I Probably Won't Finish This But At Least I'm Trying

Imagine a house. It can be any shape, any color, any size-just a house that comes to mind.
Now, put that house on a street corner. Any street works fine. What other houses are around it? What kind of people live on this street? What do they think of this house you've placed on their block?
There's a family that lives there; in that house that just appeared one day, out of thin air, on the corner of the neighborhood. Nobody knows them very well, being more of a reclusive family, though everyone knows they're odd-not ones to follow societal standards, always breaking the norm. They're the morning gossip, the evening paper's headline.
This family doesn't seem to mind, though. They don't care about what others thing, and they move into that house just the same. They may not always be happy there, and they may have their problems, but they make it work.
It remains as their home for years.
And then, one night, it catches on fire and kills everyone inside it.