a descriptive essay on haunted house
Answers
Explanation:
Pushing the heavy gates open the touch of the iron bars, as cold as
ice, seized up my hand completely. Even though I could feel the
unevenness of the old cobbled path beneath me, they were smooth in
contrast to the crunching of the odd dead leaf that I stepped on.
Carrying on up the path the grass carried on forever into the horizon,
a dull grey colour as if it had lost the will to live and stopped
growing altogether.
One lonesome Oak tree stood by the house swaying in the wind and as
the wind swept by the tree whispered to the air and its surroundings.
The moon shone bright white, in the cloudless sky, it was the only
source of light that could be seen for miles. Owls occasionally
fluttered by overhead, their silhouettes passing over the grass. The
air was cold and numb and with every breath I drew a misty, chilly
exhale followed.
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.
The hallway was dull and smelt of dust mixed with old age.
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