d be embarrassed from the exposure; but his gaze just makes you preen. You do as he asks -- deep breath in, deeper one out — and you both moan at what follows.

Bucky’s eyes go darker somehow and you feel your body tighten as his fingers ghost between your folds. “Think I can get one more out of you?"

////

You end up spending hours lost in that room. Kissing, fucking, laughing — you’re only apart when Bucky rises to check in on the shop or answer the telephone. Then he fits right back between your thighs like it’s the only place he’s ever wanted to be. And sometimes, with the way he looks at you, you could believe it might be. You tell yourself you’re dreaming, though — finding emotion where it isn’t to make sense of this whirlwind of a week with him.

By the time four rolls around, there’s still no explanation for it, but there is an end— your car is working now, which means it’s back to routine. Groceries, cooking, bed with your husband. You dread it already, fingers trembling as you fix your mussed clothes; but seeing Bucky, and the recognition on his face when he comes back to see you dressing, only makes it worse. A silence settles between you while you dress and he watches from the doorway, arms over his chest. It’s not as bad as the silences have been with your husband, but it’s just as potent. Heavy and suffocating. He breaks it first, and you almost wish he hadn’t.

“I know it ain’t this simple,” he starts, quiet as though nervous about disrupting this still, "but I could be good to you.” Your shoulders stiffen with shock and when you look up at him, Bucky’s turned away, watching the cars he has left to fix. “Be better to you.”

You shake your head, swallowing the ache that rises with a sardonic smile. “How can you be,” you sigh, "you hardly know me from a hole in a wall, Bucky, this - this was just…” sex? You want to say so, but the sentence sounds all wrong, even to you.

Bucky, meanwhile, takes no offense to the rebuttal. If anything, it works him up more, a determination setting in that he hadn’t had just moments prior. “Maybe. But that don’t mean I’m wrong. Don’t mean I don’t know what I need to.”

The confession hangs between you for a moment, suspended by his conviction and your brain imagining life as his wife instead without your permission. It’s a split second of it, no more than a flash or two of imagination, but it’s enough to leave you queasy.

Because the fantasy is crystal clear, every scene in high definition. Bucky, his sky blue eyes creased at the corners by a smile; and a babbling baby with ones just like his, reaching for you from his arms. You see yourself in the photos in his office, beaming like the others. The thought is bad enough, but the need you feel just thinking about it makes you step back, hand to your chest as you suck in a breath. “If only it were so easy,” you breathe, dejected as you thumb the keys in your hand. You’re frozen there for another moment before you step forward, slowly, to move around him. When your shoulder touch as you pass, you can feel Bucky stiffen, shift as if he’s about to stop or hold you.

But the moment passes without him doing either, and you dip your head as you walk the rest of the way to your car. One last glance over your shoulder finds him watching you, longing coming off him in waves and you respond in turn, a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Goodbye, Bucky."

july twenty-seventh, eighty-five degrees.

Your drive to the grocery store won’t take long. But, you’ve opted to roll down your windows for it, basking in the breeze over your face. As suddenly as it began, the heat has finally broken, the city’s fever lifted, and for the first time in nearly a week, things feel normal.

On the radio, a woman sings a song about love lost, gained, and everything in between. You’ve only heard it a few times before, so you sing along in spurts. Lyrics here, hums there. It’s a welcome distraction from the emptiness that’s been sitting in your gut since the night before. You can almost ignore how sick you feel when you tap along to the music — almost.

When you turn down the next street, you recognize it quickly as the one of Bucky’s garage and that despair gets a new hold on you. There’s an immediate burn behind your eyes - reminiscent of what you felt, crying the night before — but this time there’s no tears. Just resolve as you force yourself to face front, attention steady, lest you get a glimpse of him.

Through your open windows, you catch the sound of tools from his shop. Just a few nights before, that had been solace; but now, it unsettles you. Sows discomfort so cleanly your entire body goes rigid. You fumble to get the windows back up, cutting off  fresh air in favor of the ac you flick on with a finger. It takes a moment to kick in; but when it does, you breath a sigh of relief. Hold a hand over the grate to ground yourself with the cool.

It’s not as refreshing as that summer breeze, but you know it’ll have to do.

[myhauntedsalem]

9 Terrifying American Murder Houses

From Amityville Horror to Jeffrey Dahmer’s one-bedroom, these murder houses are home to some truly brutal murders.

Forget the haunted house put on by your high school. The walls of these real-life murder houses witnessed some of the most brutal killings in American history. Several of the homicides remain unsolved, and some residents claim restless spirits still haunt the grounds. So step on in, if you dare…

9. THE AMITYVILLE HORROR HOUSE 112 OCEAN AVE, AMITYVILLE, NY

Note to first-time home buyers: when the deal is too good, start asking questions. In 1975, George and Kathy Lutz bought this sprawling Dutch Colonial on the south shore of Long Island at a bargain rate. The reason for the discounted price tag? Just 13 months earlier, previous resident Ronald “Butch” DeFeo slaughtered his parents and four younger siblings while they slept in their beds. It didn’t take long for the weirdness to begin – demonic voices, oozing walls, cloven hoof prints in the snow. The Lutz family lasted just two months before fleeing 112 Ocean Avenue in the night.

