@zoeschlanger
BILL WETZEN built a good house. It was a bit small—two little rooms and a bigger one, with a skinny greenhouse running along one side—but exactly to his taste, and with two square windows looking out over a lake rimmed in black spruce trees. The lake remained frozen most of the year, a picture-postcard view of interior Alaska, and Wetzen had his little slice of great northern paradise.
But that was 15 years ago. Then the house started steadily lurching, first a few inches a year, then a few feet, directly into the lake. Or rather, the lake was growing, swallowing Wetzen’s house in increments, warping the floor, breaking each window frame, until the entire structure pitched forward like a sprinter on starting blocks.