The house was big, to say the least. And old. It blocked out the sun when you stood close. Its imposing structure gave you chills with just a glance. Its tall windows seemed to be eyes looking narrowly down at you, as if daring you to enter. Trees huddled close to the corners. Tall and once majestic, now creaky and dying from old age. They leaned in mournfully, resting against the house, hoping to stand for one more year.
Each window seemed to tell a story. Some were shuddered, hiding secrets, others were not. Their glass dusted and darkened with age and disuse. The high attic windows had been used by vandals as target practice some late night long ago and were cracked and broken, exposing whatever lie in there to the elements of the world.
The front door lie stoic, closed to fried and foe. Made of dark wood and stained glass, it kept out everyone now. Once upon a time, it would have been flung open in delight, welcoming home loved ones. Now, it was covered in dirt and spider webs.
The once manicure lawn now was overgrown in a wild maze of trees, weeds and wild flowers. Beneath it, a brick sidewalk could be seen leading up to the wide porch, with its broken steps and missing boards.
An old for sale sign squeaked from its metal post by the road, waving gently in the wind. Covered in rust, the number was nearly invisible it had hung there so long. No one wanted this house. It was forgotten.
But she wanted it. When she had seen it standing there, in its dusty but majestic glory, she knew it was meant to be hers. Her heart had skipped a beat and she just knew. This was be her home.
What she didn’t see, was there was someone, something looking back at her from the house. And it wasn’t happy to see her.
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