8. THE HEX MURDER HOUSE REHMEYERS HOLLOW RD, SHREWSBURY, PA

In 1928, John Blymire was convinced a reclusive neighbor named Nelson Rehmeyer had put a hex upon him. Believing the only way to break the curse was to track down Rehmeyer’s spell book and set it ablaze, Blymire rallied two buddies for a late-night visit. While the gang never found the book, they did find Rehmeyer – whom they murdered and mutilated before setting his body on fire. In 2007, an effort was made to open the Hex House to the public, but the plan was eventually scrapped.

7. MOORE FAMILY AXE MURDER HOUSE 508 E 2ND ST, VILLISCA, IA

On a cool summer night in 1912 someone broke into this peaceful Iowa homestead and bludgeoned all six family members plus two houseguests with an axe. The horrific scene was discovered the following morning by a concerned neighbor. Numerous suspects were named in the case – including a traveling minister and State Senator Frank F. Jones. Nevertheless, the murder remains unsolved.

6. KREISCHER MANSION 4500 ARTHUR KILL RD, STATEN ISLAND, NY

German entrepreneur Balthasar Kreischer built this sprawling mansion in 1885 as a symbol of his success in the brick making business. Alas, the good times were short-lived. By 1894, his company had crumbled and his youngest son had shot himself in the head. The decaying mansion sat empty for years until its groundskeeper used the property for a mob hit in 2005. Joseph Young strangled and stabbed his target before finally drowning the man in a garden pool. Young then hacked up the body and burned it in the mansion’s incinerator.

5. LIZZIE BORDEN HOUSE 230 2ND ST, FALL RIVER, MA

On August 4, 1892 Andrew Borden was thrashed with a hatchet while he dozed on the couch of his parlor. Andrew’s second wife Abby met an equally grisly end in the upstairs bedroom. While everyone in Fall River suspected daughter Lizzie of the crime, the local judge remained unconvinced. She was tried and acquitted of the murder one year later. Oddly, the home is now a successful bed & breakfast.

4. MANSON FAMILY MURDER HOUSE 10050 CIELO DRIVE, LOS ANGELES, CA

In 1969, members of the Manson Family shocked the nation when they broke into this L.A. estate and slaughtered Sharon Tate along with four other victims. The murderers wrote “pig” in blood across the front door. Numerous residents have since called 10050 Cielo Drive home – including musician Trent Reznor, who recorded THE DOWNWARD SPIRAL there. In 1994, the original structure was razed and replaced with a new mansion, currently occupied by the creator of FULL HOUSE.

3. JEFFREY DAHMER’S APARTMENT 924 NORTH 25TH ST, APT 213, MILWAUKEE, WI

Cannibal killer Jeffrey Dahmer lured numerous victims to his nondescript one-bedroom, where he drugged and dismembered them in a brutal campaign of murder. Severed limbs were packed in the freezer for future consumption; torsos were dumped in a vat of acid. Police finally arrested Dahmer in 1991 after one of his prisoners managed to escape. The entire apartment building was torn down shortly thereafter.

2. JOHN WAYNE GACY’S HOUSE 8213 SUMMERDALE AVE, CHICAGO, IL

It’s always good to know your neighbors – especially if you suspect them of murder. John Wayne Gacy buried dozens of bodies in the basement and backyard of his suburban home while neighbors casually went about their day. When Gacy’s wife complained of a putrid smell, Gacy blamed it on dead mice. By the time police nabbed the infamous killer clown and excavated his 8213 Summerdale Ave property, they uncovered 29 bodies.

1. GARDETTE-LAPRETE HOUSE 1240 BURGUNDY ST, NEW ORLEANS, LA

How’s this for a Mardi Gras story? In the late 1830s, plantation owner Jean LePrete leased his French Quarter Greek Revival to a mysterious man from Turkey. The renter, known only as “The Sultan,” had more than a few roommates; he arrived with a massive entourage of eunuchs and concubines. The house quickly became known for its lavish parties, with music and revelry carrying on into the night. One morning, a passerby noticed 1240 Burgundy was eerily quiet. Then he spotted blood seeping out of the door. When authorities entered, they found everyone inside had been murdered and dismembered. As for The Sultan? He was buried alive in the courtyard. To this day, the case remains unsolved.

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Thunderstorms

Thanks to @pinkbubbles-and-bigtroubles for letting me run away with this idea. It’s not quite what we discussed but we all know I’m a soft ass bitch. 

Michael’s definitely the dad that got his quirks. He’s chill about somethings and apprehensive about others. And though a beach day turns in early, it’s a good reminder Michael’s always there for his family. 

Reader Insert. No specific race. 

Enjoy my masterlist. 

You can support me on kofi. 

__________________________

It’s a bit of a gamble, attempting to head east during the summer. But it has been a while since you saw your family and the kids are dying to see their GrandPops and Gma as your parents were affectionately dubbed. Both you and Michael figured it is safer to go early in the summer months, the chances of storms or hurricanes wasn’t zero, but it is significantly lower than waiting until August or so. So that leads you here, in late June that holds just on the horizon cookouts and BBQ’s that are famous in your family. 

Until a strong breeze comes through, bringing with it dark clouds. You look out to the sea, the breeze whipping sand up and the edges of your towel are fluttering too. “We should get home,” you warn Michael quietly. 

He’s sitting next to you, arms folded behind his head as he lounges in the foldable chair You decided to help the baby, Orion, put the last touches on her sandcastle. It’s not much of a castle at all, but it makes her content and there’s no way you’re going to fight that. Michael doesn’t respond, chest still rising and falling. 

