As we were walking down the narrow road, we came across a house, a very old and worn down house. it was pushed back in the yard, a brick path leading the way, weeds sprouting out above the dry grass. Fall leaves are still scattered about even after the winter snow. A swing trinkles down an old oak tree, a child’s laughter still lingering, even though there is no child there. A tiny chimney popping out of a tattered roof. There is just something about this house, it haunts me. Who has lived here? What stories do the walls tell?