And you get sufficiently freaked out to swear off using your fireplace ever again (as if you had ever used it in all the time you've lived in your current house because you were already unreasonably afraid of house fires).
You then realize your son had been over at said house probably no less than 30 minutes before because he'd left his sleds in their garage earlier when playing with his friend who lives there. And you wonder (somewhere in the back of your mind) if opening the front door to let him in / out somehow send a burst of oxygen up through the chimney in such a way as to ignite the smoldering creosote even though you know it's an irrational thought. You worry more that he might have just as easily been playing in the basement with them. Your eyes tear up a little when he runs to to window and his voice cracks when he asks if everyone got out.
And then you feel very deep sympathy for having to move a family of 7 into a rental home while "extensive water damage" is cleaned up and the chimney, roof, and baby's room are repaired. Your thankful for an alert passerby, everyone's safety, and the fact that the damage can be repaired.
Finally, you sortof marvel at the combination of sympathy, fear, morbid curiosity, and relief of everyone else - from the crowds that gathered to watch the fire trucks to the increased traffic on the street the next day, to the informal conversations with other neighbors as news trickles out. And everyone feels a bit helpless with the need to DO something when there really isn't a lot that can be done.