You turn your gaze back to the kids. Orion latches onto Treyvon’s arm, attempting to get him over to look at her castle. He packs down the sand in his own bucket. “I’m coming, Ri,” he returns. Treyvon’s the oldest at 8 and Orion’s just behind him at 6. They trot back over to you and you turn back to Michael, tapping at his calf. “Michael, baby,” you say a bit louder to wake him. 

He groans, head snapping over to you. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Even though he’s wearing sunglasses, you see how tired he is. Last week he had some trouble sleeping and then Orion was sick. While Michael and Treyvon were thick as thieves, there is a soft spot in Michael’s heart for his little girl. There is nothing that she can’t get from Michael. All she has to blink her eyelashes and candy, toys, clothes, extra helpings of ice cream, first dibs on which section of the cornbread she wants is all hers.

 Michael spent most of the nights up nursing Orion, checking that her fever broke, that she drank plenty of fluids, nursing the tummy aches, giving her the extra snuggles that eased her into slumber. You were tempted to rebook the airline tickets for later. Orion didn’t get sick often, so you figured it had to be something serious. However by about Tuesday night, she was on the up and up. Though Michael kept a close eye on her throughout the rest of the week. 

You rub your hand over his knee, nodding out to the sea. More families are packing up from the beach. “Storm’s coming in.”

 Michael looks over the water and sees the dark clouds on the horizon too. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Don’t know. I’ve been in the hardhat zone over here for a while,” you tease. Michael chuckles, falling back into the scratchy material of the seat. “You’re going to get the tour next.”

It’s a quiet warning and no sooner than it leaves your mouth, Orion comes kicking up sand, hand reaching out for Michael’s. “Look, Papa,” she grins. Though she’s dropped the “Bear” right now, you know the grin that takes over Michael’s face. 

You started the trend, calling him Papa Bear when the kids were young, even before then. With Treyvon, you’d tease to Michael that he was a cuddly bear and therefore a Papa Bear, like in the book “Hop on Pop.” However, Michael demanded that no one actually hop on him. The demand was short lived once the babies got big enough to jump on the beds. Occasionally a spleen would take a foot coming down in all the excitement. 

Michael groans as he pushes up from the chair and follows Orion over to her two part sandcastle. You’re sure to snap a photo as Michael settles into the sand, listening intently as she explains the shells as windows and the twig on top as the flag. “It’s truly a masterpiece, sweetpea,” he offers, pulling her into a hug and kissing her temple. “So who’s the queen of this castle? You?”

“Mama!” Orion smiles up at you. “She’s the queen. One day I will too.”

“That’s right,” you and Michael echo. Orion’s greeted with a kiss on the forehead from you and a kiss on the cheek from Michael. Her giggles are soft. She’s a bit shy like Michael, would rather not be the center of attention except if it’s her birthday or if she’s with Michael. Then all bets are off. 

“We gotta head back to GrandPops and Gma’s,” Michael announces, throwing a glance over his shoulder to spy Treyvon turning over a bucket of dense sand. “You’re too far buddy. Stay closer to us.”

“But my castle, Dad.”

“I know. But you’re still too far from me. Just making sure you’re safe, bud.”

Trey’s pout is evident and you stop packing the bag. “I’ll stay with him if you finish packing the bag. I’ll snap a photo of it once you’re done too, Trey. But then we gotta head back. Storm’s coming in fast.”

Trey nods eagerly, running back down the shore and you follow behind with Orion’s spare bucket with her permission. She sticks close to Michael, but offers the left over of her shells for Trey’s castle too. You and Trey make quick work to fill the buckets. “What’s that?” Trey asks, taking his shovel and poking at something in the sand.

It takes a moment for you to spy it in the wet sand, but when Trey pokes it again, it jiggles slightly. The clear body camouflaging itself in the sand. “Jellyfish,” you say, taking hold of his wrist to pull him back. “Those stings hurt. Be careful.”

“It looks dead, Mama.”

“Doesn’t mean it is dead, though. Come on my side and finish filling your bucket, okay?”

“Ma,” Trey groans but when he sees the stern gaze and hard set lines he nods and takes your spot. It does look dead. But you can already see the sight if Trey gets stung. Your parents will have a fit. Michael will panic and wil not sleep for the rest of the vacation, worried about his little man. You get it, to be honest. You’ll be right up with Michael. But if you can avoid that, you will. You will do whatever it takes to avoid that. 

It’s only another minute or so before Trey’s finished and the two of you come back with more sand, packed in tightly. ON the count, you flip them over, but only after getting Treyvon’s specific instructions. He’s particular and neat. Won’t leave anything a mess. Once the pieces are mostly standing, he hands you some shells and you decorate the tiny dumes you’ve created. Michael already had most of the beach gear packed up. 

“What do you think?” you ask Trey taking a step back to admire the four tower castle. 

“Wish I had time for like the moat, but it looks pretty good.” You make sure to take a picture, Trey standing behind the masterpiece and quickly finish up packing away the tools. The rinse off is quick, mostly brushing over the kids with the spare towels and making sure all sand is gone from toes, legs and backs. 

“What’s for dinner?” Trey asks from the backseat. 

You stop at the redlight, still peering up into the skies. “I think Gma is insisting on a taco night.”

“Tacos sound good,” Orion interjects. “I like tacos.”

