There are houses that are haunted for seemingly no reason. Inhabiting the space between street and alley, between the bustle of midday and the never quiet of city latenight. Streetlights don’t penetrate, cast no glow on their shadowed interiors.
She didn’t die here, it was far removed from anywhere she’d desired to visit. Her dreams exceeding the lifespan she was given, now a memory of identity tangled in the bushes and overgrown gardens of a property forgotten.
This house, empty of life probably seemed a reasonable place to leave her.
We will do our best to make her feel welcome.
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