The gable windows are shuttered tight, the roof shakes furred with mossy green. It echoes twilight wings in flight as glossy-soft as velveteen on furtive creatures not quite seen in rooms like dusty catacombs. It's true though - there's no place like home.
The ancient siding has bleached to white like desert bones long since picked clean but if you squint and look just right you sense how it must once have been before the long years intervened and faded it to monochrome. It's quite true - there's no place like home
By springtime day gray moths alight to clog the front door’s tattered screen. The lightning bugs by summer night roil blithely 'round its mezzanine. In snow, the old oak sways and leans in unfelt wind like a metronome. It's true though - there's no place like home.
But once a year, it seems just right. It's where the neighbor kids convene to play their games and gasp with fright at ghost scenarios and scenes. The place is made for Halloween ideal for goblin spawn to roam. It's quite true - there's no place like home.