“Can I put hot sauce on mine?” Trey asks. He’s taken a strong liking to spicy food and though Michael’s always worried that something bad will happen, you always sneak in a few daps of spicy sauces when you can. 

“I don’t know, bub. Could mess up your stomach,” Michael responds, turning in the passenger seat to look to his son.

Trey knows the secret though. He looks into the mirror in the middle of the car and you catch his eye with a wink. “Okay, maybe next time.” 

“I hear some stinky monsters,” your dad jokes, peeking his head out from the kitchen at the sound of you opening the door. 

The kids charge down the hallway, varying degrees of volume to their roar or scream. You know your mother’s going to drop them a little snack but they can’t go too much longer without a bath. South and Moose click their paws on the hardwood floors racing their way to you guys. Your parents dognapped them to take them out and you were halfway expecting Moose to have too much energy and your parents calling that they’ll be dropping her off with you guys at the beach. Even though she had gotten older over the years, she still had her spirit of her puppyhood. But that fear never came to fruition. 

South climbs into Michael’s arms, curling up into the familiar embrace. “Oh, it wasn’t that bad, was it Southy?”

As the dogs settle back down, you know the kids should be done with their snack. So you’re quick to corral them. “Up the stairs. There we go. Up and attem. We shall not be stinky monsters any more.”

“I quite like being stinky,” Trey returns. His ascent is paused to deliver the line and Michael is quick to haul him up and over his shoulder. Trey laughs. “I take it back. I don’t like being stinky.”

“Oh, no, no, no, too late now.” Their laughter echoes long after Michael draws the bath for Trey in the guest bathroom and you take Orion into your parents bathroom. 

“Can I wear my owl pj’s?” Orion asks wrapped in her towel. “I like the owls better.”

“You can wear them, sure.” After you unearth them from the suitcase, you lay them out of the bed and shut the door for her to get dressed. She takes great pride in doing it herself, though sometimes you have to catch the backwards t-shirt before she waltz outside the house. 

“Uh oh, looks like you’re locked out for a few minutes bud.” Michael’s holding the mass of Trey’s swimming trunks and towel. Trey’s dressed already which is good. But if he wanted to grab anything, like a book, or a toy, he is out of luck for a bit. 

“That’s okay. I’m gonna go help Gma.” Trey’s descendant down to the main floor is more nosey that you would normally like, but there’s not too much to say. 

“I started a pile in my parent’s bathroom, which I’ll have to get up soon, if you just wanted to dump those for now and then shower yourself,” you offer, hands out for the dirty clothes. 

“All my stuff is still in the bedroom. So, I’m locked out too. But I’ll grab her stuff and start a load of laundry.”

“If you want, but we still have our clothes and towels too.”

“Good thing laundry is free,” he teases, disappearing down the hallway. When he returns, he has Orion’s bathing suit and towel as well. 

Over the years, coming back home feels like never leaving. Your mother is all too happy to be loads of laundry though, she refuses to fold a damn thing. That’s the job for everyone else and no one complains. Food is always plentiful, though you do sneak cash into your mother’s purse to cover the extra expense in grocery. Your father always has to the one to say he put it there so no fights ensue. Though, you know your mother knows it’s you. But visiting wouldn’t be the same if the cycle didn’t occur. 

Visiting your parents isn’t always ideal, though it had its perks. Specifically because of the sleeping situation and only because of the sleeping situation. There’s one only one spare room fit for housing guests The second bedroom was converted into a study, where you can remember spending too many nights up and staring out of the windows, or sneaking out of them. 

The guest room was originally your old room, but your mother couldn’t stop her decorative itch once you moved out. The room worked, even when there was only a limited number of bathrooms as well. The bed was big enough that the kids could sleep on it even with the way Orion fitfully slept. Michael always told you to sleep on the bed with the kids. He could fit on the mattress, that wasn’t a problem, but he knew that it was cramped sometimes. So Michael sleeps on the floor at the foot of the bed. It never lasted long that he was there by himself because you always slinked down from the bed. 

At first you’d lay with your head at the foot of the bed, with one arm dangling and he always reaches up to capture your fingers with his. And then you ask him to join you on the bed. Sometimes he gives in. Sometimes he doesn’t. And when he doesn’t you crawl down, thankful for the carpet that your parents hadn’t ripped up yet. The beauty of it all is that you made it work. And you hoped maybe they kids would always remember that it might’ve been a little cramped at times but you always made it work. 

The door creaks open and Orion smiles before taking her more quiet escape back downstairs. “Aha, there’s my daughter. I went looking for you,” Michael laughs. 

“Ya found me! Now shower, Papa Bear. You stink too.”

“On it,” he giggles with a salute and continues on up the stairs. There’s a rumble, as Michael pulls out his clothes. His ears pick up on the distant but not too far away rumble of thunder. He didn’t think the storm was that close. But when you mentioned getting back to your parents back, he knew he shouldn’t wait on it. 

The steam’s already billowing when Michael cracks open the door. Your pile of clothes on the sink counter. Your humming settles into Michael’s chest as he peels himself out of the trunks and sweaty t-shirt. It’s not clear if it’s a song or just content humming, but he enjoys the sound either way. 

“Got space for one more?” He asks. 

You peek out from the curtain and grin. “Of course I do.” 

