The mansion didn’t look old, yet I felt the oldness. The oddness. The otherworldness. Did I believe in ghosts? Not a word. And yet, I stood, pressed to rusted metal, staring, longing so hard tears could not help but come.
Night settled. The moon rose, pale crescent in the sky. Wind rustled bone-white leaves. Would it be now? Was this it? The moment for which I longed? The end of my journey?
Night passed. Dawn came. Like so many hundreds of mornings before, I turned and walked away.