The horrors of the aged house still hound me

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The Old House

I decided to visit the countryside this summer to enjoy the bounties of nature. I had hoped to escape the bustling urban sprawl and to be encircled by the verdant meadows. However, I was too ill-fated to fulfil these longings.

Upon arrival, I decided to stroll around. Soon I encountered a sequestered old house. Dark. Dusty. Daunting. The perplexing structure of this mysterious dwelling compelled me to enter it. I pushed the creaky door open. An enormous lacy cobweb hung down as if it was waiting to pounce upon my blonde curls. I then bumped into disorderly cluttered remains of the furniture whose stiff plush has now shrouded with dirt. The once cosy, comfortable sofa is now nothing less than trash. What a pity to call it so! For this forsaken monstrous structure once might have been the warm abode of happy lives and full of life itself.

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I moved further only to be trembled by unrelenting winds that smashed my body like the waves battering on the shore. I found out that it was the broken window that let in the howling wind. The moonlight fearlessly slipped through the cracks of the window; the only light in this dreadful lifeless house. An unsettling, haunting and terrifying sensation sent a chill down his spine and yet my gaze stood fixed on the monstrous backyard. It was unkempt with overgrown thorns and weeds scattered all around. It was deathly cold but I remained grimly determined to look back at ...

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