You step away from the water, letting Michael in front as you lather soap over your chest and arms. It shouldn’t be this much of a shock. He shouldn’t be in such awe watching you. But he is. That’s just the plain truth of it. It doesn’t feel like it’s been nearly 12 years together. It doesn’t feel like it took you two years to have your first kid. It doesn’t feel like you’ve been there for three albums, three insane tours, two kids, a couple foster kittens, the two dogs, some nasty scandals. No, you’ve just been there for the blink of an eye. You’ve been there late in the nights when Michael couldn’t sleep, when that song wouldn’t let him go. You peeled him away from the video games, and though he’s been slowly introducing Trey and Orion into his hobby, you brought him into a realm of reality that he didn’t feel like he had to constantly escape. 

“Is there something on my face?” you ask, watching the way Michael’s been standing under the sprinkle of the shower staring at you. 

“Yeah, you look a lot like my spouse. And I still can’t believe it.”

“That’s funny. You look a lot like my husband. But I swear, it’s been like twelve years since I’ve seen him.”

His fingers are wet, but they’re soft cupping your chin. “I hope I’m a good stand in.”

You shake your head, one of your sudsy hand cupping the back of his neck. “Not a good stand in. Because you’re the best original I’ve ever had.”

The tender confession warms on his entire body. His chest squeezes for a moment and all there is to do is kiss you, pull you in close by your hip and melt into your touch. Michael’s grateful it’s you that he’s spent this last decade with. Anyone else and he’s sure it would’ve gone poorly. But not with you, with you it’s easy--sure there are issues here and there, but you’ve never once wanted to go to bed mad at each other. You haven’t once, even in all the tears and justified anger, felt like the only choice for you was to run. You dug your heels even deeper when the seas got rocky and said over and over with your actions that you weren’t going to leave. 

And sure, there was a couple times that leaving did seem like a more viable option, when rumors kept churning the mill and when it seemed like Michael would never come back home to you. But you stuck it out. You figured out a way to make it work and Michael can’t be more grateful that it's been you. “I love you,” he breathes as the water runs down his back. It’s starting to lose its heat. But he’s warm with you close. 

“I love you. Even if you ‘tink,” you tease, using the variation of stink that you used to coo at the kids when they were babies. 

He laughs, a bit of a squeak leaving his throat. “I do not ‘tink!”

“Hmm, I’d beg to differ.” 

You steal Michael’s sweatshirt, fresh from your shower and before he can object your mother is calling. “Dinner’s ready!” Her shout is greeted by another rumble of thunder. 

“I’m only letting this thievery go because of food,” Michael says to you. 

“Yeah, yeah, sure. It’s not because I’m sexier in your clothes.”

Michael shrugs, a slight noise of agreement leaving his throat. “Potentially.” He stops you right at the top of the stairs, kissing your forehead, down the bridge of your nose and across your cheeks.

Your giggles are high pitched and you’re clutching at his t-shirt trying to curl up and duck away from the affection. “I’m hungry,” you pout, the smell of the tacos floating up from the kitchen now. 

“Oh, dear, let’s get you to some food, stat.”

The dinner is an array of shells, soft or hard, meat, and toppings--ranging from sour cream to hot sauce. You help assemble Treyvon’s plate, only to sneak a couple dabs of the hot sauce for him and he kisses your cheeks. “Thanks,” he whispers. 

“Anytime, bub.” 

Your parents asks about the beach with Trey and Orion are more than happy to recount. They list off who won footraces and how many laps they did in the water. Trey talks about the jellyfish he countered and Orion talks about the shells she collected. Your parents listen carefully, no doubt having heard of all these adventures already. 

“But we had to leave early because the storm,” Orion concludes. The thunder’s been rumbling steadily. You’re not sure if lightning is going to accompany this storm. The windows that are drawn are showing just how dark the skies are and how fast the clouds are rolling in. The rain hasn’t fallen yet, but it’s going to be soon. 

“Blanket fort?” you ask as the kids drop their plates off near the sink. 

“We need cookies,” Trey counters. You can only laugh but have to agree. “Blanket forts require cookies.”

“Let’s clean up first. One mess at a time.”

“One mess at a time,” Trey echoes and takes up the dishrag ready to dry all the utensils that come down from the washing rack. The kitchen assembly line works effectively. You wash as Trey dries. Orion helps put some dishes up where she can reach and Michael floats, drying the larger pots and pans and putting them up for Orion as well. 

Your parents, after the kitchen is cleaned, head up to their room but you take over preheating the oven and figuring which cookies the kids want. Orion takes charge on placing them on the cookie sheet, making sure her sugar cookies are delicately spaced. A loud rumble echoes outside the house and the rain isn’t slow to fail either. It cascades down in sheets and you think it’s definitely a good time to build a blanket fort in the living room. The darkness isn’t thick itself--there’s still an undercurrent of blue in the gray that’s taken over the sky. The rain blurs the outside world, as if your eyes are out of focus. 

Michael’s chuckles alert you that he’s already getting started on rearranging the living room. Orion hugs onto your leg and lower waist as you both look out to the storm. “I want to run in the storm.”

You rub your hand over her back. “You’d get your favorite pj’s all wet and then you’d have to shower again.”

“I know. But that’s okay.” There’s a harsh strike of lightning and Orion shakes her head. “On second thought, maybe not.”

“Oh maybe not,” you laugh and turn your attention to the living room. The fort is coming together. Though the dogs are doing their best to attack the sheets and blankets. And for the moment, you’re not at your parents house anymore. You’re not standing in your childhood kitchen. You’re at home. You’re laughing at your husband’s attempts at building a blanket fort being thwarted by your own dogs. 

