The house at the end of Willow Street had a way of standing apart from the rest of the neighborhood, not because it was grand or beautiful, but because it seemed to be holding its breath. The other houses wore fresh paint and trimmed hedges like polite smiles, yet this one stood with peeling walls and crooked shutters, as if it had grown tired of pretending. Tall grass leaned against its foundation, whispering secrets to the wind, and the front gate sagged on onehinge, groaning softly whenever it moved.
The house at the end of Willow Street had a way of standing apart from the rest of the neighborhood, not because it was grand or beautiful, but because it seemed to be holding its breath. The other houses wore fresh paint and trimmed hedges like polite smiles, yet this one stood with peeling wall...