As the house drew nearer everything around me became quieter and more distant. The trees murmuring couldn't be heard anymore and the cold iron gates were far, far back in the distance. Owls couldn't be heard anymore and there were no leaves on the ground, just some aged concrete steps, and a doorway that stood in front of me. From the outside, the house was tall and thin, made from large dark grey stones that had a rough feel all of this sandwiched together by crumbling cement. Climber Plants grew up the house winding around the drainpipes grabbing for the little sunlight that reached this desolate place. The windows rattled vigorously from the howling wind, as though they were about to fall out of the frames which were made from rotting wood being eaten away by wood worm. A few potted plants lay next to the door, once there for neat presentation now wilted and brown, almost certainly dead. The door had been left ajar perhaps for many years, or maybe someone was already in there.