francis in the berkshires

How long had it been?
She stood on the granite steps and felt the oppressive heat on her back. The old oak door was dented and splintered, the area surrounding the handle smudged and stained as if every hand that had ever reached for it had been dipped first in dirty oil.
She knocked.
When the door creaked open she was first hit with the pungent scent of garlic. He was a small man, folded over at the waist, as if he were forever locked after an attempt to pick up a penny from the floor. Behind him she noticed the most remarkable thing. It was as if he were standing at the mouth of a cave, or more accurately the dark shaft of a mine. From floor to ceiling the house was stacked tightly with every form of detritus imaginable. It was less stacked than carved, as if the house was first stuffed and then a tunnel carved through it all to gain access. The walls of the shaft revealed strata, and a geologist could undoubtedly study these compressed layers to reveal their timed secrets. Far behind him she could see the milky light cast by a lone dangling bulb.
"Dad?" she said.