Name: Luis Arias
Date: 9/17/15
Period: 2

Type your essay here:

Pushing the heavy gates open, I felt the touch of the iron bars, as cold as ice, seized up my hand completely. I could feel the unevenness of the odd cobblestone path beneath me, they were smooth in contrast to the loud unsettling crunch of the odd dead leaf that I stepped on. Each leaving a discomforting echo to die in front of me into the endless darkness. The grass that followed the path was dull and grey as if it had lost all of the will and desire to live. One lone Willow tree, that looked as if its back was hunched, drooped in the front yard of house and swayed in the winds of nothingness. Beneath the trees leaves was a wooden swing, rocking back and forth on …show more content…
The air was cold and numb, I could feel spikes riding up my arms from the chill in the air. Every breath I took had a misty and chilly exhale, leaving my throat feeling icy. My body tells me it is time to leave but the curiosity in my mind leads me down the nerve-racking path. As I came closer to the house everything around me became more quiet and distant. The murmuring of the trees couldn’t be heard anymore and the cold iron gates were far beyond the darkness behind me. The house was tall and thin, it was made from large, rough, dark grey stones that were sandwiched together by crumbling cement. Vines rod up the walls wrapping around every drain pipe trying to reach, with their weak dedicated leaves, for a place to acquire the sunlight. The windows rattled viciously as the howling wind crashed into it. Dead rotting plants layed next to the doorway looking shriveled up and brown. The only obstacles to be seen in front of me were the cracks that rippled through the steps leading to the paint chipped door. I nervously reach for the door handle while shaking head to toe. As my hand grappled onto the door I felt a sudden chill that raised the hairs on my arms and legs like quills on a porcupine. I slowly turned my hand leaving a creek for every second I turned the door handle. The rusty hinges of the door squealed like fingernails running down a chalkboard. It was open. All of the winds