“We need a movie!” Trey shouts, popping out from the inside of the fort, one pillow still clutched in his grasp.

“Yes!” Orion agrees. 

You hadn’t necessarily planned on a movie night. But thankfully, you’re better with passwords than your husband and you know from having to troubleshoot with your parents over FaceTime that their TV does have the Netflix app already downloaded. You’re not sure if they’ve logged in or not. “Thank goodness for technology,” you laugh but nod at the request. 

The timer for the cookie’s finally chimes and you pull them out of the oven. They’re perfectly golden, filling the whole kitchen with the smell of baked vanilla and sugar. Orion gets a plate of cookies as does Trey. The rain is still falling in sheets, hitting the panes and side of the house and coating the background in a white noise, a constant and steady sound. Michael’s turned out of the main lights to the living room, leaving on the soft table lamp that can’t fully bleed due to the sheets, but it cuts through just enough. 

You and Michael settle towards the back of the fort, the kids laying on their pillows as you pull up the app. It takes a few minutes to settle onto a movie. Michael jokingly suggests a scary movie but Orion’s adamant against it through Trey looks intrigued. Michael winks at him, noticing the twinkle in his eye. Orion no doubt won’t make it past the first movie and when she falls asleep, Michael knows you’ll put it up to a pure vote. Trey nods at his dad and let’s the choice for the animated Spiderverse movie be the family friendly win of the night. 

Michael’s hold around your waist is reassuring and you rest more weight into him. “Look, I’m voting no on a scary movie. But if something happens after I’m asleep and Trey has nightmares, it’s on you.”

“There’s nothing that gets past you, huh?”

“Of course not. I see,” a yawn interrupts your thought, “everything.”

“Can’t see nothing with your eyes closed.”

“I can see perfectly fine with my eyes closed,” you retort. Michael doesn’t say anything when you snuggle deeper into his side, arms winding around his torso. The kids giggle, even dance along to some of the songs in the soundtrack. Michael watches them, a smile on his face. These are his kids. They can sometimes butt head in ways he hadn’t ever imagined kids could do, he’s happy that they’re his. Orion acts out Doc Oc’s big reveal scene and Trey’s laughter keeps him from acting seriously. 

The dogs catch onto the ruckus and start to investigate but when neither Orion or Trey given in too seriously they settle back down. And it’s just his kiddos, being the absolute joy that they are, acting alongside a film they’ve seen way too many times. But no matter how many times they beg for it, or agree on it, they love it all the same. There’s still the same wonder and awe like the first time they saw it. 

“Let me guess,” you start, eyes still closed. “Orion’s Doc Oc. Trey’s Miles, you’re Peter Parker and I’m just the old person in the corner half asleep.”

“Close. I’m the old man in the corner with his spouse, so you know, two old folks today.”

“Damn,” you giggle, slowly opening your eyes. “I’ll get it next time.”

He nods, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Definitely next time.” 

It’s only in the silence of the credits fully rolled that, Michael notices that the storm’s mostly passed. It’s still dark, and there’s still a soft patter of rain, but it seems the brunt of it has come and gone. Orion’s crawled up into your lap and you’ve turned, curling up around her. It won’t be long before the two of you fall back into sleep. 

Trey grins, but follows behind Michael as they take the plates and place them into the sink to be washed from the sugary goodness. “Thanks,” Michael grins taking the plate Trey’s carrying. 

“You’re welcome, Dad. How scary are we gonna get?”

“How scared do you wanna be?”

“I ain’t scared.”

Michael can’t help the laughter that shakes his shoulder, watching Trey puff out his chest. “Well, we’ll definitely see about that.” 

Trey nods defiantly at his father. He can handle scary things. It’s not even real in the end. Once the dishes are done, they slide back into the blanket fort and Trey lays across his pillow again as Michael browses the horror section. If you were awake, you would’ve snatched the remote by now and landed him with stern glare. He knows that you sneak the hot sauce. And he’s sure you know he sneaks things too. What would be the point of it all if their kids didn’t feel safe and understood? Sure, it probably doesn’t make sense to sneak like this and the two of you could have an adult conversation. But sometimes it’s nice. It’s just a thing that him and Trey have. Because they kids need that. They need a thing that they have just with one parent, so that they always know that they’re going to be there. 

They eventually settle on a movie. It’s not too scary, but the introduction definitely pushes the boundaries on the amount of gore that Michael would normally let slide. As it progress, the blood volume reduces. It’s mostly jumpscares that the movie relies on, but one or two even get Michael. Trey sits up and without much thought Michael leans forward. Not to swoop in just yet but hovering close by, just in case. There’s a lull in the plot, and Trey seems to relax. 

“Want to call it quits?” Michael asks.

“Like ten more minutes,” Treyvon offers. It’s not too bad, but it does scare him just a little bit. And it’s mostly that beginning. He’s used to movies that start a little slower on the whole gore thing and this one started right out of the gate. He’s not sure if ten more minutes is the smartest idea. But the end has to be coming up soon. He can hold out for just a little bit longer. Though, as it progress, that uneasy feeling creeps back up. Trey turns and finds his father’s hand already stretched out. 

“Done?”

Treyvon shakes his head. It’s a small comfort to settle into his dad’s lap. “How much more time is left?”

