“Hello, house,” Cynthia’s mum called as she opened the door to their new home.
It wasn’t the country estate the little girl had imagined, instead more of a half-dilapidated old country house with rickety stairs, wobbly floorboards and a spindly staircase that was already falling apart. The whole place smelled like damp and dust at the same time. Something dripped upstairs. “I don’t think it likes us,” she said.
a place of words 