Everyone from the nosiest gossiping housewife to the most innocent child on their bicycle wants to know what is in the house at the end of the road. It isn't really a house, however, more a run down shack. The weeds tangle up the sides and the roofing dangles off by threads. Bits of trash litter the yellow grass while the shutters slope to and fro in the slightest of breezes. The doors are rusty and the windows fogged and dirtied to the point of being unable to see through.

That is where She lives.

Read more »