Fires And Death Are Bad

I've been on scene of probably hundreds of fires. Several times I've been inside homes that have burned down. There is a very distinctive smell to charred homes. It is a lot like a campfire, but much more intense. There are other smells in there, hints of more industrial things, probably insulation and wiring and carpet and furniture.

It always seems dry and, despite all the dirt and soot, sterile. There are no bugs. The plants are dead. It is lifeless.

The other day, we got sent to Ogden to do a story on a house fire where someone had died. We were surprised to see family members of the deceased woman at the house moving her belongings out just a few hours after the fire.

They were understandably upset but brought us into the home to get video of the damage. One of the first things I noticed was the smell. A very rotten odor permeated the inside of the house. Kind of like when cooked hamburger is left in its own grease on the skillet for a couple days (I knew a guy in college…didn’t visit him much, though). It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was obvious.

There were also a lot of flies buzzing in and out of the open windows and doors. Again not overwhelming, there was no buzzing mass of insects, but they were around.

Already, those were two obvious signs of trouble.

As long as I was moving around, the smells and flies weren’t too bad. The 19-year-old nephew showed us the damage upstairs in the bedrooms and downstairs in the kitchen. He decided he would do an interview with us. I set up my camera in the living room next to some boxes on the floor. My reporter, John stood in a small clearing on the floor on the other side of the boxes. I did notice the odor was a little stronger here but I figured it was because I had stopped moving around in the stale air.

After asking the nephew about what had happened (he wasn’t home) and what kind of person his aunt was (giving – she let him live with her for free) he points out where his aunt’s body was found.

“Yeah right about here on the floor where you guys are standing.”

WHAT!?

I glance down at the floor and notice that the carpet is burned and black everywhere except where we are standing. There is a white, charcoal-like layer on the floor underneath our feet. It looks to be about body-sized.

John and I both fidget a bit and step away.

I, of course, am thinking, ”WHAT THE HELL!!?? YOU LET US STAND ON THE CHARRED REMAINS OF YOUR AUNT – WHAT THE HELL IS THE MATTER WITH YOU!!??”

Instead all I do is emit a non-committal grunt of acknowledgement.

“Yeah we kinda covered it up with those boxes.”

John finished the interview and we stepped away. But after that, every fly that landed on my arm, or in my hair, or that buzzed around my eyes and nose carried a whole different meaning. I envisioned these little guys looking for the dead flesh that we all smelled, wanting to lay eggs, or eat, or whatever flies do to dead people.

I hurried on out of the house and away from the charred remains I had been standing in. I sure didn’t want to take it home to my wife and dog on my shoes. When the family finally left, I made sure to wipe off my shoes in the grass, dirt and street real good before leaving.