Some people swore that the house was haunted, others swore that it was just being overtaken by the years of neglect. But only two people know its true story, the one of pain and joy, hate and love. I walk past it most every day, but this is the time I finally muster up the guts to walk across the dried brown grass and grasp the cold metal handle with the ivy carved around it. I don't have to push hard for it to come swinging open, a cloud of thick dust coming with it. Boxes line the walk and white sheets hang over the couches. Something moans in the corner where a leather armchair sits. My heart pounds as I make my way over to it, fist clenched and feet ready to run. An old woman, frail and grey, stares out at the window, screaming. I sigh. There's not much an old woman can do to me, right?
"Loved and lost. Lived and died," she whispers to herself as she rocks back and forth. "Loved and lost! Lived and died!"
Then I see it.
He hangs by the window by his neck. Decay has made him almost inhuman.
"You stay away! Save yourself from such pain! Love will only kill you!"
I run from the house, crying and shaking, and nothing is ever the same again after that.
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