radiant fracture

That was the house where the hot water tank burst. I was going to say boiler, but it was a hot water tank. The house was heated by oil, and that system may have used a boiler, or anyway a furnace, since I don't think that it actually boiled the oil, but this was definitely water. I think it's just that boiler sounds better. More Victorian. More substantial.

The hot water heater burst and ruined sixteen boxes full of clothes, linens (though none of the towels or sheets were actually made of linen), books and electronics peripherals. I say burst, but obviously the heater didn't explode. It didn't pop, blister-like. I guess it leaked. Badly. It ruined a bunch of other things no one really wanted but no one had thrown away, things that still had the smell and texture of utility, though they were not actually used. Several rolls of ugly maps made archaic by wars and apps. A strange pair of short, broad, blunt-nosed skis no one claimed. An old-fashioned tennis racket that warped like a melting mirror. These things got moldy and rotten and ruined just like the useful things, but no one knew how to feel about that.