With a quick pause, Michael reveals they still have half an hour left. “Still a good chunk of time left.”

“Can we take a break?”

“Yeah of course.” Michael exits the movie completely letting the Netflix homepage fill the screen of the TV. Treyvon exhales, burying his face into Michael’s chest. “I’m sorry. Didn’t seem so bad.”

“Not your fault,” Trey mumbles. 

Michael runs his hand over Trey’s back, holding him tight and secure to his body. “You’re safe. I’m here. And there’s Southy and Moose to protect you too.”

“Dad, I love them. But they’re old,” Trey laughs.  

“Oh, Moose,” Michael pauses on the thought. “No, come to think of it, she’d roll over for pets in a heart beat.”

“See!” Treyvon giggles. 

“Palette cleanse. Let’s watch some cartoons.”

“Maybe we can finish that movie in the morning?”

“If you’re up for it,” Michael agrees. Michael won’t bring it up unless Treyvon does; it was kind of intense from the start and it’s no fault of Treyvon if he doesn’t want to finish it now or in the morning. They watch another hour of cartoons before Michael can tell Treyvon’s fallen asleep. He could wake you, carry both kids to the bed and properly sleep through the night. Or Michael can let one more episode pass of the show and then turn it off, leaving on the soft lamp and letting himself fall asleep too, just slide down to the floor and bring a pillow up for Treyvon while he keeps close by. 

“Not going upstairs?” you ask softly into Michael’s ear. 

“You feel like carrying either child upstairs?”

With a soft giggle, you kiss his cheek. “Absolutely not.” You settle behind Michael, back pressed into his as you keep an eye on Orion curled up on her pillow and find one the spare sheets to drape over her. 

Michael knows someone’s staring at him. He can feel the fire behind the gaze even if he’s eyes are still closed. If it were one of the kids, they’d be poking at his face or arms, or stomach. Instead it’s just a stare, just the hairs along his neck standing up on end. “If I’m in trouble, can I have a cup of coffee first?”

“A scary movie? Michael, really?”

It’s right on the tip of his tongue to make a joke that the omission of the nickname babe is much too severe for one scary movie. But if he says that, it’s going to reveal the whole secret. “We did a palette cleanse. I was up the entire time.” Michael blinks open his eyes to see you, kneeling next to him. The kids are missing from the fort. The clink of forks alerts him that they’re probably eating breakfast. 

“He’s been quiet the whole morning. Which is not like Trey at all. You say no to hot sauce but yes to a fucking horror film.” Your voice is firm but a whisper. 

“You say yes to hot sauce and no to horror films.”

While Michael’s right, and you don’t want him to be, you know you don’t have a full leg to stand on. Sighing you fall to your butt, hugging your knees to your chest. “Fix it. I don’t care how. Don’t care if it’s ice cream at every meal. But I need my son back and you agreed to the horror film.”

It’s a fair call and Michael nods, finally sitting up from the floor. “On it. Also, good morning.”

You huff, and swat at his butt as he crawls out from the fort. “Good morning to you too, angel.”

He giggles at the sickly sweet sarcasm but pads into the kitchen. Both kids sit, eating at their waffles and bacon. “Morning, Papa Bear!” Orion greets with a bright grin. Michael kisses the top of her head and squeezes Treyvon’s shoulder. 

The boy is slow to meet the gaze and mumble out a greeting. Michael knows it’s bad. He probably should’ve turned the movie off after the first fifteen minutes. Orion’s finished first and gets excused from the table. The thud of Michael’s coffee cup echoes for a moment. “How’d you sleep?” Michael asks. 

“Okay.” There’s a pause and Trey looks up from his plate. “Movie was a little scarier than I thought,” he whispers, glancing into the living room, trying to keep the secret from you. 

“It’s okay. It scared me a little too at times.”

“I think Mom knows something. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Michael ruffles Treyvon’s hair. “Bud, the only one getting into trouble might be me. But not you. You got my permission to watch the movie, so it wasn’t like you disobeyed anyone and you didn’t break a rule. I just picked not the best film for us to watch. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you that badly with the film.”

There’s not a rule against scary movies. Most of your objection is just Trey’s age and wanting to wait until he’s a bit older. However, Michael knows that sometimes a good scare isn’t that bad. Besides, the movies normally get vetted by him first. Michael looks through them to see which ones are too violent or not appropriate for kids. And last night, on a slightly last minute decision, Michael made a call and it was just the wrong one. That’s his mistake not Trey’s. 

Treyvon nods at Michael’s apology. “I-I don’t want to finish it. I wanted to look strong, but,” he shakes his head. “I don’t--”

Michael nods. “No problem. We can watch more cartoons, get some ice cream at lunch.”

“Mint chocolate?”

“With all the sprinkles your tummy can handle it,” Michael grins. 

“Add gummy bears and it’s a deal.”

Michael thinks for a second, running a hand over his beard. It’s an instant yes. But he pretends for just a moment. “Alright, you drive a hard bargain. Gummy bears too.”

Treyvon’s quick to finish his breakfast. “Thanks, Dad. For like understanding and everything about the movie. And, I know you didn’t mean to pick such a scary movie. I’m-I’m just glad you were there.”

“I’m always going to be there, Treyvon. Always. I’m your dad. I’m always going to be there.”

Trey slips down from the chair and hugs Michael. “Thanks.”

