(Post: #7) A Night of Flames and Fortune

The moment the lights flickered back on, I felt a brief surge of relief. The day had been long, but I decided it was time to tackle some laundry around 7 PM—because if you can’t control the chaos in your life, at least you can control the clean sheets. As the washer and dryer hummed, I caught a faint noise above me. It was subtle, like a mouse auditioning for a role in a horror movie. I tried to brush it off—perhaps just the old house settling—or so I hoped.

With laundry done, I made dinner and settled down with Baby, the cat, to watch a movie. Normally, I'd be in bed by 8:30 PM, when no guests were at the resort, but I stayed up to ensure the young couple staying in the beach cottage hadn’t overdone their hot tub session. Peeking out of the office window, I saw the tub was dark, and the lights in their cottage were on; most likely having a nice romantic night. All was well… until it wasn’t.

Then it happened.

At 10:30 PM, just as I was about to retreat to the living room, I heard a loud bang overhead, followed by an even louder crash. My heart skipped a beat. That’s not the sound of a house "settling." It felt like something much worse. Panicking, I grabbed my phone and dialed 911 at 11:02 PM, convinced an intruder had dropped in for a late-night visit. The dispatcher, calm as ever, told me help was on its way—though given our remote location, "on its way" was a bit like saying "eventually." She urged me to leave the house immediately, but my feet were glued to the floor. What if the intruder was outside?

Then the office phone rang. The gut instinct in me knew it was something important, maybe the guests. Keeping the 911 dispatcher on my cell, I answered the office phone with my other hand, and there it was: the young man from the beach cottage, frantic, yelling, “Get out of the house! It’s on fire!” I found out later that they were lying in bed and noticed a red glow of light coming from their cottage window which faced the side of where the resort house was. He ran outside and saw the upper level on fire.

Fire? I hadn’t smelled smoke, heard alarms, nothing. But before I could process that, an earth-shattering explosion rocked the house. "The house is on fire! Please send the fire trucks!" I shouted into my phone. In an instant, I bolted to grab Baby the cat, but she had her own survival instincts and leapt from my arms, likely heading for the nearest safe hiding spot outside.

I joined the couple outside, and together we huddled in disbelief, staring at the flames devouring the upper floor. The fire trucks were coming, but the resort’s tucked-away location meant they had to haul their gear down to us, no easy feat. The young couple, after making sure I was safe, quickly grabbed their things and decided to cut their vacation short. With promises of refunds and best wishes, they headed back to Victoria. It wasn’t even midnight yet, and the night was far from over.

The police arrived, taking my statement as the firemen battled the blaze. I explained the eerie noises I’d heard days earlier and pointed out where I had noticed strange movements. As the fire burned on, I realized the best place for me was to be staying at the log cabin; keys to the log cabin were in the office. Thankfully, the firemen retrieved them, but first, I was sent to the ambulance for a quick check-up. The entire area was cordoned off, emergency crews swarming the scene.

I texted Cathy a picture of the house ablaze with a message that felt surreal: "Your house is on fire. Please call me." Not exactly the kind of text you expect to send—or receive—in the middle of the night.

By the time I was finally cleared to head to the log cabin for the night, it was 4 AM. But sleep was out of the question. How could I sleep after everything that had just happened? What would happen next?

Life can change in an instant. In those moments, watching the flames devour the upper level of the house, I couldn’t stop thinking how close I’d come to not being here at all. If the guests were not booked into the resort, I would’ve gone to bed early—oblivious to the smoke filling the air. That night, life felt more fragile than it ever had before.

I waited in the log cabin as the Fire Warden needed to share his findings once the fire was safely out. He reviewed the area and assured me that a security guard would be stationed 24 hours a day until investigators and insurance agents arrived to do what they do best—sift through the ashes and figure out what went wrong. He told me he did not hear any smoke alarms, and also wanted to know what I knew about the dome security camera above the entrance doors to the house/office. I told him I had no idea about why the smoke alarms did not go off and did not even notice there was a camera. He wrote down my statement.

Along with the Fire Warden, two kind-hearted community volunteers came to check on me, asking if I had a place to stay and offered food vouchers. These volunteers, who take time out of their lives to help victims like me, left a lasting impression. Yes, I was a victim of this horrific ordeal, even if the full weight of it hadn’t yet sunk in.

As the night grew quiet, and the hum of voices near the fire slowly faded, I found myself sitting on the couch, unable to fully comprehend what had just happened. The exhaustion hit me like a wave, and I barely managed to drag myself to one of the four bedrooms. I fell onto the bed and as I closed my eyes, the fire wasn’t done leaving its mark. Tomorrow wouldn’t be a clean slate—it would be the start of uncovering the truth and facing the aftermath.

Next:  Post 8 The Aftermath: Coffee, Forensics, and Crumbled Ceilings