Old Campbell’s Mansion

Scrappy kids; we, dared not cross over 
Four foot high gray stone wall
Circling the turreted Victorian mansion.
My curiosity burned to sneak a peak.

Fear of Old Man Campbell froze us in our tracks.
Ivory headed cane, he shook, yelling at us.
He ate children, boiled them in his basement,
We believed, buckets of bones filled his trash.

Hot summer morning, ambulance arrived,
White sheet, they carted Old Man Campbell away.
Boys broke a back window.
Timidly, we entered our darkest imagination.

Crystal chandlers and vases reflected sunlight.
Hand carved heavy wooden furniture, 
Wine colored stuffed velvet sofa and chairs,
Gleaming pine floors covered with Persian rugs.
 
Oil paintings set in thick gold frames adorned the walls.
Boys stealing, destroying beautiful things.
I sat at the laced covered dining room table.
Thumbing through a  velvet covered family album.

Mr. Campbell as a baby in a wicker carriage,
Pushed by a Nanny in a white starched uniform.
His family dressed in their Sunday best.
Happy faces celebrating Christmas and birthdays.

My favorite: Mr. Campbell, young and handsome,
Wearing his whites with gold medals, 
Standing on the deck of a Navy ship.
Wedding photos taken at Ascension church. 

His bride is a blond beauty with a cinched waist. 
The last photo was that of him, his wife and baby boy.
I wanted to keep this treasure trove of photos;
Cherished memories for his family.

I kept one of the many little white stones that were kept in a jar.
Weeks later, the neighborhood smelled of fire.
Mr. Campbell’s son ordered men to burn everything in the house.
The antique furniture created a colossal blaze.

When I saw the photo album tossed on the fire;
Tears welled up in my eyes,
As they do today, when I rub the little white stone
And remember Mr. Campbell.