“Of course. You’re welcome.”

[katiesclassicbooks]

Review: By the Shores of Silver Lake by Laura Ingalls Wilder

Synopsis: 

By the Shores of Silver Lake was written by Laura Ingalls Wilder and published in 1939. It is the fifth book in the Little House series. This series chronicles Laura and her family’s life as American pioneers. This book is about when they moved to Dakota territory. Pa originally gets a job in a railway company and that’s why they move out there. However, Ma wants them to finally settle down, so Pa eventually claims some land for a homestead and starts to help build the town of De Smet. 

Storyline: 

This one was so good! Maybe my favorite of my re-reads so far. This one felt more exciting and had such a feel of the wild west about it. We get to see the Ingall’s girls take a train for the first time, see what it’s like to live in a railroad camp, see Laura explore the wide open unsettled prairies, read a bit about the lawlessness of the wild west and watch the family finally find their homestead. I enjoyed reading about all of that thoroughly. 

Setting: 

The setting of De Smet, South Dakota was fabulous. Laura Ingalls Wilder does such a fantastic job of describing the places she’s lived. The lake, the scenery in the winter, the open prairie, the railroad camp, it’s all described wonderfully. 

Characters:

Laura was finally a bit older in this one ( I believe about 12 at the beginning) so I felt like the perspective seemed a bit different. More turned to the outer world. This is the book where Mary goes blind, which she seemed to handle so well and calmly! Laura had to describe the world around them for Mary and be her eyes in this one. This meant the descriptions got so beautiful! Carrie got older of course, so in this one she did more things with Laura. Grace is the new baby introduced in this book. I forget whether Ma had anymore children, but I guess we’ll see! Pa has to tame his adventurous spirit a bit in this one, so he can carve out a settled life for his daughters instead of constantly moving west. Laura shares his longing to keep exploring, but Ma wants them to have a settled life and to be able to go to school. I take it the family will probably stay in De Smet for the remaining books. 

Did I Like it?:

Yes! This was my favorite re-read of the Little House books so far. Such a fun one filled with the spirt and beauty of the wild west. Can’t wait to continue re-reading the series! 

Do I Recommend it?:

Yes! If you’re wondering whether to continue reading the series, the answer is yes! It will be well worth your time. If you haven’t read this series I recommend it if you would like a first hand account of American pioneers and people living in the wild west. 

~Katie 

[jamskills]

5 Things You Can Do Now to Save Money & Avoid a Furnace Repair

When you hear the furnace kick on, it's easy to assume that everything is working as it should. However, if you're hearing strange noises or a bad smell coming from your heater, take a moment to inspect the unit and see if there are any potential problems.

There's nothing worse than a heat wave and paying for a Furnace Repair in Brockton MA. It's expensive, uncomfortable, and inconvenient — not to mention inconvenient for your wallet! Below are 5 things you can do before the next heat wave to save yourself from a costly furnace repair.

Replace or clean your air filter on a regular basis.

Replacement filters are fairly inexpensive and can ensure a long life for your furnace. Air filters protect the heating system from dirt and dust that would otherwise damage the motor, fan, blower wheels, and electrical components.

You should replace your air filter at least every three months or when it becomes dirty. If you don't have an air conditioning maintenance plan, check the manufacturer's recommendations to see how often they recommend changing your filter.

Keep the area around the furnace unit clear of debris.

It's always important to keep your home clean, but it's especially important near the furnace unit. Debris can block vents and filters, causing overheating or preventing airflow in and out of the unit. Clearing away any buildup helps ensure that your furnace is running efficiently, which will save you money on energy costs in the long run.

A clean environment also makes it easier to maintain your heating system by removing dust and other particles that could cause fires if they were allowed to build up around combustible materials such as wood paneling or insulation materials such as fiberglass batting or cellulose fillers.

Ensure there is a safety switch on your gas valve.

A safety switch is a piece of equipment that prevents the gas from leaking before it reaches your furnace. If the safety switch fails, it can potentially be dangerous for both you and your family. A broken gas valve can also cause problems with other components of your HVAC system; so if you're having trouble finding that pesky leak, try replacing all of those parts first before diving into another big repair job like installing new ductwork or buying an entirely new heating unit altogether!

If you detect a gas leak, leave your house immediately.

If you detect a gas leak, leave your house immediately. Do not try to locate the source of the smell or any leaks on your own. Instead, call the Furnace Repair South Shore MA service expert and ask them to send someone out to fix it. If you have time before calling emergency services, open windows throughout your house to ventilate it while waiting for help from professionals. This will help prevent any further damage caused by carbon monoxide poisoning as well as allow gases already inside your home to dissipate more quickly once they are brought outside by opening windows.

Call for furnace repairs if you hear or smell gas.

If you smell gas, call your local fire department immediately. Gas leaks can be a major cause of carbon monoxide poisoning and fires. If you hear a hissing sound, get out of the home immediately and call your local fire department. This is a sign that there is a gas leak in your house, which can cause an explosion or other damage to the property. The safest thing to do when this happens is to evacuate the premises until the issue has been resolved by an experienced technician.

Conclusion

If you take care of your furnace and keep it in good working order, then you should be able to avoid costly repairs that could stop you from heating your home. If you hear or smell gas, however, then it’s time to call an expert who can assess the situation before taking any chances.

Source: 5 Things You Can Do Now to Save Money & Avoid a Furnace Repair