In middle of the wasteland there was a tenebrous house where the wind produced sounds as cry of ghosts. Inside, there was an old man. Now, only survives the memory of both.
"The House of the Crazy Man" is an old mill near Henares River (in Alcalá de Henares - Madrid - Spain). It was abandoned a lot of time ago and people says that it was refuge of homeless and junkies since then.
When I was a child it was a place where children were testing their braveness. We went inside, walked over its rotten floors, by dark rooms, jumped through its windows running away from imaginary ghosts, etc.
Now it's a forgotten place. It's in ruins. Only four vertical walls are fixed. Floors have disappeared because of the age and the fire (this place was burned again and again). The architectonic symbol of our childhood fears is now a few old bricks.
It makes me think. We forgot our childhood fears with time, and "time" is whom has destroyed this sinister building (a metaphor about those fears). I feel the time affects me as the same way as it affects to this building. We have evolved together. We have lived a linked evolution.
I used to avoid this place. Now I feel that I've started a new stage in my life. Now there is not fear, there is only respect for an old building who was the scenery of my childhood nightmares and that it's just going to disappear.
Now that you, "The House of the Crazy Man", are living your last hours, I want tell to you: I forgive you. I feel at peace with you.