My father, my mother, my great-aunt Dorothy and I pulled into Patriot in a car. Just before we reached the House in Patriot (on the road in front of the House), we passed a red pickup truck parked on the side of the road and sticking out into the road. The truck's passenger door was open; a yellow porcelain vase – about a meter tall – was sitting in the floorboard.

After we had pulled up to the House, we stepped out of our car and I looked through the windows of the House. Only now did I realize that one of my great-aunts (a sister of Dorothy) had been living in the House and had died. Through the windows I could see my great-aunt's belongings sitting inside. Maybe we could take some of them; surely Dorothy would have the authority to enter the House. Even though I was still uncertain we would be able to take anything, we walked into the House.

An old portable record player (probably from the 1940s) was sitting in the room; it appeared to be in excellent condition. I would like to have it. Maybe some valuable record albums could also be found somewhere in the House.

However, since the others weren't comfortable with being in the House, we only stayed for a few minutes before stepping back outside.

Clearly the House needed to be secured; but no one seemed certain what to do. Just as we stepped back out onto the road, three young people probably in their late teens walked up. I approached them and asked if they knew anything about the woman who had lived in the House. They said they weren't from around here. I quickly inferred that they – like I – were simply visiting the area.

I turned my attention to the red truck. I walked over to it and looked inside. I had thought I would be interested in the vase; but now I realized the vase was quite ugly and not something I would want. Nevertheless, we needed to get the truck out of the road. As my father watched, I boarded the truck and sat behind the steering wheel. I didn't have a key, but thought I might be able to start the truck rolling backward down the incline toward the House. I succeeded in doing so, but to my chagrin, when I pressed on the brakes to slow down, they didn't function. The truck – rolling backward – quickly picked up speed. I was uncertain what to do. I steered the truck toward a row of trees beside the road until the truck banged into them. Obviously I had damaged the truck – the rear was slightly bent – but I had seen no alternative.

I jumped out of the truck. My father was examining the rear of the truck, obviously upset that I had wrecked it. I quickly explained to him that the brakes hadn't been working and I had needed to steer into the trees to stop the truck. At the same time, I noticed a creek right across the road; the creek was about two meters wide and looked about a meter deep. If I hadn't backed into the trees I would have landed in the creek. Maybe crashing into the creek would have been better, but I didn't think so; I thought I had done best by backing into the trees.

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