The house where I grew up sat empty after my dad died. We tried selling it, but no one wanted to buy a charming old fixer up that's middle name was "deferred maintenance." My sisters and I had moved out of town after high school, only to return on holidays, make that some holidays. And only occasionally. With mom gone ten years back, and now with dad gone, we didn't make it home much anymore. When the city sent me a letter saying we had to either sell the place or fix it up and rent it out--it was an eyesore that had been left abandoned too long--the three of us came home. To this. The windows had been smashed, presumably by neighbor kids with nothing else to do, the lawn neglected, and the inside overrun with critters. The roof seemed to be the only saving grace. The only thing that wouldn't cost an arm and leg to fix. After talking with my sisters, we decided leaving a lit candle inside on the wood plank floors might be our ticket to freedom. But would we? It was enticing, but none of us volunteered. After tonight, we'll know if any of us have the guts to do it.